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diff --git a/17981-8.txt b/17981-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1849989 --- /dev/null +++ b/17981-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10514 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Under Handicap, by Jackson Gregory + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under Handicap + A Novel + +Author: Jackson Gregory + +Release Date: March 14, 2006 [EBook #17981] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER HANDICAP *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: CONNISTON HAD SEEN HER FIRST, A HUDDLED HEAP, ALMOST AT + HIS FEET] + + Under Handicap + + + A NOVEL + + By JACKSON GREGORY + + + + AUTHOR OF + "The Outlaw," Etc. + + With Frontispiece + + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + Published by arrangement with HARPER & BROTHERS + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1914 BY HARPER & BROTHERS + + + + +TO +"MY LADY" +LOTUS McGLASHAN GREGORY +THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED + + + + +UNDER HANDICAP + +CHAPTER I + + +Outside there was shimmering heat and dry, thirsty sand, miles upon +miles of it flashing by in a gray, barren blur. A flat, arid, +monotonous land, vast, threatening, waterless, treeless. Its immensity +awed, its bleakness depressed. Man's work here seemed but to +accentuate the puny insignificance of man. Man had come upon the +desert and had gone, leaving only a line of telegraph-poles with their +glistening wires, two gleaming parallel rails of burning steel to mark +his passing. + +The thundering Overland Limited, rushing onward like a frightened +thing, screamed its terror over the desert whose majesty did not even +permit of its catching up the shriek of the panting engine to fling it +back in echoes. The desert ignored, and before and behind the +onrushing train the deep serenity of the waste places was undisturbed. + +Within the train the desert was nothing. Man's work defied the heat +and the sand and the sullen frown outside. Here in the Pullman +smoking-car were luxury, comfort, and companionship. Behind drawn +shades were the whir of electric fans, an ebon-faced porter in snowy +linen, the clink of ice in long, misted glasses, the cool fragrance +of crushed mint. Even the fat man in shirt-sleeves reading the Denver +_Times_, alternately drawing upon his fat cigar and sipping the glass +of beer at his elbow, was not distressing to look upon. The four men +busy over their daily game of solo might have been at ease in their +own club. + +At one end of the long car two young men dawdled in languid comfort, +their bodies sprawling loosely in two big, soft arm-chairs, a tray +with a couple of half-emptied high-ball glasses upon the table between +them. They had created an atmosphere of their own about them, an +atmosphere constituted of the blue haze from cigarettes mingled with +trivial talk. The immensity outside might have bored them, so their +shade was drawn low. For a moment one of the two men lifted a corner +of it. He peered out, only to drop it with a disgusted sigh and return +to his high-ball. + +He was slender, young, pale-eyed, pale-haired, white-handed, +anemic-looking. He was patently of the sort which considers such a +thing as carelessness in the matter of a crease in one's trousers a +crime of crimes. His tie, adjusted with a precision which was a +science, was of a pale lavender. His socks were silk and of the same +color. His eyes were as near a pale lavender as they were near any +color. + +"The devilish stupid sameness of this country gets on a man's nerves." +He put his disgust into drawling words. "Suppose it's like this all +the way to 'Frisco?" + +His companion, stretching his legs a bit farther under the table, made +no answer. + +"I said something then," the lavender young gentleman said, peevishly. +"What's the matter with you, Greek?" + +Greek took his arms down from the back of his chair where he had +clasped his hands behind his head, and finished his own high-ball. +Nature in the beginning of things for him had been more kind than to +his petulant friend. He was scarcely more than a boy--twenty-five, +perhaps, from the looks of him--but physically a big man. He might +have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, and he was maybe an inch +over six feet. But evidently where nature had left off there had been +nobody to go on save the tailor. His gray suit was faultlessly +correct, his linen immaculate, his hose silken and of a brilliant, +dazzling blue. His face was fine, even handsome, but indicating about +as much purpose as did his faultlessly correct shoes. There was an +extreme, unruffled good humor in his eyes and about his mouth, and +with it all as much determination of character as is commonly put into +the rosy face of a wax doll. + +"Seeing that you have made the same remark seventeen times since +breakfast," Greek replied, when he had set his empty glass back upon +the tray, "I didn't know that an answer was needed." + +"Well, it's so," the pale youth maintained, irritably. + +Greek nodded wearily and selected a cigarette from a silver +monogrammed case. The cigarettes themselves were monogrammed, each one +bearing a delicately executed _W. C._ His companion reached out a +shapely hand for the case, at the same time regarding his empty glass. + +"Suppose we have another, eh?" + +Again Greek nodded. The lavender young man reached the button, and a +bell tinkled in the little buffet at the far end of the car. The negro +lazily polishing a glass put it down, glanced at the indicator, and +hastened to put glasses and bottles upon a tray. + +"The same, suh?" he asked, coming to the table and addressing Greek. + +It was the pale young man who assured him that it was to be the same, +but it was Greek who threw a dollar bill upon the tray. + +"Thank you, suh. Thank you." The negro bobbed as he made the proper +change--and returned it to his own pocket. + +Greek appeared not to have seen him or heard. He poured his own drink +and shoved the bottles toward his friend, who helped himself with +skilful celerity. + +"Suppose the old gent will hold out long this time, Greek?" came the +query, after a swallow of the whisky and seltzer, a shrewd look in the +pale eyes. + +Greek laughed carelessly. + +"I guess we'll have time to see a good deal of San Francisco before he +caves in. The old man put what he had to say in words of one syllable. +But we won't worry about that until we get there." + +"Did he shell out at all?" + +"He didn't quite give me carte blanche," retorted Greek, grinning. "A +ticket to ride as far as I wanted to, and five hundred in the long +green. And it's going rather fast, Roger, my boy." + +"And my tickets came out of the five hundred?" + +Greek nodded. + +"It's devilish the way my luck's gone lately," grumbled Roger. "I +don't know when I can ever pay--" + +Greek put up his hand swiftly. + +"You don't pay at all," he said, emphatically. "This is my treat. It +was mighty decent of you to drop everything and come along with me +into this d----d exile. And," he finished, easily, "I'll have more +money than I'll know what to do with when the old man gets +soft-hearted again." + +"He's d----d hard on you, Greek. He's got more--" + +"Oh, I don't know." Greek laughed again. "He's a good sort, and we get +along first rate together. Only he's got some infernally uncomfortable +ideas about a man going to work and doing something for himself in +this little old vale of tears. He shaves himself five times out of +six, and I've seen him black his own boots!" He chuckled amusedly. +"Just to show people he can, you know." + +Roger shook his head and applied himself to his glass, failing to see +the humor of the thing. And while the bigger man continued to muse +with twinkling eyes over the idiosyncrasies of an enormously wealthy +but at the same time enormously hard-headed father, with old-fashioned +ideas of the dignity of labor, Roger sat frowning into his glass. + +The silence, into which the click of the rails below had entered so +persistently as to become a part of it rather than to disturb it, was +broken at last by the clamorous screaming of the engine. The train was +slackening its speed. Greek flipped up the shade and looked out. + +"Another one of those toy villages," he called over his shoulder. "Who +in the devil would want to get off here?" + +Roger sank a trifle deeper into his chair, indicating no interest. The +fat man had dropped his newspaper to the floor and was leaning out the +window. + +"Great country, ain't it?" he called to Greek. + +"Yes, it certainly _ain't_! What gets me is, why do people live in a +place like this? Are they all crazy?" + +The train now was jerking and bumping to a standstill. Sixty yards +away was a little, bluish-gray frame building, by far the most +pretentious of the clutter of shacks, flaunting the legend, "Prairie +City." Beyond the station was the to-be-expected general store and +post-office. A bit farther on a saloon. Beyond that another, and then +straggling at intervals a dozen rough, rambling, one-storied board +houses. For miles in all directions the desert stretched dry and +barren. The faces of women and children peered out of windows, the +forms of roughly garbed men lounged in the doorways of the store and +the saloons. All the denizens of Prairie City manifested a mild +interest in the arrival of Number 1. + +"I guess you called the turn," sputtered the fat man. "Here come the +crazy folks now!" + +A cloud of dust swirling higher and higher in the still air, the +clatter of hoofs, and two horses swept around the farthest house, +carrying their riders at breakneck speed into the one and only street. +At first Greek took it to be a race, and then he thought it a runaway. +As it was the first interesting incident since Grand Central Station +had dropped out of sight four days ago, he craned his neck to watch. + +The two riders were half-way down the street now, a tall bay forging +steadily ahead of a little Mexican mustang until ten feet or more +intervened between the two horses. The train jerked; the Wells Fargo +man, with his truck alongside the express-car far ahead, yelled +something to the man who had taken his packages aboard. + +"The bay wins," grinned the fat man. "It looks--Gad! It's a woman!" + +Greek saw that it was a woman in khaki riding-habit, and that the +spurs she wore were gnawing into her horse's flanks. He began to take +a sudden, stronger interest. He leaned farther out, hardly realizing +that he had called to the conductor to hold the train a moment. For it +was at last clear that these were not mad people, but merely a couple +of the dwellers of the desert anxious to catch Number 1. But the +conductor had waved his orders and was swinging upon the slowly moving +steps. From the windows of the train a score of heads were thrust out, +a score of voices raised in shouting encouragement. And down to the +tracks the woman and the man behind her rushed, their horses' feet +seeming never to touch the ground. + +A bump, a jar, a jerk, and the Limited was drawing slowly away from +the station. The woman was barely fifty yards away. As she lifted her +head Greek saw her face for the first time. And, having seen her ride, +he pursed his lips into a low whistle of amazement. + +"Why, she's only a kid of a girl!" gasped the fat man. "And, say, +ain't she sure a peach!" + +Greek didn't answer. He was busy inwardly cursing the conductor for +not waiting a second longer. For it was obvious to him that the girl +was going to miss the train by hardly more than that. + +But she had not given up. She had dropped her head again and was +rushing straight toward the side of the string of cars. Greek held his +breath, a swift alarm for her making his heart beat trippingly. He did +not see how she could stop in time. + +Again a clamor of voices from the heads thrust out of car windows, +warning, calling, cheering. And then suddenly Greek sat back limply. +The thing had been so impossible and in the end so amazingly simple. + +Not ten feet away from the train she had drawn in her horse's reins, +"setting up" the half-broken animal upon his four feet, bunched +together so that with the momentum he had acquired he slid almost to +the cars. As he stopped the girl swung lightly from the saddle and, +seeming scarcely to have put foot upon the sandy soil, caught the +hand-rail as the car came by and swung on to the lowest step. The man +behind her caught up her horse's reins, whirled, sweeping his hat off +to her, and turned back. + +"Which is some riding, huh?" chuckled the fat man, his own head +withdrawn as he reached for his beer-glass. + +"What's the excitement?" Roger's interest had not been great enough to +send him to the window. + +"Some people trying to catch the train," Greek told him, shortly. For +some reason, not clear to himself, he did not care to be more +definite. + +"I don't blame the poor devils. Think of waiting there until another +came by!" Roger washed the dryness out of his mouth with a generous +sip of his whisky and seltzer. + +The fat man finished his glass of beer and rang for another. Greek sat +gazing out over the wide wastes of the desert. He had never before +been in a land like this. Now that more than two thousand miles +lengthened out between him and New York, he had felt himself more than +ever an exile. Heretofore he had given no thought to the people +dwelling here beyond the last reaches of those things for which +civilization stood to him. He was not in the habit of thinking deeply. +That part of the day's work could be left to William Conniston, +Senior, while William Conniston, Junior, more familiarly known to his +intimates as "Greek" Conniston, found that he could dispense with +thinking every bit as easily as he could spend the money which flowed +into his pockets. But now, as unexpectedly as a flash from a dead +fire, a girl's face had startled him, and he found himself almost +thinking--wondering-- + +Conniston turned swiftly. The girl was passing down the long narrow +hallway leading by the smoking-car, evidently seeking the +observation-car. Through the windows he could see her shoulders and +face as she walked by him. He could see that there was the same +confidence in her carriage now that there had been when she had jerked +her horse to a standstill and had thrown herself to the ground. Even +Roger, turning idly, uttered an exclamation of surprised interest. + +She was dressed in a plain, close-fitting riding-habit which hid +nothing of the undulating grace of her active young body. In her hand +she carried the riding-quirt and the spurs which she had not had time +to leave behind. Her wide, soft gray hat was pushed back so that her +face was unhidden. And as she walked by her eyes rested for a fleeting +second upon the eyes of Greek Conniston. + +Her cheeks were flushed rosily from her race, the warm, rich blood +creeping up to the untanned whiteness of her brow. But he did not +realize these details until she had gone by; not, in fact, until he +began to think of her. For in that quick flash he saw only her eyes. +And to this man who had known the prettiest women who drive on Fifth +Avenue and dine at Sherry's and wear wonderful gowns to the +Metropolitan these were different eyes. Their color was elusive, as +elusive as the vague tints upon the desert as dusk drifts over it; +like that calm tone of the desert resolved into a deep, unfathomable +gray, wonderfully soft, transcendently serene. And through the +indescribable color as through untroubled skies at dawn there shone +the light which made her, in some way which he could not entirely +grasp, different from the women he had known. He merely felt that +their light was softly eloquent of frankness and health and cleanness. +Their gaze was as steady and confident as her hand had been upon her +horse's reins. + +"She must have been born in this wilderness, raised in it!" he mused, +when she had passed. "Her eyes are the eyes of a glorious young +animal, bred to the freedom of outdoors, a part of the wild, untamable +desert! And her manner is like the manner of a great lady born in a +palace!" + +"Hey, Greek," Roger was saying, his droning voice coming unpleasantly +into the other's musings, "did you pipe that? Did you ever see +anything like her?" + +Conniston lighted a fresh cigarette and turned again to look out +across the level gray miles. Ignoring his friend, Greek thought on, +idly telling himself that the Dream Girl should be born out here, +after all. Here she would have a soul; a soul as far-reaching, as +infinite, as free from shackles of convention as the wide bigness of +her cradle. And she would have eyes like that, drawing their very +shade from the vague grayness which seemed to him to spread over +everything. + +"I say, Greek," Roger was insisting, sufficiently interested to sit up +straight, his cigarette dangling from his lip, "that little country +girl, dressed like a wild Indian, is pretty enough to be the belle of +the season! What do you think?" + +Conniston laughed carelessly. + +"You're an impressionable young thing, Hapgood." + +"Am I?" grunted Roger. "Just the same, I know a fine-looking woman +when I clap my bright eyes on her. And I'd like to camp on her trail +as long as the sun shines! Say"--his voice half losing its eternal +drawl--"who do you suppose she is? Her old man might own about a +million acres of this God-forsaken country. If she goes on through to +'Frisco--" + +"You wouldn't be strong for stopping off out here?" the fat man put in +genially. Hapgood shuddered. + +And to Greek Conniston there came a sudden inspiration. + +"Anyway," Roger Hapgood went on in his customary drawl, "I'm going to +find out. It's little Roger to learn something about the prairie +flower. I'll soon tell you who she is," he added, rising from his +seat. + +But he never did. For one thing, young Conniston was not there when +Roger returned five minutes later, and it is extremely doubtful if +Roger Hapgood would have told how his venture had fared. Being duly +impressed with the fascination of his own debonair little person, and +having the imagination of a cow, he had smirked his way to the girl, +who now sat in the observation-car, and had begun on the weather. + +"Dreadfully warm in this desert country, isn't it?" he said, with +over-politeness and the smile which he knew to be irresistible. + +The girl turned from gazing out the window, and her eyes met his, very +clear and very much amused. + +"Very warm," she smiled back at him. Even then he had a faint fear +that she was not so much smiling as laughing. "The surprising thing is +how well things keep, is it not?" + +"Ah--yes," he murmured, not entirely confident, and still dropping +into a chair at her side. "You mean--" + +"How fresh some things keep!" + +Roger Hapgood's pink little face went violently red. + +"I say!" he began. "I didn't mean any offense. I thought--" + +"Oh, that's all right," she laughed, gaily. "No offense whatever. Will +you please open that window for me?" + +His face became normally pink again as he hastened to throw up the +window in front of her. His eyelid fluttered downward as he met the +regard of a couple of men facing them. Then he came back to her side. + +"Thank you," she smiled sweetly up at him. And she held out her hand. + +He didn't know what she wanted to do that for, but had a confused idea +that in the free and easy spirit of the West she was going to shake +hands. The next thing which he realized clearly was that she had +dropped a shining ten-cent piece into his palm. + +"Oh, look here," he stammered, only to be interrupted by her voice, a +gurgle of suppressed mirth in it. + +"I'm sorry that that's all I have in change! And now, if you will hand +me that magazine--I want to read!" + +Roger Hapgood fumbled with the dime and dropped it. He swept up the +magazine from a near-by chair and held it out to her. As he did so he +caught a glimpse of the faces of the two men at whom he had winked so +knowingly, heard one of them break into loud, hearty laughter. +Dropping the magazine to her lap, the lavender young man, with what +dignity he could command, marched back to the smoking-car. + +A few minutes later Greek Conniston, returning to the smoking-car, +found his friend pinching his smooth cheek thoughtfully and frowning +out the window. He dropped into his chair, deep in thought. In the +brief interval he had taken his resolution, plunging, as was his +careless nature, after the first impulse. The girl had interested him; +he did not yet realize how much. She came aboard the train without bag +or baggage. Certainly she could not be going far. And he--it didn't +matter in the least where he went. All that he had to do was to keep +out of his father's way until the old man cooled down, and then to +wire for money. His ticket read to San Francisco, but he had no desire +to go there rather than to any other place. And he told himself that +he had a sort of curiosity about this bleak, monotonous desert land. + +An hour later the train ran into another little clutter of buildings +and drew up, puffing, at the station. Conniston's eyes were alert, +fixed upon the passageway from the observation-car rather than on the +view from his window. Mail-bags were tossed on and off, a few packages +handled by the Wells Fargo man, and the train pulled out. Conniston +leaned back with a sigh. + +"Roger," he said, at last, "I've got a proposition to make." + +"Well?" + +"Let's drop off at one of these dinky towns and see what it's like. +I've a notion we might find something new." + +"That's a real joke, I suppose?" + +"Not at all," maintained Conniston. "I'm going to do it. Are you with +me?" + +Hapgood sat bolt upright. + +"Are you crazy, man!" he cried, sharply. + +Conniston shrugged. "Why not? You've never seen anything but city life +and the summer-resort sort of thing any more than I have. It would be +a lark." + +"Excuse me! I guess I'm something of a fool for having chased clean +across the continent, but I'm not the kind of fool that's going to +pick a place like this sand-pile to drop off in!" + +"All right, old man. Nobody's asking you to if you feel that way." + +Hapgood waited as long as he could for Conniston to go on, and when +there came no further information he asked, incredulously: + +"You don't mean that, do you, Greek? You don't intend to stop off all +alone out here in this rotten wilderness?" + +"Yes, I do. If you won't stop with me." + +"But how about me? What am I to do? Here I am--busted! What do you +think I'm going to do?" + +"You can go on to San Francisco if you like. You can have half of what +I've got left--or you can drop off with me." + +Hapgood argued and exploded and sulked by turns. In the end, seeing +the futility of trying to reason with a man who only laughed, and +seeing further the disadvantage of being cut off from his source of +easy money, Roger gave in, growling. So when the train drew into +Indian Creek that afternoon there were three people who got down from +it. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Indian Creek stood lonely and isolated in the flat, treeless, +sun-smitten desert. Only in the south was the unbroken flatness +relieved by a low-lying ridge of barren brown hills, their sides cut +as by erosion into steep, stratified cliffs. Even these bleak hills +looked to be twenty miles away, and were in reality fifty. Beyond +them, softened and blurred by the distance, was a blue-gray line where +the mountains were. + +"Of all the wretched holes in the world!" fumed Hapgood. + +But Conniston didn't hear him. The girl had stepped down from the +train, and, without casting a glance behind her, walked swiftly across +the wriggling thing which stood for a street in Indian Creek. There +was a saloon with a long hitching-pole in front of it, to which a +couple of saddle-horses were tied, and a buckboard with two fretting +two-year-olds in dust-covered harness. A man, a swarthy half-breed, +with hair and eyes and long, pointed mustaches of inky blackness, was +on the seat, handling the jerking reins. He called a soft "_Adios, +compadre_" to the man lounging in the doorway, and swung his colts out +into the road, making a sweeping half-circle, bringing them to a +restless halt, pawing and fighting their bits, at the girl's side. +While with one brown hand he held them back, with the other he swept +off his wide, black hat. + +"How do, Mess!" he cried, softly, his teeth flashing a white greeting. + +She answered him with a "Hello, Joe!" as she climbed to his side. + +Joe loosened his reins a very little, called sharply to his horses, +and in a whirlwind of dust the buckboard made an amazingly sharp turn +and shot rattling down the road and out toward the mountains in the +south. + +"And now what?" grinned Hapgood, maliciously. "Even your country girl +has gone!" + +Greek Conniston gazed a moment after the flying buckboard, a vague, +wavering, unreal thing, through the dust of its own making, and, +hiding his disappointment under a shrug, turned to Hapgood. + +"Now for a hotel somewhere, if the place has one. Come on, Roger. +We're in for it now, so let's make the best of it." + +Carrying his suit-case, he strode off toward the saloon, Roger +following silently. The lanky, sunburned individual in the doorway +watched their approach idly for a moment and then turned his lazy eyes +to a cow and calf trudging past toward the watering-trough. + +"Hello, friend!" called Conniston. + +The lanky individual drew his eyes from the cow and calf, bestowed a +long look and a fleeting nod upon the two strangers, and turned again +toward the trough, little impressed, little interested in the +Easterners. + +"I say!" went on Conniston, brusquely. "Where'll a man get a room +here?" + +"Down to the hotel." + +"So you do have a hotel? Where is it?" + +The lazy individual ducked his head toward the east end of the +street, cast a last look at the cow and calf, and, turning, went back +into the saloon. + +"Nice sort of people," grunted Hapgood. + +Conniston laughed. "Buck up, Roger," he grinned, his own spurt of +irritation lost in his enjoyment of Hapgood's greater bitterness. +"It's different, anyhow, isn't it? Come on. Let's see what the hotel +looks like." + +The hotel was a saloon with a long bar at the front, a little room +just off, containing a couple of tables covered with red oil-cloth. +Beyond were half a dozen six-by-six rooms separated from one another +by partitions rising to within two feet of the unceiled roof. The +proprietor, busy with some local friends in the card-room, saw the two +young men come in and yelled, lustily: + +"Mary!" + +Mary, a stout and comfortable-looking woman, appeared from the +kitchen, wiping her hands upon her blue apron, and with a sharp glance +at the newcomers bobbed her head at them and said, briefly, "Howdy." + +Conniston took off his hat and came into the bar-room. Roger, with a +careless glance at the woman, came in without taking off his hat and +dropped into one of the rickety chairs against the wall. And there he +sat until Conniston had negotiated for two rooms for the night. Then +he got jerkily to his feet and stalked after his friend and their +hostess to the back of the house. A moment later he and Conniston, +left alone, sat upon their two beds and stared at each other through +the doorway connecting their rooms. Conniston studied the bare floors, +the bare walls of rough, unplaned twelve-inch boards set upright with +cracks between them ranging from a quarter of an inch to an inch in +width, and, rumpling up his hair, sat back and grinned into Hapgood's +woebegone face. And Hapgood after the same examination and a sight of +the rough beds covered with patchwork comforters, groaned aloud. + +"Maybe it's funny," he muttered. "But if it is, I don't see it." + +"What are you going to do about it?" chuckled Conniston. "You can't +fling out and go to the rival hotel, because there isn't any! You +can't sleep outdoors very well. And you can't catch a train until a +train comes. Which, I believe, will be sometime to-morrow morning." + +It was already late afternoon. That day Roger Hapgood got no farther +than the bar-room at the front of the house. There he sat in one of +the rickety chairs, brooding, sullen, and silent, smoking cigarettes, +drinking high-balls, and cursing the whole God-forsaken West. And +there Conniston left him. + +In spite of his naturally buoyant spirits, in spite of the fact that +he knew he had only to swing upon the next train which came through, +Conniston felt suddenly depressed. The silence was a tangible thing +almost, and he felt shut out from the world, lost to his kind, +marooned upon a bleak, inhospitable island in an ocean of sand. The +few men whom he met upon the sun-baked street eyed him with an +indifference which was worse than actual hostility. When he spoke they +nodded briefly and passed on. It was clear that if he looked upon them +as aliens, they looked upon him as a being with whom and whose class +they had nothing in common, no desire to have anything in common. For +a moment his good nature died down before a flash of anger that these +beings, with little, circumscribed existences, should feel and +manifest toward him the same degree of contempt that he, a visitor +from a higher plane of life, experienced toward them. But in Greek +Conniston good humor was a habit, and it returned as he assured +himself that what these desert-dwellers felt was worth only his +amusement. + +At the store he bought some tobacco for his pipe and engaged the +storekeeper in trifling conversation. The talk was desultory and for +the most part led nowhere. But the little, brown, wizened old man, +contemplatively chewing his tobacco like a gentle cow ruminating over +her cud, answered what scattering questions Conniston put to him. The +young man learned that the town took its name from the stream which +crept rather than ran through it to spread out on the thirsty sands a +few miles to the north, where it was absorbed by them. That the creek +came from the hills to the south, and from the mountains beyond them. +When one crossed the brown hills he came to the Half Moon country and +into a land of many wide-reaching cattle-ranges. + +"I saw a team drive out that way after the train came in," said +Conniston, carelessly. "Headed for one of the cattle-ranges, I +suppose?" + +The old man spat and nodded, wiping his scanty gray beard with his +hand. + +"That was Joe from the Half Moon. Took the ol' man's girl out." + +"I did see a young lady with him. She lives out there?" + +"Uh-uh." The old man got up to wait upon a customer, a cowboy, from the +loose, shaggy black "chaps," the knotted neck handkerchief, the +clanking spurs and heavy, black-handled Colt revolver at his hip. He +bought large quantities of smoking-tobacco and brown cigarette-papers, +"swapped the news" with the storekeeper, and clanked his way across to +the saloon. He did not appear to have seen Conniston. + +"The girl's father run a cattle-range out there?" + +"Uh-uh. The Half Moon an' three or four smaller ranges. He's old man +Crawford--p'r'aps you've heard on him?" + +Conniston shook his head, suppressing a smile. + +"I don't think I have. Far out to his place?" + +"Oh, it ain't bad. Let's see. It's fifty mile to the hills, an' he's +about forty mile fu'ther on." He stopped for a brief mental +calculation. "That makes it about ninety mile, huh?" + +"How does a man get out there? A narrow-gauge running from somewhere +along the main line?" + +"Darn narrow, stranger. You can walk if you're strong for that kind of +exercise. Mos' folks rides. Goin' out?" + +"It's rather a long walk," Conniston evaded. And shortly afterward, +hearing a clanging bell up the street in the direction of the hotel, +he strolled away to his dinner. + +He found Hapgood scowling into his high-ball glass and dragged him +away to the little dining-room. Both the tables were set. At one of +them the cowboy whom he had seen at the store was already eating with +two of his companions. Conniston and Hapgood were shown to the other +table by the stout Mary. Hapgood cast one glance at the stew and +coarse-looking bread put before him, and pushed his plate away. +Conniston, who had had fewer high-balls and more fresh air, actually +enjoyed his meal. The men at the other table glanced across at them +once and seemed to take no further interest. + +Hapgood waited, bored and conventional, until Conniston had finished, +and then the two went back into the bar-room. The sun had gone down, +leaving in the west flaring banners of brilliant, changing colors. The +heat of the day had gone with the setting of the sun, a little lost, +wandering breeze springing up and telling of the fresh coolness of the +coming night. And it was still day, a day softened into a gray +twilight which hung like a misty veil over the desert. + +From the card-room came the voices of the proprietor and the men with +whom he was still playing. They had not stopped for their supper, +would not think of eating for hours to come. + +"If you feel like excitement--" began Conniston, jerking his head in +the direction of the card-room. + +Hapgood interrupted shortly. "No, thanks. I've got a magazine in my +suit-case. I suppose I'll sit up reading it until morning, for I +certainly am not going to crawl into that cursed bed! And in the +morning--" + +"Well? In the morning?" + +"Thank God there's a train due then!" + +Conniston left him and went out into the twilight. He passed by the +store, by the saloon, along the short, dusty street, and out into the +dry fields beyond. He followed the road for perhaps a half-mile and +then turned away to a little mound of earth rising gently from the +flatness about it. And there he threw himself upon the ground and let +his eyes wander to the south and the faint, dark line which showed him +where the hills were being drawn into the embrace of the night +shadows. + +The utter loneliness of this barren world rested heavy upon his +gregarious spirit. Sitting with his back to Indian Creek, he could see +no moving, living thing in all the monotony of wide-reaching +landscape. He was enjoying a new sensation, feeling vague, restless +thoughts surge up within him which were so vague, so elusive as to be +hardly grasped. At first it was only the loneliness, the isolation and +desolation of the thing which appalled him. Then slowly into that +feeling there entered something which was a kind of awe, almost an +actual fear. A man, a man like young Greek Conniston, was a small +matter out here; the desert a great, unmerciful, unrelenting God. + +First loneliness, then awe tinged with a vague fear, and then +something which Conniston had never felt before in his life. A great, +deep admiration, a respect, a soul-troubling yearning toward the very +thing from which his city-trained senses shrank. He was experiencing +what the men who live upon its rim or deep in its heart are never free +from feeling. For all men fear the desert; and when they know it they +hate it, and even then the magic of it, brewed in the eternal +stillness, falls upon them, and though they draw back and curse it, +they love it! The desert calls, and he who hears must heed the call. +It calls with a voice which talks to his soul. It calls with the dim +lure of half-dreamed things. It beckons with the wavering streamers of +gold and crimson light thrown across the low horizon at sunrise and +sunset. + +Greek Conniston was not an introspective man. His life, the life of a +rich man's son, had left little room for self-examination of mood and +purpose and character. He had done well enough during his four years +in the university, not because he was ambitious, but simply because +he was not a fool and found a mild satisfaction in passing his +examinations. Nature had cast him in a generous physical mold, and he +had aided nature on diamond and gridiron. He had taken his place in +society, had driven his car and ridden his horses. He had through it +all spent the money which came in a steady stream from the ample +coffers of William Conniston, Senior. His had been a busy life, a life +filled with dinners and dances and theaters and races. He had not had +time to think. And certainly he had not had need to think. + +But now, under the calm gaze of the desert, he found himself turning +his thoughts inward. He had been driven out of his father's house. He +had been called a dawdler and a trifler and a do-nothing. He had been +told by a stern old man who was a _man_ that he was a disgrace to his +name. He had never done anything but dance and smoke and drink and +make pretty speeches which were polite lies and which were accepted as +such. And now a minor note, as thin as a low-toned human voice heard +faintly through the deep music of a cathedral organ, something seemed +to call to him telling him again of these things. + +The darkening line where the far-away hills in the south were dragged +deeper and deeper into the night drew his wandering thoughts away from +himself and sent them skimming after the girl he had seen that day. +Somewhere out there she was moving across the desert, plunged into the +innermost circle of the grim solitude. He remembered her eyes and the +look he had seen in them. He could see her again as she jerked in her +plunging horse, as she caught the step of the swiftly moving train. +The desert had called her; and she, purposeful, strong, as clean of +soul, he felt, as she was of body, had answered the call. With the +compelling desire to know her springing full-grown from his first +swift interest in her, his fancies, touched by the subtle magic of the +desert, showed her to him out yonder with the dusk and the silence +about her. He got to his feet and stood staring into the gathering +gloom as though he would make out across the flat miles the flying +buckboard. + +"After all," he told himself, with a restless, half-reckless little +laugh, "why not?" + +He turned and went back toward the town. On his way he overtook a boy, +a little fellow of eight or nine, driving a milk-cow ahead of him. He +found him the shy, wordless child he had expected, but chatted with +him none the less, and by the time they had reached the first of the +scattered buildings the boy had thawed a little and responded to +Conniston's talk. After the brief, somewhat uncomfortable lonesomeness +of a moment ago Conniston found himself glad of any company. And upon +leaving the boy at a tumbled-down house a bit farther on he found a +half-dollar in his pocket and proffered it. + +"Here, Johnny," he said, smiling. "This is for some candy." + +The boy put his hands behind his back. "My name's William," he said, +with a quiet, odd dignity. "An' I don't take money off'n no one 'less +I work for it!" + +"My name's William, too, my boy," Conniston answered, much amused; +"but you and I have very different ideas about taking money!" + +"Proud little cuss," he told himself, as he strode on along the +street. "Wonder who taught him that?" + +Here and there in the dull dome above him the stars were beginning to +come out. On either hand the pale-yellow rays from kerosene-lamps +straggled through windows and doors, making restless shadows +underfoot. From the door of the saloon the brightest light crept out +into the night. And with it came men's voices. Having a desire for +companionship, and not craving that of Hapgood in his present mood, +Conniston stepped in at the low door, and, going to the bar, called +for a glass of beer. There were half a dozen men, among whom he +recognized the proprietor of the "hotel" and the men with whom he had +been playing cards, and also the cowboys who had eaten at the other +table. In the center of the room, under a big nickeled swinging-lamp, +a man was dealing faro while the others standing or sitting about him +made their bets. A glance told Conniston that the hotel man was +playing heavily, his chips and gold stacked high in front of him. + +"The strange part of it," he thought, as he watched the bartender open +his bottle of beer, "is where they get so much money! Do they make it +out of sand?" + +He invited the bartender to drink with him, chatted a moment, and then +strolled over to the table. The dealer, a thick-set, fat-fingered, +grave-eyed man who moved like a piece of machinery, glanced up at him +and back to his game. There was no "lookout." A man whom he had not +seen before, deft-fingered and alert, was keeping cases. The +proprietor of the hotel, the three cowboys, and one other man were +playing. + +Familiar with the greater number of common ways of separating oneself +from his money, Conniston was no stranger to the ways of faro. He +watched the fat fingers of the banker as they slipped card after card +from the box, and smiled to himself at the fellow's slowness. And +before half a dozen plays were made his smile was succeeded by a +little shock of surprise. It certainly did not do to judge people out +here in a flash and by external signs. What seemed awkwardness a +moment ago was now perfected, automatic skill. + +The hotel man won and lost, his face always inscrutable, tilted +sidewise as he closed one eye against the up-curling smoke from the +cigar which he turned round and round between his pursed lips. He had +in front of him a stack of ten or twelve twenty-dollar gold pieces +which his fingers continually moved and shifted, breaking them into +several smaller stacks, bringing them together again, slipping one +over another, gathering them into one stack, breaking them down again, +so that the golden disks gave out the low musical clink which rose at +all times faint and clear through the few short-spoken words. And +meanwhile his eyes never left the table and the box. + +At the end of the sixth deal he coppered his bet and leaned back to +light a fresh cigar. He stood already a hundred dollars to the good. +One of the cowboys was winning, having taken in something like twenty +or thirty dollars since Conniston came in. The other two were playing +recklessly and with little skill, and were losing steadily. The fifth +man contented himself with small bets. + +Presently the younger of the two cowboys, the fellow whom Conniston +had seen at the store in the afternoon, shoved his last two dollars +and a half onto the table, lost, and got to his feet, shrugging his +shoulders. + +"Cleaned," he grunted, laconically. "Gimme a drink, Smiley." + +He went to the bar with one lingering look behind him. And in another +play or two his companion followed him. + +"No kind of luck, Jimmie," he said to the first to be "cleaned." +"Ain't it sure enough hell how steady a man can lose?" + +"Bein' as my luck took a day off six months ago an' ain't showed up +yet," retorted Jimmie, "I guess I'd ought to had sense to leave +inves'ments like the bank alone. Only I ain't got the gumption. An' +I'm always figgerin' it's about time for my luck to git over her +vacation an' come back to work. How much did you drop, Bart?" + +"Forty bucks," returned Bart, reaching for the whisky-bottle. "Which +same forty was all I had. Here's how." + +"How," repeated his companion. + +"I'm laying you a bet," said Conniston, quietly, coming toward them +from the table. + +Jimmie put down his glass, stared reminiscently at it for a moment, +and then, lifting his eyebrows, turned to Conniston. "Evenin', +stranger. You might have made a remark?" + +"If your luck has been working for other people for six months it's my +bet that it's on the way home to you right now! I don't mean any +offense, and I am not sure of your customs out here. But I'll stake +you to five dollars and take half what you win." + +Jimmie grinned and put out his hand. "Which I call darn good custom, +East _or_ West!" + +For a few minutes it looked as though Conniston's money were going to +retrieve the cowboy's losses. Jimmie had already twenty dollars in +front of him. And then a gambler's "hunch," a staking of everything on +one play, and Jimmie sat back with nothing to do but roll a cigarette. + +"I might have giv' back your fiver a minute ago, but now--" + +He ended by licking his brown cigarette-paper together. But his credit +was good with the bartender, and Conniston and Bart joined him in +having a drink. + +"It looks like my luck had started back toward the home corrals all +right," said Jimmie, with a meditative smile. "Only she wasn't strong +enough to make it all the way. She got weak in the knees an' went to +sleep on the road. Now, if I had a fist full of money--" He sighed the +rest into his glass. + +"If the stranger," put in Bart, studying his own brown paper and +tobacco-sack, "has got any more money he wants to--" + +Conniston laughed. "Much obliged. I think I'll quit with five +to-night." + +Suddenly Jimmie got another of his "hunches." He cast a swift, +apprising glance at Conniston, and then, tugging Bart's sleeve, drew +him to the door. Conniston could hear their voices outside, and, +although he could not catch their words, he knew from the tone that +Jimmie was urging, while Bart demurred. They came back and had another +drink at the bartender's invitation, after which they stepped to the +table and watched the play for five minutes. + +"I'd 'a' won twice runnin'," grunted Jimmie. "We ought to make a try." + +Bart hesitated, watched another play, and said, shortly: "Go to it. +If you can put it across I'm with you." + +Whereupon Jimmie returned to Conniston and made him a proposition. And +ten minutes later, when Conniston went smiling back to the hotel, +Jimmie and Bart were playing again, each with a hundred dollars in +front of him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Roger Hapgood lifted his pale, heavy-lidded eyes from the pages of his +magazine and regarded Conniston with a look from which not all +reproach had yet gone. + +"I hope you've been enjoying yourself in this Eden of yours," he said, +sourly. + +Conniston sent his hat spinning across the room, to lodge behind the +bed, and laughed. + +"You've called the turn, Sobersides! I've been having the time of my +young life. And now all I have to do is sit tight to see--" + +"See--what?" drawled Roger. + +"I've laid a bet, and it's wedged so and hedged so that I win both +ways!" Greek chuckled gleefully at the memory of it. + +"What sort of a bet?" + +"Two hundred dollars!" + +Hapgood put down his magazine and got to his feet, plainly concerned. +"You don't mean that, Greek?" + +"I mean exactly that." Conniston tossed to the bed a small handful of +greenbacks and silver. "This is all that's left to the firm of +Conniston and Hapgood." + +With quick, nervous fingers Hapgood swept up the money and counted it. +His eyes showing the uneasiness within him, he turned to the jubilant +Conniston. + +"There are just twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents. Are you drunk?" + +Conniston giggled, his amusement swelling in pace with Hapgood's +dawning discomfiture. + +"I told you I had made a bet. I have laid a wager with the Fates. And +right now, my dear Roger, while we sit comfortably and smoke and wait, +the Fates are deciding things for us!" + +Roger paused, regarding him. "Yes, you're drunk. If you are not, is it +asking too much to suggest that you explain?" + +"No. I'll explain. At the sign of the local Whisky Barrel there is a +game of faro now in progress. Two very charming young gentlemen, named +Jimmie and Bart, punchers of cattle, whatever that may be, are +deciding things for Roger Hapgood and William Conniston, Junior, of +New York. Each of the amateur gamblers--and they actually do play very +badly, Roger!--has before him a hundred dollars of my money. If they +win to-night I get back two hundred dollars plus half their winnings, +and you and I take the train for San Francisco!" + +"If they win. And if they lose?" + +"We'll take it as a sign that the Fates have decreed that we're not to +go on to the city by the Golden Gate, but tarry here! Both Jimmie and +Bart are provided with saddle-horses, with chaps--chaps, my dear +Roger, are wide, baggy, shaggy, ill-fitting riding-breeches, made, I +believe, out of goat's hide with the hairy side out!--spurs and +quirts--in short, all the necessary paraphernalia and accoutrements of +a couple of knights of the cattle country. If they lose the two +hundred dollars we win the two outfits! And to-morrow, instead of +riding in a Pullman toward San Francisco, we straddle what they call +a hay-burner for the blue rim of mountains in the south!" + +Hapgood stared incredulously, a sort of horror dawning in his pale +little eyes. + +"I suppose this is another of your purposeless jokes," he said, +stiffly, after a moment. + +"Nothing of the kind! Don't you see we win either way? Frankly, I am +persuaded that the two hundred dollars are now winging their way into +the pockets of an apparently awkward dealer with slow fingers, and +into the pockets of our friend the hotel man. But we will get the +horses, and think of the lark--" + +"Lark!" shrilled Hapgood. "A lark--to go wandering off into the +desert--" + +"Not wandering! _Pirutin'_ is the word you want, the real vernacular +of the West. Or _skallyhutin'_! I'm strong for the sound of the latter +myself--" + +"Oh, rot!" broke in Hapgood. "I was a fool to come out here with a +fool like you." + +He turned his back squarely upon Conniston and stood staring out the +little window, biting his thin lips. Conniston stood eying him, and +slowly the smile passed from his face, to be followed by a serious +frown. + +"I thought you'd kick in for the sport of it," he said, after a +moment, his voice quiet and a trifle cold. "You don't have to if you +feel like that about it. You still have your ticket to San Francisco. +You can have half of that twenty-seven dollars. You can sell your +horse if we win the brutes." + +Hapgood had been thinking about that before Conniston spoke. And his +thoughts had gone further. It would not be long, he told himself +shrewdly, before Conniston Senior softened. And then there would be +much money to help spend, many dinners to help eat, much wine to help +drink, a string of glittering functions to attend. And if he broke +with Greek now-- + +"See here, Greek," he said, affably, forcing a smile. "What's the use +of this nonsense? Why not slip your father a wire now. He'll come +across. And then we can go on as we had intended and--" + +"Nothing doing." For once Conniston was stubborn. "I'm going on with +this thing. If those horses come to us I am going to start early in +the morning for the mountains to see what I can see. You can do as you +please." + +Hapgood glanced at him quickly, and, despite the wrath boiling up +within him, the shrewder side of his nature prompted a peaceful +answer. + +"Then I'll go with you. You didn't think that I was the sort of a +fellow to go back on you now, did you? We'll see this thing through +together." + +Conniston put out his hand impulsively, ashamed of having misjudged +his friend. + +Long before midnight Jimmie left the saloon and crept away to the +stable to stroke the soft nose of a restive cow-pony, and to swear +soft, endearing curses of eternal farewell. Not long afterward he had +the satisfaction of seeing his fellow-cowboy steal through the +darkness to whisper good-by to his own horse. And in the early dawn +both Jimmie and Bart stood peering out from behind the corner of the +barn at two figures riding rapidly southward into the morning mists. + +That day's ride was a matter never to be forgotten by the two men. +Their muscles were soft from dissipation and long years of idleness. +In particular did Hapgood suffer. He was a slight man to whom nature +had given none of the bigness of body which she had bestowed upon +Conniston. His luxury-loving disposition had made him abjure the +sports which the other at one time and another had enjoyed. He was, +besides, a very poor horseman, while Conniston had ridden a great +deal. To-day his horse--a spirited colt newly broken--was not content +to go straight ahead as Hapgood would have had him, but danced back +and forth across the road, shied at every conceivable opportunity, +threatening constantly to unseat his rider, and jerked at the +restraining, tight-gathered reins until Hapgood's arms ached. + +The sun soon drove away the early mists and beat down upon the two men +mercilessly from a blazingly hot sky. Nowhere was there any shade +except the tiny pools of shadow at the roots of the scrub brush. The +heat, the dry air shimmering over the glowing sands, abetted by the +many high-balls of yesterday, soon engendered a scorching thirst, and +as mile after mile of the treeless desert slipped behind they found no +water. Over and over Hapgood was tempted to turn back. He felt that +his shoulders, from which he had removed his coat, were blistering +under the sharp rays of the sun. At every swinging stride his horse +made he felt the skin being rubbed off of his legs where they rubbed +against the saddle leather. His soft hands were cut by the reins, he +was sore from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. But as +each fresh temptation assailed him a glance at Conniston, riding a few +paces ahead, made him pull himself together. For some day the old man +would relent, and then Roger Hapgood would see that for every agonized +mile now he would be amply repaid. + +And no water would they find until Indian Creek was thirty miles +behind them unless they turned from their way and rode a couple of +miles to the westward where the straggling stream crawled through the +sand. It was as well that they did not know, for the stream, like many +of its kind in the dry parts of the West, ran for the greater part of +its course underground, showing only here and there in a pool, where, +beneath the sand, there was the hard-pan through which the water could +not seep. + +They had left the town behind them at a lope. Now they rode at a walk, +curbing their horses' impatience with tight-drawn reins. They had +thought to have reached the brown hills and shade before the day's +heat was upon them. But now it was already intense, stifling, awaking +from its light doze almost as the sun rolled upward across the low +horizon. + +And now the temptation upon Roger Hapgood, urging him to turn +back--back toward the little town, hateful yesterday, but spelling now +at least the courtyard to comfort--was so strong that he would not +have had strength to resist had he not realized that the ride back +would be longer than the ride on to water. He made no answer to +Conniston's sallies, but, sullenly silent, clung to his reins with one +hand, to the horn of his saddle with the other, lifting his head now +and again to gaze with red-rimmed eyes ahead along the dusty, flat +stretch of the desert, for the most part head down, the picture of +misery. + +Conniston, feeling the heat riotous in his own veins, feeling the ache +of fatigued muscles, felt a sudden pity for Hapgood. And still, even +through his own discomfort, there laughed always a certain something +in his buoyant nature which saw the humorous in the adventure. + +It was late in the forenoon when they saw a clump of green willows, +and ten minutes later came to a roadside spring and watering-trough. +Hapgood threw an aching leg over the horn of his saddle and slipped +stiffly to the ground. Conniston dismounted after him, holding the two +horses' reins as they thrust their dry muzzles deep into the clear +water. Hapgood, applying his mouth to the pipe from which the water +ran into the trough, drank long and thirstily, and then, dragging his +feet heavily, went to the clump of willows and dropped to the ground +in their shade. + +"We've done thirty miles, anyway," said Conniston, cheerily, when he, +too, had drunk. "Twenty miles farther to the hills, and--" + +Hapgood, his head between his hands, groaned. + +"Twenty miles farther and I'll be dead. I couldn't eat any of that +infernal mess last night, and I couldn't eat beefsteak and mashed +potatoes this morning. And I've got pains through me now in a dozen +places. I wish--" + +He broke off suddenly. There was little use to tell what he wished: a +cool club-room on Broadway; a deep, soft leather chair; a waiter to +bring him delicate dishes and cool drinks. + +For an hour they sat in the shade resting. Then Conniston got to his +feet and threw his reins over his horse's head. + +"Come on, Roger," he said, quietly, the unusual gentleness of his tone +showing the pity he felt. "We can't stay here all day." + +Hapgood rose wordlessly and walked stiffly to his horse. He cursed it +roundly when it jerked back from him, and for five minutes he strove +to mount. The animal, high strung and restless, was frightened, first +at his lunging gait, then at his loud, angry voice, and jerked away +from him each time that he tried to get his foot into the stirrup. But +at last, with the aid of Conniston, who rode his own horse close to +the other, preventing its turning, Hapgood climbed into the saddle. +And again in silence they pushed on toward the hills. + +It took them five hours to do the twenty miles lying between the +watering-trough and the edge of the hills. A large part of the last +ten miles Hapgood did on foot, leading his astonished horse. And often +he stopped to rest, squatting or lying full length on the ground. It +was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when at last they came to the +second spring by the roadside. And here Hapgood sank down wearily, +muttering colorlessly that he could not and would not go a step +farther. And they were still forty miles to the nearest cabin and bed. + +Conniston unsaddled the two horses, watered them, and staked them out +to crop the short, dry grass. And then he stood by the spring, smoking +and frowning at the barren brown hills. They had had nothing to eat +since early morning; they had not thought to bring any lunch with +them. And now if they spent the night here it would be close upon noon +on the next day before they could hope to find food. He looked +covertly at his friend, only to see him sprawled on the ground, his +head laid across his arm. + +"Poor old Roger," he muttered to himself. "This is pretty hard lines. +And a night out here on the ground--" + +He determined to wait until the cool of the evening and then to +persuade Hapgood to ride with him across the hills. It would be hard, +but it seemed not only best, but almost the only way. So Conniston +filled his pipe, thought longingly of the cigarettes he had left in +his suit-case at the hotel, and, lying down near Hapgood, smoked and +dozed in the warm stillness. + +An hour passed. The shadow of the scrub-oak under which they had +thrown themselves was a long blot across the sand. About them +everything was drowsy and sleepy and still. Conniston, turning upon +his side, his pipe dropping dead from between his teeth, saw that +Hapgood was asleep. He lay back, looking upward through the still +branches of the oak, his spirit heavy with the heaviness of nature +about him. And musing idly upon the new scenes his exile had already +brought him, musing on a pair of gray eyes, Conniston himself went to +sleep. + +The sun was low down in the western sky, dropping swiftly to the +clear-cut line of the horizon, the air growing misty with the coming +night, the sunset sky glowing gold and flaming crimson, when Conniston +awoke. He sat up rubbing his eyes, at first at a loss to account for +his surroundings. Then he saw Hapgood sprawled at his side and +remembered. And then, too, he saw what it was that had awakened him. + +A man in a buckboard drawn by two sweating horses was looking +curiously at him while his horses drank noisily at the trough. He was +an unmistakable son of the West, bronzed and lean and quick-eyed. The +long hair escaping from under his battered gray hat vied with his long +drooping mustache in color, and they both challenged the flaming +crimson of the sunset. Conniston told himself that he had never seen +hair one-half so fiery or eyes approaching the brilliant blueness of +this man's. And he told himself, too, that he had never been gladder +to see a fellow human being. For the horses were headed toward the +hills in the south. + +"How are you?" Conniston cried, scrambling to his feet and striding +with heavy feet to the buckboard. + +"Howdy, stranger?" answered the red-headed man, his voice strangely +low-toned and gentle. + +"My name's Conniston," went on the young man, putting out a hand which +the other took after eying him keenly. + +"Real nice name," replied the red-headed man. And dropping Conniston's +hand and turning to his horses, "Hey there, Lady! Quit that blowin' +bubbles an' drink, or I'll pull your ol' head off'n you!" + +Lady seemed to have understood, and thrust her nose deeper into the +water. And the new-comer, catching his reins between his knees, took +papers and tobacco from the pocket of a sagging, unbuttoned vest and +made a cigarette. Licking the paper as a final touch, his eyes went to +Hapgood. + +"Pardner sick or something?" + +"No. Just fagged out. We came all the way from Indian Creek since +morning." + +"That's real far, ain't it?" remarked the man in the buckboard, with a +little twitch to the corner of his mouth, but much deep gravity in his +eye. "Which way you goin', stranger?" + +"We're going across the hills into the Half Moon country. It's forty +miles farther, they tell me." + +"Uh-uh. That's what they call it. An' a darn long forty mile, or I'll +put in with you." + +"And," Conniston hurried on, "if you are going--You are going the same +way, aren't you?" + +"Sure. I'm goin' right straight to the Half Moon corrals." + +"Then would you mind if my friend rode with you? I'll pay whatever is +right." + +The other eyed him strangely. "I reckon you're from the East, maybe? +Huh?" + +"Yes. From New York." + +"Uh-uh. I thought so. Well, stranger, we won't quarrel none over the +payin', an' your frien' can pile in with me." + +Conniston turned, murmuring his thanks, to where Hapgood now was +sitting up. And the red-headed man climbed down from his seat and +began to unhitch his horses. + +"You needn't git your frien' up jest now in case he ain't finished his +siesta. We won't move on until mornin'." + +"Where are you going to sleep?" Hapgood wanted to know. + +"I had sorta planned some on sleepin' right here." + +"Right here! You don't sleep on the ground?" + +The red-headed man, drawing serenely at his cigarette, went about +unharnessing his horses. + +"Bein' as how I ain't et for some right smart time," he was saying as +he came back from staking out his horses, "I'm goin' to chaw real +soon. Has you gents et yet?" + +They assured him that they had not. + +"Then if you've got any chuck you want to warm up you can sling it in +my fryin'-pan." He dragged a soap-box to the tail end of the buckboard +and began taking out several packages. + +"We didn't bring anything with us," Conniston told him. "We didn't +think--" + +The new-comer dropped his frying-pan, put his two hands on his hips, +and stared at them. "You ain't sayin' you started out for the Half +Moon, which is close on a hundred mile, an' never took nothin' along +to chaw!" + +Conniston nodded. The red-headed man stared at them a minute, +scratched his head, removing his hat to do so, and then burst out: + +"Which I go on record sayin' folks all the way from Noo York has got +some funny ways of doin' business. Bein' as you've slipped me your +name, frien'ly like, stranger, I don't min' swappin' with you. It's +Pete, an' folks calls me Lonesome Pete, mos'ly. An' you can tell +anybody you see that Lonesome Pete, cow-puncher from the Half Moon, +has made up his min' at las' as how he ain't never goin' any nearer +Noo York than the devil drives him." + +He scratched his head again, put on his hat, and reached once more for +his frying-pan. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Lonesome Pete dragged from the buckboard a couple of much-worn quilts, +a careful examination of which hinted that they had once upon a time +been gay and gaudy with brilliant red and green patterns. Now they +were an astonishing congregation of lumps where the cotton had +succeeded in getting itself rolled into balls and of depressions where +the cotton had fled. Light and air had little difficulty in passing +through. Lonesome Pete jerked off the piece of rope which had held +them in a roll and flung them to the ground, directing toward Hapgood +a glance which was an invitation. And Hapgood, the fastidious, lay +down. + +The red-headed man dumped a strange mess out of a square pasteboard +box into his frying-pan and set it upon some coals which he had +scraped out of his little fire. There was dried beef in that mess, and +onions and carrots and potatoes, and they had all been cooked up +together, needing only to be warmed over now. The odor of them went +abroad over the land and assailed Hapgood's nostrils. And Hapgood did +not frown, nor yet did he sneer. He lifted himself upon an elbow and +watched with something of real interest in his eyes. And when black +coffee was made in a blacker, spoutless, battered, dirty-looking +coffee-pot Roger Hapgood put out a hand, uninvited, for the tin cup. + +Conniston, his appetite being a shade further removed from starvation +than his friend's, divided his interest equally between the meal and +the man preparing it. He found his host an anomaly. In spite of the +fiery coloring of mustache and hair he was one of the meekest-looking +individuals Conniston had ever seen, and certainly the most +soft-spoken. His eyes had a way of losing their brightness as he fell +to staring away into vacancy, his lips working as though he were +repeating a prayer over and over to himself. The growth upon his upper +lip had at first given him the air of a man of thirty, and now when +one looked at him it was certain he could not be a day over twenty. +And about his hips, dragging so low and fitting so loosely that +Conniston had always the uncomfortable sensation that it was going to +slip down about his feet, he wore a cartridge-belt and two heavy +forty-five revolvers. He gave one the feeling of a cherub with a +war-club. + +During the scanty meal Lonesome Pete ate noisily and rapidly and spoke +little, contenting himself with short answers to the few questions +which were put to him, for the most part staring away into the +gathering night with an expression of great mildness upon his face. +Finishing some little time before his guests, he rolled a cigarette, +left them to polish out the frying-pan with the last morsels of bread, +and, going back to the buckboard, fumbled a moment in a second +soap-box under the seat. It was growing so dark now that, while they +could see him take two or three articles from his box and thrust them +under his arm, they could not make out what the things were. But in +another moment he had lighted the lantern which had swung under the +buckboard and was squatting cross-legged in the sand, the lantern on +the ground at his side. And then, as he bent low over the things in +his hand, they saw that they were three books and that Lonesome Pete +was applying himself diligently to them. + +He opened them all, one after the other, turned many pages, stopping +now and then to bend closer to look at a picture and decipher +painstakingly the legend inscribed under it. Finally, after perhaps +ten minutes of this kind of examination, he laid two of them beside +him, grasped the other firmly with both awkward hands and began to +read. They knew that he was reading, for now and again his droning +voice came to them as he struggled with a word of some difficulty. + +Hapgood smoked his last cigarette; Conniston puffed at his pipe. At +the end of ten minutes Lonesome Pete had turned a page, the rustling +of the leaves accompanied by a deep sigh. Then he laid his book, open, +across his knee, made another cigarette, lighted it, and, after a +glance toward Conniston and Hapgood, spoke softly. + +"You gents reads, I reckon? Huh?" + +"Yes. A little," Conniston told him; while Hapgood, being somewhat +strengthened by his rest and his meal, grunted. + +"After a man gets the swing of it, sorta, it ain't always such hard +work?" + +"No, it isn't such hard work after a while." + +Lonesome Pete nodded slowly and many times. + +"It's jest like anything else, ain't it, when you get used to it? Jest +as easy as ropin' a cow brute or ridin' a bronco hoss?" + +Conniston told him that he was right. + +"But what gits me," Lonesome Pete went on, closing his book and +marking the place with a big thumb, "is knowin' words that comes +stampedin' in on you onexpected like. When a man sees a cow brute or +a hoss or a mule as he ain't never clapped his peepers on he knows the +brute right away. He says, 'That's a Half Moon,' or, 'It's a Bar +Circle,' or 'It's a U Seven.' 'Cause why? 'Cause she's got a bran' as +a man can make out. But these here words"--he shook his head as he +opened his book and peered into it--"they ain't got no bran'. Ain't it +hell, stranger?" + +"What's the word, Pete," smiled Conniston. + +"She ain't so big an' long as bothers me," Lonesome Pete answered. +"It's jest she's so darn peculiar-lookin'. It soun's like it might be +_izzles_, but what's _izzles_? You spell it i-s-l-e-s. Did you ever +happen to run acrost that there word, stranger?" + +Conniston told him what the word was, and Lonesome Pete's softly +breathed curse was eloquent of gratitude, amazement, and a certain +deep admiration that those five letters could spell a little island. + +"The nex' line is clean over my head, though," he went on, after a +moment of frowning concentration. + +Conniston got to his feet and went to where the reader sat, stooping +to look over his shoulder. The book was "Macbeth." He picked up the +two volumes upon the ground. They were old, much worn, much torn, +their backs long ago lost in some second-hand book-store. One of them +was a copy of Lamb's _Essays_, the other a state series second reader. + +"Quite an assortment," was the only thing he could think to say. + +Lonesome Pete nodded complacently. "I got 'em off'n ol' Sam Bristow. +You don't happen to know Sam, do you, stranger?" + +Conniston shook his head. Lonesome Pete went on to enlighten him. + +"Sam Bristow is about the eddicatedest man this side San Francisco, I +reckon. He's got a store over to Rocky Bend. Ever been there?" + +Again Conniston shook his head, and again Lonesome Pete explained: + +"Rocky Bend is a right smart city, more'n four times as big as Injun +Creek. It's a hundred mile t'other side Injun Creek, makin' it a +hundred an' fifty mile from here. In his store he's got a lot of +books. I went over there to make my buy, an' I don't mind tellin' you, +stranger, I sure hit a bargain. I got them three books an nine more as +is in that box under the seat, makin' an even dozen, an' ol' Sam let +the bunch go for fourteen dollars. I reckon he was short of cash, +huh?" + +Since the books at a second-hand store should have been worth about +ninety cents, Conniston made no answer. Instead he picked up the +dog-eared volume of "Macbeth." + +"How did you happen to pick out this?" he asked, curiously. + +"I knowed the jasper as wrote it." + +Conniston gasped. Lonesome Pete evidently taking the gasp as prompted +by a deep awe that he should know a man who wrote books, smiled +broadly and went on: + +"Yes, suh. I'm real sure I knowed him. You see, I was workin' a couple +er years ago for the Triangle Bar outfit. Young Jeff Comstock, the ol' +man's son, he used to hang out in the East. An' he had a feller +visitin' him. That feller's name was Bill, an' he was out here to git +the dope so's he could write books about the cattle country. I reckon +his las' name was the same as the Bill as wrote this. I don't know no +other Bills as writes books, do you, stranger?" + +Conniston evaded. "Are you sure it's about the cattle country?" + +"It sorta sounds like it, an' then it don't. You see it begins in a +desert place. That goes all right. But I ain't sure I git jest what +this here firs' page is drivin' at. It's about three witches, an' they +don't say much as a man can tie to. I jest got to where there's +something about a fight, an' I guess he jest throwed the witches in, +extry. Here it says as they wear chaps. That oughta settle it, huh?" + +There was the line, half hidden by Lonesome Pete's horny forefinger. +"_He unseamed him from the nave to the chaps!_" That certainly settled +it as far as Lonesome Pete was concerned. Macbeth was a cattle-king, +and Bill Shakespeare was the young fellow who had visited the Triangle +Bar. + +Thoughtfully he put his books away in the box, which he covered with a +sack and which he pushed back under the seat. Then he looked to his +horses, saw that they had plenty of grass within the radius of +tie-rope, and after that came back to where Hapgood lay. + +"I reckon you can git along with one of them blankets, stranger. You +two fellers can have it, an' I'll make out with the other." + +Hapgood moved and groaned as he put his weight on a sore muscle. + +"The ground will be d----d hard with just one blanket," he growled. + +Lonesome Pete, his two hands upon his hips, stood looking down at him, +the far-away look stealing back into his eyes. + +"I hadn't thought of that. But I reckon I can make one do, all right." + +Whereupon without more ado and with the same abstracted gleam in his +eyes he stooped swiftly and jerked one of the quilts out from under +the astonished Hapgood. + +The man who had traveled from the Half Moon one hundred and ninety +miles to spend fourteen dollars for a soap-box half full of books was +awake the next morning before sunrise. Conniston and Hapgood didn't +open an eye until he called to them. Then they looked up from their +quilt to see him standing over them pulling thoughtfully at the ends +of his red mustache, his face devoid of expression. + +"I'll have some chuck ready in about three minutes," he told them, +quietly. "An' we'll be gittin' a start." + +"In the middle of the night!" expostulated Hapgood, his words all but +lost in a yawn. + +"I ain't got my clock along this trip, stranger. But I reckon if we +want to git acrost them hills before it gits hot we'll be travelin' +real soon. Leastways," as he turned and went back to squat over the +little fire he had blazing merrily near the watering-trough, "I'm +goin' to dig out in about twenty minutes." + +Hapgood, remembering the ride of yesterday, scrambled to his feet even +before Conniston. And the two young men, having washed their faces and +hands at the pipe which discharged its cold stream into the trough, +joined the Half Moon man. + +He had already fried bacon, and now was cooking some flapjacks in the +grease which he had carefully saved. The coffee was bubbling away +gaily, sending its aroma far and wide upon the whispering morning +breeze. The skies were still dark, their stars not yet gone from them. +Only the faintest of dim, uncertain lights in the horizon told where +the east was and where before long the sun would roll up above the +floor of the desert. The horses, already hitched to the buckboard, +were vague blots in the darkness about them. + +They ate in silence, the two Easterners too tired and sleepy to talk, +Lonesome Pete evidently too abstracted. And when the short meal was +over it was Lonesome Pete who cleaned out the few cooking-utensils and +stored them away in the buckboard while Conniston and Hapgood smoked +their pipes. It was Lonesome Pete who got his two quilts, rolled, +tied, and put them with the box of utensils. And then, making a +cigarette, he climbed to his seat. + +"An' now if one of you gents figgers on ridin' along with me--" + +"I do!" cried Hapgood, quickly. And he hastened to the buckboard, +taking his seat at the other's side. + +"I thought you had a hoss somewheres! An' your saddle?" continued +Lonesome Pete. + +"I thought that while you were getting your horses--Didn't you saddle +him?" + +For a moment Lonesome Pete made no answer. He drew a deep breath as he +gathered in his reins tightly. And then he spoke very softly. + +"Now, ain't I sure a forgetful ol' son of a gun! I did manage to +rec'lec' to make a fire an' git breakfas' an' hitch up my hosses an' +clean up after breakfas' an' put the beddin' in--but would you believe +I clean forgot to saddle up for you!" + +He laughed as softly as he had spoken. Hapgood glanced at him quickly, +but the cowboy's face was lost in the black shadow of his low-drawn +hat. Hapgood got down and saddled his own horse, and it was Hapgood +who, riding with Lonesome Pete, led a stubborn animal that jerked back +until both of Hapgood's arms were sore in their sockets. Lonesome +Pete, the forgetful, remembered after an hour or two of quiet +enjoyment to tell the tenderfoot that he could tie the rope to the +buckboard instead of holding it. For the first hour Hapgood was, +consequently, altogether too busy even to try to see the country about +him, and Conniston, riding behind, could make out little in the +darkness. The one thing of which he could be sure was that they were +leaving the floor of the desert behind, that they were climbing a +steep, narrow road which wound ever higher and higher in the hills. +Then finally the day broke, and he could see that they were already +deep in the brown hills which he had seen from Indian Creek. There was +scant vegetation, a few scattered, twisted, dwarfed trees, with +patches of brush in the ravines and hollows. Nowhere water, nowhere a +sprig of green grass. As in the flat land below here, there was only +barrenness and desolation and solitude. + +As had been the case yesterday, so now to-day when the sun shot +suddenly into the sky the heat came with it. But already the three +travelers had climbed to the top of the hills where Pocket Pass led +across the uplands and were once more dropping down toward a gray +level floor. On a narrow bit of bench land, where for a space the +country road ran level, lined with ruts, gouged with uncomfortable +frequency into dust-concealed chuck-holes, Lonesome Pete pulled in his +horses and waited for Conniston to ride up to his side. + +"In case you've got a sorta interest in the country we're goin' to +drop down in," he said, as he took advantage of the stop to roll a +cigarette, "you might jest take a look from here. This is what they +call Pocket Pass as we jest rode through. An' from this en' you can +see purty much everything as is worth seein' in this country an' a +whole hell of a lot as ain't." He made a wide sweep with his arm, +pointing southward and downward. "That there's where we're headed +for." + +"And that's the Half Moon!" Conniston was eager, as he saw at a glance +how the range got its name. + +The hills fell away even more abruptly here than they did in the +north, cut so often into straight, stratified brown cliffs of +crumbling dirt that Conniston wondered how and where the road could +find a way out and down into the lower land. They swept away, both +east and west, in a wide curve, roughly resembling a half moon. Toward +the east, perhaps twenty-five miles from where Conniston sat upon his +horse, the distant mountains sent out two far-reaching spurs of +pine-clad ridges between which lay Rattlesnake Valley. Due south, as +Lonesome Pete's outstretched finger indicated, lay the road which they +were to follow and the headquarters of the Half Moon. There again a +thickly timbered spur of the mountains ran down into the plain on each +side of a deeply cleft caņon from which Lonesome Pete told them that +Indian Creek issued, and in which were the main corrals and the range +house of the Half Moon. + +"Which is sure the finest up-an'-down cow-country I ever see," he +added, by way of rounding off his information. "Bein' well watered by +that same crick, an' havin' good feed both in the Big Flat, as folks +calls that country down below us, an' in the foothills. Rattlesnake +Valley, over yonder, ain't never been good for much exceptin' the +finest breed of serpents an' horn-toads a man ever see outside a +circus or the jimjams. There ain't nothin' as 'll grow there outside +them animals. The ol' man's workin' over there now, tryin' to throw +water on it an' make things grow. The ol' man," he ended, shaking his +head dubiously, "has put acrost some big jobs, but I reckon he's sorta +up against it this trip." + +"Reclamation work," nodded Conniston. + +"That's what some folks calls it. Others calls it plumb foolishness. +Git up, there, Lady! Stan' aroun', you pinto hoss!" + +An hour more of winding in and out, back and forth, along the narrow +grade cut into the sides of the hills, just wide enough for one team +at the time, with here and there a wider place where wagons might meet +and pass, and they were down in the Half Moon country. The cowboy let +his horses out into a swinging trot; Conniston followed just far +enough behind to escape their dust; and the miles slipped swiftly +behind them. + +They had crossed the floor of the lower Half Moon and were moving up a +gentle slope leading along the spur of the mountains to the right of +Indian Creek when they met one of the Half Moon cowboys driving a +small band of saddle-horses ahead of him. Lonesome Pete stopped for a +word with him, and Conniston, seeing the road plain ahead, rode on +alone. A mile farther and he had entered the forest of pines through +which the road lay, winding and twisting to avoid the boles of the +larger trees or the big scattered boulders which were many upon the +steepening slope. Now he could seldom see more than a hundred yards in +front of him, and now he had left the stifling heat behind him for the +cool shadows which made a dim twilight of midday. + +Two miles of this pleasant shade, fragrant with the spicy balsam of +the forest, and the road began to turn to the left, across the spine +of the ridge and into the deep ravine. Presently he heard the bawling +of the stream somewhere through the undergrowth below him, its gurgle +and clatter making merry music with the swish of the stirring +pine-tops. And suddenly, as he made a sharp turn, he drew in his horse +with a little exclamation of surprise. + +Here the road plunged abruptly downward and across the rocky bed of +Indian Creek. Just above the crossing, so near that a passing vehicle +must be sprinkled with the spray of its headlong leaping waters, was a +waterfall flashing in white and crystal down a cliff of black rock ten +feet high. On either side the stately pine-trees, their lowest limbs +forty feet above the ground, marched in patriarchal dignity to the +edge of the stream. And above the waterfall, farther back between the +jaws of the ravine, Conniston could see the red-tiled roofing and +snow-white towers of such a house as he had never dreamed of finding +lost in the Western wilderness. + +He rode on down into the stream and across. Upon the other side the +road again ran on into the caņon, climbing twenty feet up a gradual +slope. And here upon the top of the bank Conniston again drew in his +reins with a jerk, again surprised at what he saw before him. + +Here was a long, wide bench of land which had been carefully leveled. +Through the middle of it ran the creek. Feeding the waterfall was a +dam, its banks steep, its floor, seen through the clear water, white +sand. And it was more than a dam; it was a tiny mountain lake. A +drifting armada of spotlessly white ducks turned their round, yellow +eyes upon the trespasser. Over yonder a wide flight of stone steps +led to the water's edge. And the flat table-land, bordered with a +dense wall of pines and firs, was a great lawn, brilliantly green, +thick strewn with roses and geraniums and a riot of bright-hued +flowers Conniston did not know. + +He turned his eyes to the house itself. It was a great, two-storied, +wide-verandaed building, with spacious doors, deep-curtained windows, +a tower rising above the red tiles of the roof at each corner, +everywhere the gleam of white columns. Each tower had its balconies, +and each balcony was guessed more than seen through the green and red +and white of clambering roses. + +Midway between the broad front steps and the edge of the little toy +lake was a summer-house grown over with vines, its broad doorway +opening toward Conniston. And sitting within its shade, a book in her +lap, her gray eyes raised gravely to meet his, was the girl he had +seen on the Overland Limited. Conniston rode along a graveled walk +toward her, his hat in his hand. + +"Good morning," she said, as he drew in his horse near her. "Won't you +get down?" + +"Good morning." + +He swung to the ground with no further invitation, his horse's reins +over his arm. + +His eyes were as grave as hers, and he was glad, glad that he had +ridden here through the desert. + +"You came to see my father?" + +Conniston colored slightly. Why had he come? What was he going to do +now that he was here? How should he seek to explain? He hesitated a +moment, and then answered, slowly: + +"I am afraid that my reasons for coming at all are too complicated to +be told. You see, we just got off the train in Indian Creek out of +idle curiosity to see what the desert country was like. We're from New +York. And then we rode out toward the hills. One of your father's men +overtook us there, and, as he was coming this way and as we were +anxious to see the cattle-country and--" he broke off, smiling. "You +see, it is hard to make it sound sensible. We just came!" + +She looked up at him, a little puzzled frown in her eyes. + +"You have friends with you?" + +"One friend. He was pretty well tuckered out, and the red-headed +gentleman who calls himself Lonesome Pete is bringing him along in his +buckboard." + +"And you have no business at all out here?" + +"I _had_ none," he retorted. + +"You don't know father?" + +"I am sorry that I don't." + +"You are going on to Crawfordsville?" + +"I don't know where Crawfordsville is. Is it the nearest town?" + +"Yes." + +"Since I don't see how we can stay here, I suppose we'll go on to +Crawfordsville, then. That would be the best way, wouldn't it?" + +"Really," she replied, quietly, "I don't see that I am in a position +to advise. If you haven't any business with my father--" + +Then the buckboard drove up, and Greek Conniston devoutly wished that +he had left Roger Hapgood behind. And when he saw the radiant smile +which lightened the girl's gray eyes as they rested upon Lonesome +Pete and took notice of the wide, sweeping flourish with which the +cowboy's hat was lifted to her, he wished that the red-headed student +of Shakespeare was with Hapgood on Broadway. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Roger Hapgood, the stiff soreness of yesterday only aggravated by the +cramp which had stolen into his legs during the ride of to-day, +climbed down from the buckboard and limped across the lawn to where +Conniston stood. + +"I say, Greek," he was growling, as he trudged forward, "what fool +thing are you going to do next?" He stopped suddenly, in his surprise +forgetting to shut his mouth. The same eyes which had laughed up into +his when she offered him ten cents as a tip were laughing into them +now. He dragged his hat from his head, stammering. + +"Miss Crawford--for you are Miss Crawford, aren't you?" began +Conniston. + +She nodded. + +"I should have introduced myself. I am William Conniston, Junior, son +of William Conniston, Senior, as one might guess. This is my friend, +Mr. Hapgood." + +The girl inclined her head very slightly and turned toward Conniston. + +"If you have come all the way from the hills this morning," she was +saying, "and if you plan to go on to Crawfordsville, you will want to +rest until the cool of the evening. We have eleven-o'clock luncheon in +summer, and have already eaten. But if you will come in I think that +we can find something. And, anyway, you can rest until evening. If +you are not in a hurry to go right on?" + +"We have all the time in the world!" Conniston hastened to assure her. +And Hapgood of the aching muscles added fervently, "If it's more than +a mile to Crawfordsville, I've got to rest awhile!" + +"It is something more than that." She rose and moved toward the house. +"Through the short cut straight back into the mountains it's twenty." + +Lonesome Pete was turning to drive toward a gap in the encircling +trees when the girl called to him to take Conniston's horse. And then +the three went to the house. + +The flight of steps led them to a wide veranda, eloquent of comfort +with its deep wicker rockers and hammocks piled temptingly with +cushions. Then came the wide double doors, and, within, a long, +high-ceilinged room whose appointment in every detail spoke of wealth +and taste and the hand of a lavish spender. And into this background +the slender form of the girl in the close-fitting, becoming gown +entered as harmoniously as it had the other day when clad in khaki and +against a background of limitless desert. + +The floor here was of hard wood, polished until it shone dully like a +mirror in a shaded room. No rugs save the two great bear-skins, one +black, the other white; no pictures beyond the one great painting +against the farther wall. There was a fire-place, wide and deep and +rock-bound. And yonder, a dull gleam as of ebony, a grand piano. +Leather chairs, all elegant, soft, luxurious. + +She would leave them here, she said, smiling, and see if there was +anything left to eat. And while they marveled at finding the splendid +comfort of Fifth Avenue here on the far rim of the desert, a little +Japanese boy in snowy linen bowed himself in to them and invited them +to follow. They went down a long hallway after his softly pattering +footsteps and were shown into a large airy bath-room, with a glimpse +beyond of a cozy sitting-room. + +"You wish prepare for luncheon, honorable sirs," said the boy, his +teeth and eyes shining in one flash. "You find rest-room there. I call +for you. Anything?" + +Conniston told him that there was nothing further required, and he +withdrew, stepping backward as from royalty, bowing deeply. + +"Here's where I lose about half of the desert I've been carrying +around with me," muttered Hapgood. "The Lord knows when we'll see +another tub!" + +Luxury of luxuries! The bath-room was immaculate in white tiling, the +tub shone resplendently white, and there was steaming-hot water! +Conniston, having strolled into the "rest-room," where he found a deep +leather chair with a table close to its elbow decorated simply but +none the less effectively with a decanter of whisky and a silver box +containing cigarettes, leaned back, enjoying himself and the sound of +the splashing in the bath-room. + +Once more in familiar and comfortable environment, even Hapgood for +the moment forgot to be miserable, and as he smoked a good cigarette +and watched the water running into the tub now and then hummed a +Broadway air. As for Conniston, his serene good nature under most +circumstances, his greatest asset in the small frays he had had with +the world, was untroubled by a spot. + +"How do you like the West, Roger?" he called, banteringly. + +"Something like, eh, Greek?" Hapgood laughed back. "Do you know, I +believe I'll stay! And the dame, isn't she some class, eh?" + +He finished his bath finally, and at last emerged, half dressed, to +lounge in the big chair while his friend took his plunge. He heard +Conniston singing to the obligato of the running water, and, with eyes +half closed, leaned back and watched his smoke swirl ceilingward. +Presently the bath-room door opened again, and he saw Conniston, his +trousers in his hand, standing in the doorway, grinning as though at +some rare laughter-provoking thought. + +"Well, old man," Hapgood smiled back at him, "whence the mirth?" + +Conniston chuckled gleefully. + +"Another joke, Roger, my boy! I wonder when the Fates are going to +drop us in order to give their undivided attention to some other lucky +mortals? You know that twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents?" + +"Well?" + +"I've lost it!" Conniston laughed outright as his ready imagination +depicted amusing complications ahead. "Every blamed cent of it!" + +"What!" Hapgood was upon his feet, staring. Hapgood's complacency was +a thing of the past. + +Conniston nodded, his grin still with him. + +"Every cent of it! And here we are the Lord knows how far from home--" + +"Have you looked through all your pockets?" + +"Every one. And I found--" + +"What?" + +"A hole," chuckled Conniston. "Just a hole, and nothing more." + +Hapgood jerked the trousers from the shaking hand of the man whom +such a catastrophe could move to laughter, and made a hurried search. + +"What the devil are we going to do?" he gasped, when there was at last +no doubting the truth. + +Conniston shrugged. "I haven't had time to figure out that part of it. +Haven't you any money?" + +"About seven dollars," snapped Hapgood. "And a long time that will +keep the two of us. It's up to you, Greek!" + +"Meaning?" + +"Meaning that you've got to wire your dad for money. There's nothing +left to do. Dang it!" he finished, bitterly, throwing the empty +trousers back to Conniston, "I was a fool to ever come with you." + +"You've said that before. But"--his good humor still tickled by his +loss, which he refused to take seriously in spite of the drawn face +staring into his--"I haven't even the money to wire the old gent!" + +"Oh, I'll pay for it." + +"I didn't want to do it so soon," Conniston hesitated. "But it begins +to look as though--" + +"There's nothing to it. You've got to do it! Why, man, do you realize +what a confounded mess you've got us into?" + +Conniston went back into the bath-room rather seriously. But a moment +later Hapgood heard him chuckling again. + +The Japanese boy came to summon them, and they followed him, once more +clean and feeling respectable, into a cozy little breakfast-room where +their hostess was waiting for them. And over their cold meat, tinned +fruits and vegetables, and fresh milk Conniston told her of their +misfortune. She laughed with him at his account of the winning of the +two horses and seemed disposed to indorse his careless view of the +whole episode rather than Hapgood's pessimistic outlook. + +"It's all right, I suppose, since Conniston has a rich father," Roger +admitted, with a sigh. + +She regarded him curiously for a moment. + +"Some men," she said, quietly, "have been known to go to work and make +money for themselves when they needed it." + +Conniston told her of his little friend William, of Indian Creek, +adding, carelessly, "I'm glad I don't have to feel like that." + +"You mean that you had rather have money given to you than to feel +that you had earned it yourself?" + +"Quite naturally, Miss Crawford. My father is William Conniston, +Senior. Maybe you have heard of him?" + +He was proud to be his father's son, to have his own name so +intimately connected with that of a man who was not only a millionaire +many times over, but who was a power in Wall Street and known as such +to the four ends of the earth. + +"Yes. I have heard of him. He made his own money, didn't he? In the +West, too." + +"Yes. A mining expert in the beginning, I believe, and a mine-owner in +the end. Oh, the governor knows how to make the dollars grow, all +right!" + +Again she made no answer. But after a little she said: "If you wish to +wire to your father for money"--and there was just the faintest note +of scorn in her voice--"you needn't wait until you get to +Crawfordsville. We have a telephone, and you can telephone your +message from here." + +"Good!" cried Hapgood, eagerly. "Better do that--and right away, +Greek. There's no use losing time." + +Conniston thanked her, and a moment later, they rose from the table +and stepped to the telephone, which she showed to him in a little +library. When he got Central in Crawfordsville Miss Crawford told the +girl for him to charge all costs to her father and that Mr. Conniston +would pay here for the service. So she took his message and telephoned +it to the Western Union office. + +"You will rush it, will you, please?" asked Conniston. + +"Certainly. And the answer? Shall we telephone it out to you?" + +"No. We'll be in Crawfordsville, and--Wait a moment." To Miss +Crawford: "We may stay here until evening?" + +"Oh, you must. It is too hot now to think of riding." + +"Thank you." And then into the receiver: "If you should get an answer +before seven o'clock, please telephone it to me here." + +Then the three went out to the front porch. They found chairs in the +shade where a welcome little breeze made for cool comfort. Miss +Crawford sat with the men, answering their questions about that wild +country, chatting with them. And there, at her invitation, they sat +and smoked when she left them and went into the house. + +"A charming girl," Hapgood was moved to say enthusiastically. "Really +a charming girl! Who would have thought to find her out here? And say, +Greek"--being confidentially nearer--"her old man must be tremendously +rich, eh? You don't need to think of such things, of course, but take +me--" He paused, and then continued, thoughtfully: "Sooner or later, +old man, it's got to come to one end for Roger Hapgood. And, do you +know, I'm half in love with her already?" + +His verbal enthusiasm in no way imparted itself to young Conniston. So +Roger puffed complacently at his cigarette in thoughtful silence, +rather more than usually well pleased with himself. + +The late afternoon drew on, and the girl had not returned to them. +Conniston looked at his watch and saw that it was half-past five. They +would have to leave within an hour and a half; they could not impose +longer than that. He was hoping that she would spend at least the last +half-hour with them when he heard the door open and looked up quickly, +thinking she was coming. It was the Japanese boy, bowing and smiling. + +"Most honorable sir," looking doubtfully from one of them to the +other, "the telephone would speak with you." + +Conniston sprang to his feet. Hapgood smiled his satisfaction. "The +old gent is as prompt as the very deuce, God bless him!" + +Conniston hurried after the boy into the house, leaving Hapgood +beaming. + +"Mr. Conniston?" the telephone-girl was asking. + +"Yes, I'm Conniston. You have the answer?" + +"Yes. Shall I read it to you?" + +"Please." + +"It's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "But it's paid. It +runs: + + "MY DEAR SON,--Your wire received. Sorry you + misunderstood me. So that you may make no mistakes in the + future I shall be more explicit now. I shall not send you + one single dollar for at least one year from date. If at the + end of that time you have done something for yourself I may + help you. I leave for Europe to-morrow to be gone for a year + on my first vacation. It will do no good for you to + telegraph again. I cannot help you beyond wishing you luck. + You are on your own feet. Walk if you can. + + "Yours, + + "WILLIAM CONNISTON, Senior." + +Conniston leaned limply against the wall, staring into the telephone. + +"Look here!" he cried, after a moment. "There's a mistake somewhere." + +"No mistake. The wire was just brought in from the Western Union +office." + +"But I don't understand--" + +"I'm sorry. Is there anything else?" + +"No. That's all." + +Even Conniston's sanguine temperament was not proof to the shock of +his father's message. He knew his father too well to hope that he +would change his mind now. His eyes showed a troubled anxiety when he +went slowly back to confront Hapgood. + +"Well, what's the good news?" cried Hapgood. And then, when he had +seen Conniston's face, "Gad, man! What's wrong?" + +Conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair. + +"I--I'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "I made a mistake; +that's all." + +"It wasn't your father?" + +"That's the trouble. It was! He refuses to send a dollar. And he's +leaving to-morrow for a year in Europe." + +"What!" yelled Hapgood, leaping to his feet in entire forgetfulness of +his sore muscles. + +"That's it. And when the old man says he'll do a thing he'll do it." + +Hapgood stared at him speechless. And then, his hands driven deep into +his pockets, he began an agitated pacing up and down the porch, his +brows drawn, his eyes squinting as they had the habit of doing when he +was excited. + +"What are we going to do?" he demanded, stopping before Conniston. + +"I wish that somebody would tell me! We have a couple of horses. You +have seven dollars. Maybe," with a faint, forced smile, "we can ride +back to New York!" + +With a disgusted sniff Hapgood left him again to pace restlessly up +and down. And finally, when he again stopped in front of Conniston's +chair, his face was white, his thin lips set bloodlessly. + +"I guess there's only one thing left to us. We'll go on into +Crawfordsville and put up for a day or two while we try to raise some +money. Your seven dollars ought to keep us from starving--" + +"Will you wire your father again?" + +"No. There would be no use. I tell you that when he says he is going +to do a thing that settles it. If I broke both arms and legs now he +wouldn't pay the doctor's bill." + +"Then I'll tell you something, my friend!" The pale little eyes were +glowing, malevolently red. "You've played me for a sucker long enough. +You towed me along out into this cursed West of yours, making me think +all the time that when you got ready to call on your father he'd come +through like a flash. And you knew that he had turned you out for +good. Now I am through with you. Get that? I mean it! And if I have +seven dollars I guess I'll need it myself before I get out of this +pickle you've got me into!" + +Conniston stared at him incredulously. "Come, now, Roger. You don't +mean--" + +"But I do, Mr. William Conniston, fraud! I'm through with you." + +Conniston got to his feet, his own face as white as Hapgood's. + +"You mean what you are saying?" + +"I most certainly and positively do!" + +"And the wire I sent to dad--" + +"You can pay for it if you want to! You don't get a cent out of me." + +Conniston took one stride to him, putting a heavy hand upon Hapgood's +narrow shoulder. + +"You infernal little shrimp!" he cried, hoarsely. "If we weren't +guests here I'd take a holy glee in slapping your face! By the Lord, +I've a mind to do it anyhow!" + +Hapgood jerked back, his arm lifted to shelter his face. And +Conniston, with a short laugh, dropped his hand to his side. As he did +so he saw Miss Crawford was coming toward them through the yard from +the corner of the house. A middle-aged man, heavy and broad-shouldered +and white-haired, was with her. He turned to meet her. + +"Mr. Conniston," she was saying, "this is my father. And, papa, this +is Mr. Hapgood." + +Mr. Crawford came up the steps, giving his hand in a hearty grip to +the two men who came forward to meet him, his voice, deep and grave, +assuring them that he was glad that they had stayed over at his home. +His face was stern, grave like his voice, clean-shaven, and handsome +in a way of manly, independent strength. + +"Argyl tells me," he said, to Conniston, as they all sat down, "that +you are expecting some money by wire. You are leaving us, then, right +away?" + +"I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with him +again. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. There +is nothing doing." + +Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward. + +"He said," went on Conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me a +dollar. You see, he wants me to do something for myself. And," with a +rueful grin, "I am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for my +message--and I haven't ten cents!" + +Mr. Crawford laughed with him. "We won't worry about the dollar just +now, Mr. Conniston. What are you going to do?" + +Conniston scratched his head. "I don't know. I--" And then Argyl's +words came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "Most men +go to work when they're strapped, don't they? I guess I'll go to +work." + +"I don't mean to be too personal, but--are you used to working?" + +"I never did a day's work in my life." + +"Then what can you do?" + +"I don't know. I--you see, I never figured on this. I--I--Do you +happen to know anybody who wants a man?" + +A little flicker of a smile shot across Crawford's face. + +"We're all looking for men--good men--all the time. I can use a +half-dozen more cow-punchers right now. Do you want to try it?" + +Conniston's one glance of the girl's eager face decided him. + +"I've always had a curiosity to know what they did when they punched +the poor brutes," he grinned back. "And I can work out that dollar I +owe you too, can't I?" + +"You're engaged," returned Mr. Crawford, crisply. "Thirty dollars a +month and found. I'll have one of the boys show you where the +bunk-house is. You'll begin work in the morning." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +As the significance of his change of fortunes began slowly to dawn on +him, Conniston was at first merely amused. One of the men employed by +John W. Crawford, a man whom Conniston came to know later as Rawhide +Jones, conducted him at the Old Man's orders to the bunk-house. The +man was lean, tall, sunburned, and the _tout ensemble_ of his +attire--his flapping, soiled vest, his turned-up, dingy-blue overalls, +his torn neck-handkerchief, and, above all, the two-weeks' growth upon +his spare face--gave him an unbelievable air of untidiness. He cast +one slow, measuring glance at the young fellow who Mr. Crawford had +said briefly was to go to work in the morning, and then without a +word, without a further look or waiting to see if he was followed, +slouched on ahead toward the gap in the encircling trees into which +Lonesome Pete had disappeared earlier in the afternoon. + +Conniston saw that Argyl Crawford was standing at her father's side +and that she was smiling; he saw that Hapgood was laughing openly. And +then he turned and strode on after his guide, conscious that the blood +was creeping up into his face and at the same time that he could not +"back down." + +The graveled road wound through the pines for an eighth of a mile, +leaving the bench land and finding its way into a hollow cleared of +trees. Here was a long, low, rambling building--a stable, no doubt. +At each end of the stable was a stock-corral. And at the edge of the +clearing was another building, long and very low, with one single door +and several little square windows. A stove-pipe protruded from the far +end of this house, and from it rose a thin spiral of smoke. + +"The Ol' Man said I was to show you your bunk," Rawhide Jones muttered +under his breath. "You're to have the one as was Benny's. Benny got +kilt some time back." + +He flung the door open and entered. Conniston, at his heels, paused a +moment, staring about him. A man in dingy-blue undershirt, the sleeves +rolled back upon forearms remarkable for their knotting, swelling +muscles, was frying great thick steaks upon the top of the stove, +enveloped in the smoke and odor of his own cooking. In the middle of +the room was a long table, covered with worn oil-cloth, set out with +plates and cups of heavy white ware and with black wooden-handled +knives and forks. Running up and down each side of the one +unpartitioned room were narrow bunks, a row close to the floor, +another row three feet higher, arranged roughly like berths on board a +steamer. + +Sitting on chairs, or on the edges of the bunks with their legs +a-dangle, their eyes interestedly upon the cook's operations, were +half a dozen men, rough of garb, rough of hands, big, brawny, uncouth. +As Conniston came into the room every pair of eyes left the cook to +examine him swiftly, frankly. He paused a moment for the introduction +Rawhide Jones would make. But Rawhide Jones had no idea of doing +anything more than enough to fulfil his orders. He strode on through +the men until he stopped at one of the upper bunks, about the middle +of the room, from which a worn, soiled red quilt trailed half-way to +the floor. + +"This here was Benny's. It's yourn now." + +He had turned away, and, standing with his big hands resting upon his +hips, was watching the cook. And Conniston saw that all of the other +men, seemingly forgetful of his entrance, were again doing the same +thing. He felt suddenly a deep lonesomeness, greater a thousand times +than when he had been actually alone under the spell of the desert. +For here there were men about him who, having seen him, turned away, +shutting him out from them, with no one word of greeting, not so much +as a nod. He was not in the habit of being received this way. It was, +his sensitive nature told him, as though he had been examined by them, +had been recognized as an alien, and had had the doors of their +fraternity clicked in his face. + +He felt a sudden bitterness, a sudden anger. And with it he felt a +deep contempt for them, for their petty, unenlightened lives, their +coarseness, their blackened hands and unshaved faces. He was a +gentleman and a Conniston! He was the son of William Conniston, of +Wall Street! He told himself that when they came to know who he was, +who his father was, their incivility would change fast enough into +servility. + +And still he had as much as he could do to keep the little hurt, the +sting of his reception, from showing in his face. He glanced as +disgustedly as Hapgood could have done into the rude bunk with its +tangled pile of coarse blankets, and turned away from it. For one +fleeting second the temptation was strong upon him to turn his back +upon the lot of them, to stalk proudly to the door, to go to Mr. +Crawford and tell him that he was not used to this sort of thing and +did not intend to try to grow accustomed to it. One thing only +restrained him. He knew that even as he closed the door behind him he +would hear their voices in rude laughter, and Greek Conniston did not +like being laughed at. Instead he left the bunk and walked quietly to +one of the farther chairs. The air of the bunk-house was already thick +with smoke from the stove and from cigarettes and pipes. Conniston +took out his own pipe, filled it, and, sitting back, added his smoke +to the rest. + +The cook had turned to say something to Rawhide Jones, and, carelessly +putting his hand behind him, blistered it against the red-hot top of +the stove, whereupon he burst into such a volley of curses as +Conniston had never heard. The words which streamed from the big man's +mouth actually made Conniston shiver. He turned questioning eyes to +the other men in the room. They were again talking to one another, no +man of them seeming to have so much as heard. Rawhide Jones laughed at +the cook's discomfiture and went back to the door, where he washed his +face and hands at a little basin, plastered his wet hair down as his +companions had already done, and dropped into easy conversation with +the heavy, round-shouldered, yellow-haired man sitting across the room +from Conniston. + +"Looks like the Ol' Man means real business, huh, Spud?" + +Spud answered with a joyous oath that it certainly looked like it. + +"He's puttin' Brayley in on this en' an' takin' ol' Bat Truxton clean +off'n it to throw him onto the Rattlesnake," Spud went on. "Bat 'll +have nigh on a hundred men down there workin' overtime before the +week's up, he says. I guess he'll have his paws full without tryin' to +run the cow en', too." + +"An' I reckon," continued Jones, thoughtfully, "as how Brayley won't +sleep all the time up here. He's got to swing the whole Half Moon an' +the Lone Dog an' the Five Hills an' the Sunk Hole outfit." He shook +his head and spat before he concluded. "What with the Ol' Man buyin' +the Sunk Hole, an' figgerin' on marketin' in Injun Creek, an' crowdin' +work down in the Rattlesnake, Brayley 'll be some busy if he don't +take on another big bunch of punchers. Huh?" + +Spud made no answer, for at this juncture the cook put a big platter +of steak, piled high, upon the table, and the men, dragging their +chairs after them, waited no other invitation "to set in." Conniston +for a moment held back. Then, as he saw that there were several vacant +places, he took up his own chair and sat down at the end of the table +nearest him. The man at his left helped himself to meat by harpooning +the largest piece in sight and dragging it, dripping, over the edge of +the platter and to his own plate. Then he shoved the platter toward +Conniston without looking to see whether or not it arrived at its +proper destination, and gave his undivided attention to the dish of +boiled potatoes which the man upon his left had shoved at him. +Conniston, helping himself slowly, found soon that the potatoes, the +rice, and a tray of biscuits were all lodged at his elbow, waiting to +be ferried on around the end of the table. + +For a few moments all conversation died utterly. These men had done a +day's work, a day's work calling upon straining muscles and unslacking +energy, and their hunger was an active thing. They plied their knives +and forks, took great draughts of their hot tea and coffee, with +little attention to aught else. But presently, as their hunger began +to be appeased, they broke into conversation again, talking of a +hundred range matters of which Conniston understood almost nothing. He +drew from the fragments which reached him above the general clatter +the same thing that he had got from the few words which had passed +between Rawhide Jones and Spud. Evidently, the cowboys were pressed +with work both on the Half Moon and on the other ranges, and the new +foreman, Brayley, was putting on more men and sparing no one in +carrying out the orders which came from headquarters. Equally +apparently, the man whom they called Bat Truxton was in command of the +reclamation work in Rattlesnake Valley, and now with a force of a +hundred men was working with an activity even more feverish than +Brayley's. + +During the meal five more men came in, and with a word of rough +greeting to their fellows dropped into their chairs and helped +themselves deftly. Conniston recognized one of the men as the +half-breed, Joe, whom he had seen meet Miss Crawford in Indian Creek. +Another was Lonesome Pete. Conniston was more gratified than he knew +when the red-headed reader of "Macbeth" nodded to him and said a quiet +"Howdy." The last man to come in was Brayley. + +He was a big man, a trifle shorter than Conniston, but heavier, with +broader shoulders, rounded from years in the saddle, with great, deep +chest, and thick, powerful arms. He lurched lightly as he walked, his +left shoulder thrust forward as though he were constantly about to +fling open a door with its solid impact. He was a man of forty, +perhaps, and as active of foot as a boy. His heavy, belligerent jaw, +the sharp, beady blackness of his eyes, the whole alert, confident air +of him bespoke the born foreman. + +Conniston was conscious of the piercing black eyes as they swept the +table and rested on him. He noticed that Brayley alone of the men who +had entered late had no word of greeting for the others, received no +single word from them. And he saw further, wondering vaguely what it +meant, that as the big foreman came in the eyes of all the others went +first to him and then to Conniston. + +Brayley stopped a moment at the door, washing his face and hands +swiftly, carelessly, satisfied in rubbing a good part of the evidence +of the day's toil upon the towel hanging upon a nail close at hand. +Three strokes with the community comb, dangling from a bit of string, +and jerking his neck-handkerchief into place, he lurched toward the +table. Five feet away he stopped suddenly, his eyes burning into +Conniston's. + +"Who might you be, stranger?" he snapped, his words coming with +unpleasant, almost metallic sharpness. + +There fell a sudden silence in the bunk-house. Knives and forks ceased +their clatter while the cowboys turned interested eyes upon the +Easterner. + +Conniston caught the unveiled threat in the foreman's tones, saw that +he had come in in the mood of a man ready to find fault, and took an +instinctive disliking for the man he was being paid a dollar a day to +take orders from. He returned Brayley's glance steadily, angered more +at knowing that the blood was again creeping up into his cheeks than +because of the curt question. And, staring at him steadily, he made +no further answer. + +"Can't you talk?" cried Brayley, angrily. "Are you deef an' dumb? I +said, who might you be?" + +"I heard you," replied Conniston, quietly. And to the man upon his +left, "Will you kindly pass me the bread?" + +The man grinned in rare enjoyment, and, since he kept his eyes upon +Brayley's glowering face, it was hardly strange that he handed +Conniston a plate of stewed prunes instead. + +"Thank you," Conniston said to him, still ignoring Brayley. "But it +was bread I said." + +"An' I said something!" cut in Brayley, his voice crisp and incisive. +"Did you get me?" + +"I got you, friend." Conniston put out his hand for the bread and +caught a gleam of sparkling amusement in Lonesome Pete's eyes from +across the table. "And maybe after you tell me who you are I might +answer you." + +"Me!" thundered the big man, lurching one step nearer, his under jaw +thrust still farther out. "Me! I'm Brayley, that's who I am! An' I'm +the foreman of this here outfit." + +"Thank you, Brayley." Conniston's anger was pounding in his temples, +but he strove to keep it back. "I'm Conniston. I was told to report +here by Mr. Crawford to go to work in the morning. I suppose I report +to you?" + +"Conniston are you, huh? All right, Conniston. Now who happened to +tell you to slap yourself down in that there chair, huh?" + +"Nobody," returned Conniston, calmly. "I didn't suppose that I was to +stand up and eat." + +Lonesome Pete's grin overran his eyes, and the ends of his fiery +mustache curved upward. Two or three men laughed outright. Brayley's +brows twitched into a scowling frown. + +"Nobody's askin' you to git funny, little rooster! You git out 'n that +chair an' git out 'n it fas'. _Sabe?_" + +Calm-blooded by nature and by long habit, Conniston had mastered the +flood of blood to his brain and grown perfectly cool. Brayley, on the +other hand, had come in in a seething rage from a tussle with a colt +in which his stirrup leather had broken and he had rolled in the dust +of the corral, to the boundless glee of two or three of his men who +had seen it, and now there was nothing to restrain his anger. +Conniston was laughing into his face. + +"I hear you," he said, lightly. "My ears are good, and your voice is +not bad by any means. Only I'd really like to know why you want me to +get up. Is it custom here for a new man to remain standing until the +foreman is seated? If I am violating any customs--" + +Again Brayley took one lurching step forward. Conniston pushed his +chair back so that his feet were clear of the table leg. + +"I say, Brayley"--Lonesome Pete had half risen from his chair and was +speaking softly--"Conniston here didn't know. Nobody put him wise as +how you sat in that particular chair. An'," even more softly, "he's a +frien' of Mr. Crawford." + +"Who's askin' you to chip in?" challenged Brayley, his eyes flashing +for the moment from Conniston to Lonesome Pete. "An' if he's a frien' +of Crawford's, why ain't he up to the house instead of down here? +Huh?" + +Lonesome Pete shrugged his shoulders and settled back into his chair. + +"Slip me a sinker, Rawhide," he said, quietly, to the man next to him +as though he had lost all interest in the conversation. + +"Frien' of the Ol' Man's or no frien'," blustered Brayley, his eyes +again on Conniston's, "if you're goin' to work I guess you're goin' to +take orders from me like the rest of the boys. An' the first order is, +_git out'n that there chair!_" + +"Look here," Conniston replied, quietly, "I didn't know that I was +taking a seat reserved for you, and I didn't mean any offense. You can +take that as a sort of an apology if you like. But at the same time, +even if I am to take orders from you, I am not going to be bulldozed +by you or anybody like you. If you will ask me decently--" + +"Ask you!" bellowed Brayley. "Ask you! By the Lord, I don't _ask_ my +men! I _make_ 'em!" + +He had leaped forward with his last word, his two big hands +outstretched with clawing fingers. Before Conniston could spring from +his chair to meet the attack the iron hands were upon his shoulders. +He felt himself being lifted bodily from his seat. His weight was +scarcely less than the irate foreman's, and he employed every pound of +it as he staggered to his feet and flung himself against his burly +antagonist. The men about the table sat still, watching, saying no +word. + +Conniston's strength was less than the other's, and he knew it, knew +that his endurance would be nothing against the muscles seasoned by +daily physical work until they were like steel. He knew that in two +minutes of battling struggle he would be like a kitten in the big, +powerful hands. And he was of no mind to have Brayley manhandle him +before such an audience as was now sitting quietly watching, +listening to his panting breaths. In one straining effort he jerked +his right shoulder free, swung his clenched fist back, and drove it +smashing into Brayley's face. + +Brayley's head snapped back, and the blood from his cut mouth ran +across his white, bared teeth. Conniston sprang forward to follow up +the blow. But Brayley had caught his balance and was leaping to meet +him, snarling. His hard, toil-blackened fist drove through Conniston's +guard, striking him full upon the jaw. Conniston reeled, and before he +could catch himself a second blow caught him under the ear, and with +outflung arms he pitched backward and fell, striking the back of his +head upon the rough boards of the floor. + +For one dizzy moment the world went black for him. And then it went +red, flaming, flaring red, as he heard a man's laugh. An anger the +like of which he had never known in the placid days of his easy life +was upon him, an anger which made him forget all things under the arch +of heaven excepting the one man with bloody fists glaring into his +eyes, an anger blind and hot and primitive. Again he knew that he was +on his feet; again he was rushing at the man who stood waiting for +him. + +"Stan' back!" roared Brayley. "I ain't goin' to play with you all +day." + +Conniston laughed and did not know that he had done so. He only saw +that Brayley had stepped back a pace, and that he had something, black +but glistening in the pale light, tight clenched in his hand. Crying +out hoarsely, inarticulately, he threw himself forward. + +Again Brayley met him, this time the revolver in his hand thrust +before him. It was almost in Conniston's face now. Somebody cried out +sharply. Several of the men jumped from their seats and leaped out +from behind Conniston. Two or three of them slipped under the table to +crawl out on the other side. Then Conniston saw what the something was +in Brayley's hand. + +"Shoot, you dirty coward!" he yelled, as he swung his arm out toward +the big six-shooter. + +For one moment Brayley seemed to hesitate. And then as the two men +came together the barrel of the gun rose and fell swiftly, striking +Conniston full upon the forehead. His arms dropped like lead; the +dizzy blackness came back upon him, growing blacker, blacker; and he +fell silently, unconsciously. + +It was very quiet in the bunk-house when he opened his eyes. A sudden +pain through the temples, a rising nausea, blackness and dizziness +again, made him close them, frowning. He knew that he was lying in his +bunk and that he was very weak. There was a cold, wet towel tied tight +about his forehead. + +The table had been cleared away, and the cook was finishing his +dish-washing by the stove. A lantern swinging from the beam which ran +across the middle of the room showed him that all the men were in +their bunks with the exception of two who were playing cribbage at the +table. They were Lonesome Pete and Rawhide Jones. When they saw him +leaning out from his bunk Lonesome Pete put down his cards and came to +him. + +"How're they comin', stranger?" he asked, with no great expression in +either eyes or voice. + +"Where's Brayley?" demanded Conniston, quickly. + +"He ain't here none jest now. No, he ain't exac'ly ran away, nuther. +Brayley ain't the kind as runs away. He was sent for to come to the +Lone Dog, where there's some kind of trouble on. Seein' as that's +thirty mile or worse, the chances is he'll ride mos' all night an' +won't be back for a day or two." + +Conniston sank back upon his straw pillow. "What I have to say to him +will keep," he said, quietly. + +The red-headed man looked at him curiously. "Brayley's the boss on +this outfit, pardner. What he says goes as she lays. It's sure bad +business buckin' your foreman. If you can't hit it up agreeable like, +you better quit." + +For a moment Conniston lay silent, plucking with nervous fingers at +the worn red quilt. + +"What did he do to me?" he asked, presently. "Hit me over the head +with a revolver?" + +Lonesome Pete nodded. + +"That's what you call fair play out in the West?" + +"What fooled me, Conniston, is that he didn't drill a couple er holes +through you! He ain't used to bein' so careful an' tender-hearted-like, +Brayley ain't." + +"Just because I'm to work under him, does that mean that in the eye of +you men he had a right--" + +An uplifted hand stopped him. "When two men has onpleasant words it +ain't up to anybody else to say who's right. Us fellers has jest got +to creep lively out'n the line of bullets an' let the two men most +interested settle that theirselves. Only I don't mind sayin', jest +frien'ly like, as it is considered powerful foolish for a man to +prance skallyhutin' into a mixup as is apt to smash things +considerable onless he's heeled." + +"Heeled? You mean--" + +Lonesome Pete whipped one of the guns from his sagging belt and laid +it close to Conniston's pillow. + +"That when a man's got one of them where he can find it easy he ain't +got to take nothin' off'n nobody! An' one man's jest as good as +another, whether he's foreman or a thirty-dollar puncher! An' bein' as +we got to go to work early in the mornin', I reckon you better roll +over an' hit the hay!" + +He turned abruptly and went back to his discarded hand. And Greek +Conniston, the son of William Conniston, of Wall Street, lay back upon +his bunk and thought deeply of many things. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The next day the gates of a new world opened for Greek Conniston. And +it was a world which he liked little enough. The cook, rattling his +pots and pans and stove-lids, woke him long before it was four +o'clock. One by one the men tumbled out, dressed swiftly, washed and +combed their hair at the low bench by the door, and then sat about +smoking or wandered away to the stable to attend to their horses. At +four o'clock the table was set, coffee and biscuits and steaks sending +out their odors to float together upon the morning air. Conniston got +up with the others and washed at the common basin, contenting himself +with running his fingers through his hair rather than to use the one +broken-toothed comb. One or two of the boys said a short "Mornin'" to +him, but the most of them seemed to see him no more than they had when +he had entered the bunk-house last evening. Lonesome Pete nodded to +him and, when they all sat down, indicated a chair at his side for him +to sit in. + +There was a great bruise upon his forehead and a cut where the muzzle +of Brayley's gun had struck him, but he was surprised to find that +both dizziness and faintness had passed entirely and that he was +feeling little inconvenience from the blow which last night had +stretched him out unconscious. + +He ate with the others in silence, making no reference to Brayley, +noting that they gave no evidence of remembering the trouble of last +night. The fare was coarse, and he was not used to such dishes for +breakfast any more than he was used to getting up at four o'clock to +eat them. But he was hungry, and the coffee and the biscuits were +good. After breakfast he found himself outside of the bunk-house with +Lonesome Pete. + +"When Brayley's away," the cowboy was saying, over his +cigarette-making, "Rawhide Jones takes his place. An' Rawhide says +you're to come with me an' give me a hand over to the cross-fence. I +guess we'd better be makin' a start, huh?" + +Conniston went with him to the stable. "We ain't brought in any extry +hosses," Pete was explaining, as they came into one of the corrals. +"You'll ride your own to-day?" + +In one of the stalls Conniston found the horse he had ridden from +Indian Creek, with his saddle, bridle, spurs, and chaps hanging upon +wooden pegs. And in the next stall he saw the horse Hapgood had +ridden. + +"Hasn't Hapgood gone yet?" he asked of Pete. + +"I don't reckon he has. He had supper with the Ol' Man up to the house +las' night. An' I guess he's stayed over to res' up." + +They swung to their horses' backs and rode through the trees and on +eastward across a long grassy slope from which the shadows of the +night were just beginning to lift. As day came on Conniston saw that +ahead of them for miles ran a barren-looking, treeless country, rising +on the one hand to the foot of the mountains, falling away gradually +on the other to the Big Flat. They rode swiftly, side by side, for +five miles, passing through many grazing herds of cattle, many smaller +bands of horses. And finally, when they came to a wire fence running +north and south, Lonesome Pete swung down from his saddle. + +On the ground near the fence were hammers, a pick, a shovel, and a +crowbar. The old barley-sack at the foot of one of the posts gave out +the jingle of nails as Pete's boot struck against it. And Conniston, +dismounting and tying his horse, began his first lesson in +fence-repairing. + +The loose wires they tightened with the short iron bar, in the end of +which a V-shaped cut had been made. While Pete caught the slack wire +with this bar, and, using the post as a fulcrum, the bar as a lever, +drew it taut, Conniston with hammer and staples made it secure. Now +and again they found a rotten post which must be taken out, while a +new one from a row which had been dumped from a wagon yesterday was +put into its place. + +It was easy work, and Conniston found, that he rather enjoyed the +novelty of it. But as hour after hour dragged by with the same +unceasing monotony, as the sun crept burning into the hot sky, and the +wires, the crowbar, even the pick-handle blistered his hands, he began +to feel the cramp of fatigue in his stooping shoulders and in his +forearms and back. Noon came at last, and he and Lonesome Pete ate the +cold lunch which the latter had brought, drank from the bottle of +water, and lay down for a smoke. Conniston had left his pipe at the +bunk-house, and accepted from his fellow-worker his coarse, cheap +tobacco and brown papers. + +The morning had been endlessly long. The afternoon was an eternity. It +was hotter now that the sun had rolled past the zenith, now that the +sand had drunk deep of its fiery rays. The air shimmered and danced +above the gray monotone of flat country, Conniston's eyeballs were +burning with it. And back and arms and shoulders ached together. He +had hoped that they would quit work at five o'clock. Five o'clock came +and went, and the red-headed man said no word of stopping. Half-past +five, six o'clock. And still they tightened wires, hammered burning +staples, dug endless post-holes. Conniston's hands were torn with the +sharp staples, blistered with the work. Half-past six, and he was +ready to throw down his tools and quit. But a glance at his +companion's face, sweat-covered but showing nothing of the fatigue of +the day, and Conniston held doggedly to his work, ashamed to stop. + +And, together with the breathless heat of the still afternoon, the +ache and dizziness returned to his head where Brayley's gun had struck +him; a new and growing nausea told him that a man is not knocked +unconscious one day to forget all about it the next. As he +straightened up from bending over the lowest wire, nausea and +faintness together threatened to make him throw up his hands and +acknowledge himself unfit for the new sort of existence into which he +had rushed carelessly. He was not certain why, in spite of all that he +felt, he held on. He knew only that as the son of William Conniston he +must be the superior in all things to the man who worked at his side +like a machine; he knew that in spite of his liking for Lonesome Pete +he held the cowboy in a mild contempt, and that he must not be outdone +by him. + +When at length the sun had sunk out of sight through the flaming +colors of its own weaving in the flat lands to the west, and Lonesome +Pete threw down his tools at the foot of the last post which they had +planted in the sandy soil, Conniston was too tired to greatly care +that the day was done. He refused the proffered cigarette, and slowly +walked away to where his horse was waiting for him. He did not know +that the other man was looking at him curiously, that there was much +amusement and a hint of surprise in the bright-blue eyes. He knew only +that he had toiled from before sunrise until after sunset; that the +waking hours to which he had been long accustomed had been turned +topsy-turvy; that instead of spending money he had been making money; +that he had earned his board and lodging and one dollar! And even +while he ached and throbbed throughout his whole weary body he was +vaguely amused at that. + +When finally they came again into the Half Moon corrals Lonesome Pete +carelessly offered to unsaddle for Conniston and water and feed his +horse. And Conniston, while not ungrateful, answered with short +doggedness that he could do his own part of the work. + +They came to the bunk-house to find that several of the boys had eaten +before them, that two or three of them were already in bed. The cook, +however, had supper waiting for them, kept hot in the oven of his big +stove. Conniston knew that he was hungry; during the ride in he had +thought longingly of a hot meal and bed. But now he learned what it +was to be hungry and at the same time too tired to eat. He drank some +coffee, ate a little bread and butter, and, pushing his plate away, +climbed into his bunk. + +He thought longingly of silk pajamas and a hot bath--and started up +finding himself half asleep, dreaming of miles of wire fence, of +hammering staples and tightening wires, of laboring with breaking +back over holes which, as fast as he dug them, filled with the +shifting sand. And then--it seemed to him that he had been in bed ten +minutes--he heard the cook rattling his pots and pans and stove-lids, +and knew that the night had gone and that the second day of his new +life had come. + +The first day had been purgatory. The second was hell. His raw, +blistered fingers shrank from his hammer-handle, from the sun-heated +iron bar. The muscles which through long idleness had grown soft, and +which had been taxed all day yesterday, cried out with sharp pains as +to-day they were called upon. He had thought that the night would have +rested him; instead it had but made his arms and hands and back stiff +and unfit. When ten o'clock came he felt as tired as he had been last +night at quitting-time. The heat was more intense, the day sultry, +with a thin film of clouds across the gray sky allowing the sun's rays +to scorch the earth, refusing to let the sand radiate the heat which +clung to it like a bank of heavy steam. Their water-bottle, although +they kept it always in the shade of some scorched tree or bush, grew +as warm as the air about it. Still Conniston drank great quantities of +the warm water until even it warred against him and made him sick. All +morning long he fought against a dull, throbbing headache. At noontime +he ate little, but sat still, with his bursting temples between his +hands. + +Again the afternoon dragged on, unbearably long, each tortuous second +a slow period of agony. Lonesome Pete's stories of the range country +he heard, while he did not attempt to grasp their significance. They +no longer amused him. His own position, his own condition, no longer +amused him. He felt that he could not laugh; he knew that he would +not. He told himself over and over that he was a fool for attempting +drudgery like this. He vowed that when at last the day's work was done +he would go to Mr. Crawford and say, "I have worked off what I owe +you. I am going to quit." They could think what they chose. They could +laugh if it pleased them. His was a finer nature than theirs; he was a +gentleman, thank God, and no day-laborer. + +And night came, and he ate what he could and dragged himself into his +bunk in silence. He saw the glances which were directed toward him +when he came into the bunk-house; he knew what the men were thinking. +He knew what they would say. And while it had been pride until now, +now it was nothing in the world but lack of moral courage which made +him stick to the thing which he hated. + +This day again he had seen Roger Hapgood's horse in the stable. He had +heard one of the men say that Hapgood was still resting up at the +house as a guest. He himself had not had a fleeting glimpse of Argyl +Crawford, and he knew that Hapgood was seeing her constantly. A quick +bitterness made up of resentment and a kind of jealousy sprang up +within him. He knew that at least the girl was blameless, and yet he +blamed her. He told himself, knowing that he was wrong, that she was +unfair, unjust, even unkind. + +The third day came. It was longer, drearier, wearier than the other +two had been. He began to fear that soon he should have to give up. +His body, instead of becoming gradually inured to the long hours of +toil, seemed to be gradually succumbing to them. He felt that he was +wearing out, breaking down. He did not know if Hapgood were still on +the Half Moon or if he had gone. He did not greatly care. + +Brayley was back from the Lone Dog. He saw him at night when he came +into the bunk-house. He and Brayley looked at each other, saying no +word. Brayley turned with a casual remark to one of the men; Conniston +took his place at the table. Still they said nothing to each other, +each man knowing without words that what had passed between them was +passed until some new incident should arise to settle matters for +them. Brayley, being quick of eye, saw that Conniston had adopted at +least one of the customs of the range, and that he carried a revolver +at his belt. + +The third day was Friday. Conniston determined to work Saturday. Then +he would have Sunday for rest. And when Sunday afternoon came he could +quit if he felt that his aching body had not recuperated enough to +make the following week bearable. But he had yet to learn that in the +rush of busy days on the range there is no Sunday. For Sunday morning +came and brought no opportunity to sleep until noon. Breakfast was +ready at the usual dim hour, and the men went to work as they had on +every day since he came to the Half Moon. They knew what he did not, +that for many weeks to come they might have no single day off. And +they understood, and did not complain. + +Brayley stopped him that morning as he was going out of the bunk-house +door with Lonesome Pete. + +"We got something else to do besides tinker with ol' fences," he said, +roughly. "Pete, you got to git along alone to-day. I'll give you a man +to-morrow if I can spare one. Conniston, you git your hoss an' go with +Rawhide an' Toothy." + +Not stopping for an answer, Brayley lurched away toward the +range-house. Lonesome Pete, nodding his red head to show that he had +heard, filled his water-bottle and got the lunch the cook had ready +for him. And Conniston, wondering vaguely what work the Sunday was to +bring for him, turned silently and followed Rawhide and the man whom +they called Toothy to the stables. + +Toothy was a little man, so stubborn, they said, that he even refused +to let the sun brown his skin. Instead of being the coppery hue of his +companions, the parchment-like stuff drawn tight over his high +cheek-bones was a dirty yellow. His eyes were small, set close +together, and squinted eternally in a sort of mirthless grin. His +teeth, which had given him his name, were the most conspicuous of his +odd features. The two front incisors of his upper jaw protruded +outward so as to close when his mouth was shut--and generally it +wasn't--over his lower lip. He was the smallest man on the range and +by long odds the ugliest. But he could ride! + +Conniston was sorry to be separated from Lonesome Pete, the only man +of the outfit with whom he spoke a dozen words a day, the only man who +did not treat him as a rank outsider and an alien. But, on the other +hand, he was glad that he was to be given a respite from the +blistering wires of the cross-fence, that he was to be given change of +work. And when he learned what the work was he was doubly glad. The +three men were to ride twenty miles from the bunk-house to the lower +corrals of the Lone Dog to gather up a herd of steers there and drive +them across to the Sunk Hole. It would mean long hours in the saddle, +but Conniston told himself that riding, urging on lagging cattle, +would be almost rest after the drudgery of the last four days. And in +some elusive way, not clear to himself, he felt that this work +carried with it a bit less humiliation than the sort of "hired man's +work" which he had been doing with Lonesome Pete. + +Like many men who know of the range only what they have read in books, +only what they have seen in breezy pictures, it seemed to Conniston +that there could be no life so lazy as that of the cowboy who has +nothing to do but ride a spirited horse, day in and day out to drive +sluggish-blooded cows from one pasture to another or to a +market-place, to watch over them as they grazed, or to ride along the +outskirts of a scattering herd to see that they did not stray beyond a +set boundary-line. That life, as he saw it, was an existence without +responsibility, without fatigue, even tinged with something of +exhilaration as one galloped up and down over wide grassy meadows. +To-day he began to learn that a gay-colored picture may hide quite as +much as it shows. + +They left the Half Moon corrals at a gentle canter, Conniston swinging +along beside the other men, actually enjoying himself. He wondered at +the deliberate slowness with which Rawhide Jones and Toothy began +their errand. For he had heard the few short orders which Brayley had +given, and he knew that to-day was a day of haste, with much to be +done. But before they had cantered more than a mile across the rolling +country to the west he saw that there was going to be no loitering. +They had ridden slowly only until their horses had "warmed up," and +now, shaking out their reins loosely, they swept on at a pace which +allowed of little conversation. They drew away from the Half Moon +corrals at four o'clock. It was not yet six when they pulled in their +panting, sweat-covered horses at the corrals of the Lone Dog. + +These corrals were at the lower, eastern end of the Lone Dog, and some +ten miles from the Lone Dog bunk-house. To reach them the three men +had ridden across three spurs of the mountains, across much rough +country, and always at a swinging gallop. Conniston's legs, where they +rubbed against the sweat leathers of his saddle, were already chafed +and raw. With the day's work still ahead of him he was tired and sore. +He was more glad than he was willing to confess even to himself when +he saw the corrals ahead. For now, he assured himself, there could be +little to do but jog along after a slow-moving body of cattle. + +The three big corrals were crowded with a bellowing, churning, +restless mass of cattle, big, long-horned steers for the most part, +and vicious-looking. In a much smaller inclosure were a few +saddle-horses--half-broken colts, to look at them--thrusting their +long noses above their fence to stare at the seething jam of cattle, +or, with tails and manes flying, to run here and there snorting. Two +men on horseback were sitting idly near the corrals, seeming to have +nothing in all the world to do but smoke cigarettes and watch the +milling cattle. + +Conniston drew rein with his companions as they stopped for a word +with the two men from the Lone Dog. And then he followed them when +they turned and rode to the little corral. The horses in it bunched +up, quick-eyed, alert, at the far side of the inclosure. Rawhide Jones +and Toothy as they rode were taking down the ropes coiled upon their +saddles. + +"We're goin' to change hosses here," Rawhide said, shortly. "Pick out +one for yourse'f, Conniston." + +They had ridden into the corral, their ropes in their hands, each man +dragging a wide loop at his right side. Toothy rode swiftly into the +knot of horses, scattered them, and, as they shot across the corral, +sent his rope flying out over their heads. The long loop widened into +a circle, hissed through the air, and settled about the neck of a +little pinto mare, tightening as it fell. A quick turn about the horn +of his saddle, and Toothy set up his own horse. The pinto mare, +checked in her headlong flight, swung about, confronting her captor +with quivering nostrils and belligerent, flashing eyes. Almost at the +same instant Rawhide's rope obeyed Rawhide's hand as Toothy's had +done, settling unerringly about the neck of a second horse. And +Conniston, with grave misdoubtings and a thumping heart, took his own +rope into his hand and rode among the untamed brutes, one of which he +was to ride. + +Here was another thing which seemed, upon the face of it, so simple +and which was simple--to the range born and bred. He knew that there +were four men watching him as he fumbled awkwardly with his rope. He +knew that in spite of their grave faces they were laughing inwardly. +He found that to hold the coil of rope in his left hand while that +same hand must keep a tight rein upon his mount, to whirl the widening +loop with his right, throwing it at just the right second with just +the right force, was one of the things which in pictures looked to be +so easy and which were not at all easy to accomplish. He grew hot and +red as he became entangled in his own rope. + +At last he selected a big roan and threw his rope. He threw awkwardly +and a second too late. The loop fell fifteen paces behind the horse, +who had seen, understood, and shot by in a flash. Again he coiled his +rope, drawing it in to him as he had seen the others do; again he +threw, and again he missed. He heard Rawhide Jones curse softly, +contemptuously. + +Now the horse which he was riding began to plunge and rear, frightened +at the rope which now fell upon its back, now struck its flanks in the +unskilled hands of the man who was growing the more awkward as his +anger surged higher within him. + +"You blame fool!" yelled Rawhide Jones. "What in hell are you tryin' +to do? Want to throw your own cayuse?" + +Conniston glared at him and again coiled his rope. The big roan was +once more surrounded by a crowd of his fellows, his ears erect, his +long neck outstretched, his eyes watchful and distrustful. The man who +was beginning to look upon lassoing as a sheer matter of sleight of +hand made his loop again carefully, slowly, trying to convince himself +that here was an easy matter, and that the next time he should +succeed. And even as he began whirling it above his head, one half of +both mind and muscle given over to restrain his nervous mount, he saw +another rope shoot out from behind him and settle, tightening, about +the roan's neck. + +"Bein' as we ain't got all summer to practise up lass'in' bosses," +Toothy murmured, apologetically. + +Conniston tied his rope to his saddle-strings in silence. After all, +there was something to do beyond sit in a saddle. And he soon found +that even that was not always play. For the roan which he had selected +fought at having the saddle thrown upon his back, so that Toothy had +to lend a helping hand. And when the cinch was drawn tight he fought +at being mounted. He had been broken, at least--and at most--as much +broken as the rest of the three and four year olds in the corral. But +he had not been ridden above a dozen times, and certainly had not +known the feel of rope or bridle or saddle for months. When at last +Conniston got his foot into the stirrup and swung up, violating all +range ethics by "pulling leather," the colt shot through the gate of +the corral which Rawhide Jones had thrown open, and across the uneven +plain, determined, since he could not run away from his enemy, to run +away with him. + +At home Conniston was accounted an excellent horseman. That meant that +he was used to horses, that he rode gracefully, that he was not afraid +of them. Horses like the maddened, terrified brutes in the corral, +like the quivering, frantic thing he precariously bestrode, he had +never even seen. And still, because he was doggedly determined not to +fail in everything, because he knew that the men who were watching +were enjoying themselves hugely and that they would be greatly +delighted to see him thrown, he at last stopped his horse, and with +spur and quirt urged him back to the corrals. The roan still fought, +still half bucked. But he had not entirely forgotten his past defeats +in encounters like this, and finally allowed himself to be mastered. + +Then began the real day's work. There were perhaps fifty cows and +young heifers in the corrals which were to be left behind, as only the +steers were to be driven across country to the Sunk Hole. While +Rawhide Jones and Toothy rode into one of the corrals Conniston was to +sit his horse at the open gate, allowing the steers to run by him into +the open, but heading off any of the smaller cattle. The two Lone Dog +men were together working another corral. + +Steer after steer passed by Conniston as he held his horse aside, +keeping a watchful eye for the cows. Rawhide and Toothy were "cutting +them out" as best they could, urging the steers toward the gate, +trying to keep the cows to the far side of the inclosure. But again +and again a quick-footed heifer pressed her slender body against that +of some big, long-horned steer, running with him. That she did not +pass through the gate was Conniston's lookout. + +They were not sluggish-blooded brutes. They were as swift as a horse +almost, quick-footed, alert to leap forward or to stop with sharp +hoofs cutting the dry dirt, and swing shortly to the side. In a sudden +onrush toward him Conniston shut off one cow by forcing his horse in +front of her and threatening her with his waving quirt. As she turned +and ran back into the mass behind her he saw two more cows running +toward the gate. He swung his horse and dashed at them. But they had +seen their opportunity, they had grasped it, and they shot through the +gate, mingling with the herd outside. + +Again Rawhide cursed him, and Conniston made no answer, having none to +make. He gave over his place silently at Rawhide's surly order and +rode over to aid Toothy. And he marveled at the ease with which +Rawhide did the thing which he himself had found simple from a +distance and impossible near at hand. + +At last, behind the scattering herd of running cattle, they left the +corrals and the Lone Dog men behind, and began their drive forty miles +to the Sunk Hole. Now a man must be a hundred places at the same time. +In twenty minutes the three horses were wet and dripping with sweat. +The herd was one which ordinarily, when there was not so much +requiring to be done at once on the ranges, half a dozen men would +have handled. The steers were wild; they were as stubborn as hogs; +there was no narrow, fenced-in road to keep them in the way they +should go. They broke back again and again; they turned off to right +and left by ones and twos, by scores. While Conniston galloped after +one of them that had left the others and broken into a run to the +right the main part of the herd over which he should have been +watching took advantage of the opportunity to lose themselves in the +timbered gulches to the left. Both Rawhide Jones and Toothy had to +ride with him to drive them out of the gulches and back to the herd. + +Conniston learned that day how a cattle-man can swear--and why. He +learned that a steer is not the easiest thing in the world to handle, +that sometimes he is not content with fleeing from his natural enemy, +but charges with lowered horns and froth-dripping mouth upon man and +horse. He learned many, many little things that day, and some big +things. And the biggest thing came to him suddenly, and brought a look +into his eyes which had never been there before. He learned that Greek +Conniston, the son of William Conniston, of Wall Street, was the most +inefficient man upon the range. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Day followed day in an endless round of range duties, and two weeks +had passed since Greek Conniston began work for the Half Moon outfit. +He admitted to himself over many a solitary pipeful of cheap tobacco +that Miss Argyl Crawford had been the reason for his coming out into +the wilderness. And he asked himself what good his coming had done. He +had not so much as caught a fleeting glimpse of her since her father +had engaged him to go to work at thirty dollars a month. He did not +even know that she was still on the range, that she had not gone to +Crawfordsville, where her father had a house, where he owned the +electric-lighting plant, the water system, and a general merchandise +store, and where both father and daughter spent many weeks each year. + +The range-house, although but a few hundred yards distant from the +bunk-house, might as well have been in the next county. News from it +seldom filtered to the men's sleeping-quarters. The foreman, Brayley +now, Bat Truxton before him, reported frequently to Mr. Crawford at +his office in the big building, took orders from him there, advised +with him. The other men went there only when they were sent for, and +that was not more than half a dozen times yearly, when that many. + +Conniston knew that Hapgood had stayed with the Crawfords two or three +days, resting up, as he overheard Brayley say with a fine scorn, and +that then he had gone on into Crawfordsville. Conniston supposed that +by now he had borrowed money and, if not again in New York, was on his +way thither. Of all else of the doings in the big house he was as +ignorant as though he had never crossed the desert lands between the +Half Moon and Indian Creek. + +Conniston most of all men working for Mr. Crawford felt that he could +not go to the house. He had come to these people as an equal, as one +of their own station in life, even from a plane a bit higher than +theirs. When he had gone to work he had not thought that he was to be +put upon the same footing as every ignorant laborer who drew his pay +from the owner of the Half Moon. He had thought that it would be a +lark, that he would come to the house and laugh with the girl over his +days of rubbing elbows with thirty-dollar-a-month men. That he would +be, in a way, a guest. + +Now it was evident that they had forgotten him, that if they thought +of Conniston it was merely to remember that he was one of the common +outfit. And Conniston's pride told him that if they chose to ignore +him, to look down upon him, to shut him out of their world socially, +he could do equally as well without them. Which was all very well, but +which did not in the least hinder him from dreaming dreams inhabited +solely by a slender, lithe, graceful girl with big gray eyes like dawn +skies in springtime. + +The two weeks had not been wasted. He had learned something, and he +had made a friend. The friend was Lonesome Pete. Night after night, +with a dogged perseverance which neither towering barriers in the way +of unbelievably long words nor the bantering ridicule of his fellows +could affect, the red-headed man sat at the table in the bunk-house +under the swinging-lamp and conned "Macbeth." Upon long rides across +the range he carried "Macbeth" in his hand, a diminutive and +unsatisfactory dictionary in his hip-pocket. + +One day Conniston and Lonesome Pete were riding together upon some +range errand. Lonesome Pete was particularly interested in his study, +and Conniston asked him the question he had been upon the verge of +asking many times. + +"How does it happen, Pete," he said, carelessly, "that you're getting +so interested in an education here of late?" + +Pete did not answer with his usual alacrity. Conniston, looking at +him, about to repeat the question, thinking that it had been lost in +the thud of their horses' hoofs, was considerably amazed to see the +cowboy's face go as flaming a red as his hair. + +"Look here, Con," Pete said, finally, his tone half belligerent, while +his eyes, usually so frank, refused to meet Conniston's amused regard, +"what I do an' why I do it ain't any other jasper's concern, is it?" + +"Certainly not," answered Conniston, promptly. "Certainly not mine. I +didn't go to frolic into your personal business, Pete." + +"I mean other jaspers, not you, Con," Pete continued, after they had +galloped on for a moment in silence. "You been helpin' me so's I don't +know how I'd 'a' made such fas' improvement without you. It's like +this: here I am, gittin' along first-rate, maybe, like the res' of the +boys, workin' steady, an' a few good hard iron dollars put away in a +sock. An' all the time with no more eddication than a wall-eyed, +year-ol' steer. An' some day, in case I might creep a ways off'n the +range, I ain't no more fit to herd with real folks than that same +steer is." + +"You're figuring, then, on leaving the range? On going to a city to +live? To cut something of a dash in society? Is that it, Pete?" + +Again Pete blushed. + +"Git out, Con! You're joshin'! But what I says is so, an' you know it +as well's I do. Now, it's goin' on three months I'm down in +Rattlesnake Valley, where the Ol' Man's stringin' his chips on makin' +a big play. He's goin' to make a town down in that sand-pile or bust a +tug; I ain't sayin' which right now. Anyway, he's already got a school +down there, an' they make the kids go. I figgered it out, seein' as +them little freckle-nosed sons o' guns could learn readin' an' writin' +an' such-like, by gravy, I could do it too!" + +The explanation was so simple, and Lonesome Pete had such difficulty +in making his halting words come, and had such a way of refusing to +look at Conniston, that the latter began to suspect the truth. + +"How about the teacher, Pete?" he asked, quietly, innocently. "They +have a real fine teacher, I suppose? Man or--woman?" + +"Nuther! She's a lady! An' she's that smart as would make a man +wonder! In case there's anything as that same Miss Jocelyn Truxton +don't know, I ain't wise to it none." + +"And--pretty?" + +Lonesome Pete's joyous grin was like a beam of summer sunlight. + +"They ain't none han'somer as ever wasted her time ridin' herd on a +bunch of dirty-faced brats. Say, Con," a bit doubtfully, "I wouldn't +mind showin' you--you ain't goin' to blow it off to the boys, are +you?" + +Conniston swore himself to secrecy and watched Lonesome Pete with +twinkling eyes as the cowboy put his hand deep into the inside pocket +of his vest--the left pocket. First he removed the safety-pin with +which the top edges of the pocket were held securely together. Then he +brought out a bit of cardboard wrapped carefully in a wonderfully +clean red handkerchief. Whipping the handkerchief from the cardboard, +he held out to Conniston's gaze the picture it concealed. + +"That's her, Con. An' I'll leave it to you if she ain't in the +blue-ribbon class, huh?" + +She was pretty, decidedly pretty. Very dark, evidently young, her face +rounded, her mouth laughing, her eyes soft and big. And withal it was +a doll-like prettiness, a prettiness which was a trifle too conscious +of itself; there was a bit too much pose, too much studied effect. +Conniston thought that the girl's two chief characteristics were so +close under the smiling surface that he could not help seeing them, +and that they were, first, vanity; second, weakness. + +"So that's Jocelyn Truxton, is it?" He handed the picture back to +Lonesome Pete, who, with a long, worshipful glance at it, restored it +in its wrapping to his vest pocket. "Not the daughter of Bat Truxton?" + +"You wouldn't think it to look at her after seein' him, would you?" + +Never having seen either of them, Conniston remained non-committal. + +"Mrs. Bat Truxton was a Boston, Mass., girl, an' I reckon as how Miss +Jocelyn takes after her." + +So there had sprung up between the two men a strange sort of +friendship, a strange sort of intimacy. For even when he came to have +a strong liking for Lonesome Pete, Conniston could never for a second +look upon this illiterate, uncouth cowboy as an equal, could not +refrain from feeling toward him an amused and tolerant contempt. If +palmy days ever came again, he was used to thinking, he would find a +place for the red-headed man in his retinue of hired men. He could +have an easy job at a good salary gardening about the Adirondack +country home, or perhaps he might grow into a fair chauffeur. + +Gradually Conniston had learned how to ride the wild devils they +called broken saddle-horses as a cowman should, and without pulling +leather. With Lonesome Pete a patient tutor, he was even beginning to +learn how to throw a rope without entangling his own person and his +own horse in it, and how to make it obey him and drop over the horns +of a running steer. These things came slowly and with many +discouraging failures. But they served as a stimulant and an +encouragement to the man who taught him and whom he taught. + +When he had been with the outfit for three weeks Conniston began to +feel confident that he could perform the part of the day's work which +was allotted to him. His muscles had begun to harden so that they no +longer ached and throbbed day and night. + +Then one morning he saw Argyl Crawford. He had begun of late to tell +himself that he had invested her in his imagination with a charm which +was not hers; that after the studied neglect that he had sustained at +her hands and at her father's hands he was going to forget all about +her. And now, as she came unexpectedly out of the circle of trees, +pausing upon a little grassy knoll just where his idle eyes were +resting, where the early sun found her out, making her a thing of +light against the dull-green background, Conniston caught his breath +and told himself that she was in reality the queen of this land of +enchantment. + +She came out of the forest as a mountain Naiad might have done, her +beauty a glorious, wonderful thing, her grace the free, lithe, +unconscious grace of the wild things of this country of hers, +swift-footed, firm-footed, and, it seemed to the man who watched her, +with a sort of shyness which belongs to the creature of the woodlands. +As she paused, her hands at her sides, her head lifted with tip-tilted +chin, unconscious that any one saw her, not seeing the man who +squatted by the spring below the bunk-house, he felt vaguely as though +he were looking upon a nymph who, if he so much as moved, would turn +swiftly and flash away from him into the depths of her shadowy forest. + +Having no desire to be seen just then, Conniston sat very still. The +other boys were breakfasting within the bunk-house. He had hurried +with his meal, and now was washing a pair of socks. He had no wish to +have her see him doing this sort of work. He moved slightly so that +the little clump of willows near the spring stood like a screen +between them. + +He remembered suddenly that he had not had a shave for four days. + +Rawhide Jones, Toothy, and Brayley came out of the bunk-house +together. They all saw her and as one man lifted their broad-brimmed +hats. She called to Brayley, and as the others went down to the stable +he walked, lurching, to her. Conniston could not hear what she was +saying, but Brayley's heavier voice came to him distinctly. The girl +was asking something, and Brayley after a moment's thought agreed to +her request. She turned, smiling at him and thanking him, and went +back through the trees toward the house. The big foreman came back to +the bunk-house. Conniston, his socks washed and now dripping, turned +away from the stream and came to the clothes-line running from the +corner of the low building to a tree sixty feet away. + +"Hey, you, Conniston," Brayley called to him. "You're jest the man I'm +lookin' for. Saddle Dandy for Miss Argyl an' take him up to the house +for her. An' take your own hoss along. She wants you to go with her." + +Conniston flushed up, suddenly rebellious. He had not gone to work to +be a lacky to Miss Argyl. He had no desire to lead her horse up to the +house for her that she might swing into her saddle, leaving him to +follow her at due and respectful distance like a groom. Why had she +singled him out from the others to go with her, to play the part of +the menial at her orders? Was it simply so that she, a Crawford, the +daughter of a man who for all that Conniston knew to the contrary had +never been out of this little corner of the West and was in the +beginning a nobody, might say in the future that she had been served +by a Conniston, by the son of William Conniston, of Wall +Street--boasting of it? If she crooked her finger must he run to do +her bidding because her father was taking advantage of his temporary +exile to have him work for him at a dollar a day? + +"Well?" snapped Brayley, as Conniston stood frowning, making no +answer, "Did you think I said she wanted you to-morrow?" + +For a moment Conniston hesitated. Then, scarcely knowing why he did +it, he turned upon his heel and went to hang out his wet socks. Still +making no reply to Brayley, he got his hat and strode off to the +stable. + +Ten minutes later he rode through the circle of trees and to the front +of the house, leading Miss Argyl's pony. Miss Crawford, in khaki +riding-habit, gray gauntlets, and wide, gray hat, already booted and +spurred for her ride, was waiting upon the front steps. As she saw +Conniston ride up she nodded gaily to him with a merry "Good morning," +and ran lightly down the steps to meet him. He answered her a bit +stiffly--with dignity, he would have said--and swung down from his +saddle to help her to mount. But before he could come to her side she +had mounted, and sat watching him as he again got into his saddle. He +saw a vast amusement in her eyes as they omitted no detail of his +appearance, missing neither the stubby growth upon cheek and chin, nor +the unbuttoned vest with Durham tag and strings protruding, nor the +not over-clean chaps, nor the gun at his belt. And when her eyes +rested at last upon his they were smiling, and his stubbornly grave +and vacant. + +"You are going to ride with me?" she asked, quickly. + +He inclined his head. + +"Orders from Brayley," he said, quietly. + +"Oh!" And then, flicking her horse across the flank with her quirt, +she turned away from the house and down the roadway which led by the +pond and along which Conniston had come that day when he first saw the +Half Moon. And Conniston, ten paces behind her, erect, sober-faced, +followed her like a well-trained groom. + +For a mile they rode at a swift gallop, the girl in front not so much +as turning her head to see if he were following, their way leading +along the bank of Indian Creek and through the gloomy half-light which +sifted down through the mesh of branches of the big trees reaching +high overhead. Then she left the road for a narrow trail which wound +through trees and bushes down into the creek-bed and across it, coming +out through the trees upon the dry grass-covered plain to the east. +And now again she rode at a swinging gallop, and he followed her. He +knew that twenty miles ahead of them was Rattlesnake Valley. He began +to wonder if that were where she was going. + +Suddenly she jerked in her horse and sat waiting for him. And +Conniston, grown stubbornly determined that if she wanted him she must +call to him, stopped his own horse at a respectful distance behind +her. She turned her head and looked at him wonderingly. + +"What is it, Mr. Conniston? What makes you act so strangely? Don't you +want to ride with me?" + +He touched his hat with mock solemnity. + +"I did not know that you wanted me to. I imagined that the hired man's +place--" + +"Oh, nonsense!" she broke in, impatiently. And with a swift smile +which was so faint, so elusive that it was gone before he could be +sure that he had not imagined it, "I thought that you were going--that +we were going to be friends." + +"That was ages ago," he retorted, bitterly. "Ages before I turned into +a dollar-a-day laborer. Before I went to work for your father, Miss +Crawford." + +"And that is nonsense. A man does a man's work, honorable work with +his two hands, and makes his own money, much or little. The most +independent men in the world, Mr. Conniston, are men like Brayley and +Toothy and Rawhide Jones and the rest. Are you not as good a man as +these, as independent, as free to do as you like, as they are?" + +"Am I as good a man!" He laughed shortly. "Conceit, no doubt, Miss +Crawford, but none the less I really do fancy that a Conniston is as +good as the sort of men I have been herding with here of late!" + +She seemed not to notice his sarcasm, although his tones rang with it. + +"Your going to work for father--I think it was brave of you. If it +makes any difference at all it will be because you make it do so. I +should be glad to have you ride with me as a companion if you wish." + +She pricked her horse with her spur and rode on. And Conniston, after +a brief moment of hesitation in which he began to see that he had been +acting rather foolishly, galloped up to her side. + +"I am afraid I have been boorish, Miss Crawford. You must forgive me." + +"In three weeks you have learned a great deal, but there is still a +great deal which you do not seem to have assimilated." + +"I have learned--" There was a question in his unfinished sentence. + +"You have learned to ride as a man must who is to do his day's work of +twelve, maybe fifteen, hours in the saddle. Surely that is something. +You have learned to rope a steer on the dead run. You have learned to +rope your own horse, to throw him while you saddle him, and to ride +him when he gets up. You have learned to work." + +He stared at her in surprise. + +"How do you know what I have been doing?" + +She laughed, a happy gurgle of a laugh which made a man want to laugh +with her without knowing the cause of her merriment. + +"Lonesome Pete has brought me news, and Toothy, and even your friend +Brayley! Do you know," mischief lurking in the depths of her eyes +above the assumed gravity of her face, "I think that the boys are +actually beginning to approve of you." + +"Flattering, I must say!" + +"I think that it is." + +"Even," he cried, incredulously, wondering if she could jest so +earnestly--"even by such men as Toothy and Rawhide Jones and the +rest?" + +She looked at him steadily, frowning a little bit. + +"I don't know why you should speak of them so contemptuously. If, on +the one hand, they have had no great social advantages, on the other +hand have they not at least made men out of themselves?" + +"I had hardly looked upon them in that light," he answered, with +something of the sneer still in his voice. "I had looked upon them +rather as I had supposed you were ready to consider me, as machines of +the type which ladies and gentlemen have to wait upon them, to do the +unskilled labor for them, as common laborers." + +"Common laborers! I hate that word. They are men, aren't they? They +are stanch friends and good enemies. They are true to their own laws +and to their conceptions of right and wrong. And they are strong and +self-reliant and free and independent." + +"And still they are ignorant, unrefined, coarse. Not your equals, Miss +Crawford, and, I thank God, not mine!" + +"Not yours? Are you sure?" + +"You are serious--or are you making fun of me?" + +"I am very serious." There was no mistaking that when he looked into +her eyes. + +"They are the sons of Smith and Jones and Brown," he replied slowly. +"Smith and Jones and Brown before them were uneducated, ignorant, +living lives with low horizons, seeing nothing, knowing nothing of the +greater world beyond their ken. They were a degree higher than the +horses which they mastered, the cattle which they drove to market. And +now their sons, inheriting the limited natures of their sires, have +grown like weeds in the environment in which fate put them, with no +knowledge of the other things. I think that it is answer enough when I +say that I am the son of William Conniston." + +He did not mean to boast. He merely stated a simple fact simply. And +the scorn leaping up in her eyes, ringing in her clear voice as she +answered him, startled him. + +"We know a man by his hands, not by his name!" she cried, her face +flushing with her eagerness. "Our admiration, our respect is always +for the man who does things, not for the man whose father did them for +him. And now, because men like Lonesome Pete and Brayley and the rest +of the boys live a life which knows nothing of your world, you sneer +at them!" + +"I'll admit," he granted, although stung by her hot words, "that the +poor devils have hardly had a fair chance. They are handicapped--" + +"Handicapped!" Her scorn was a fine thing, leaping out at him, cutting +into his words. "Can't you see who it is that is handicapped in the +great race here--here in the West? Here where there is a fight going +on every day, every night of the year, a battle royal of man against +mother earth? And the man who fights here successfully a winning +fight, not stopping to ask at what odds, must be endowed with a great +strength, a rugged physical and moral constitution, self-reliance, a +true, deep insight into the natures of other men. Those things my +father has. So has Bat Truxton, so has Brayley, so, for that matter, +has Lonesome Pete." + +He had never seen her so tense, so vehement, so warmly impulsive +before. Nor so radiantly beautiful. + +"Do you know," she was running on, swiftly, "how it happened that you +were selected to ride with me to-day?" + +"No. At first I thought merely because you wanted to humiliate me. Now +I am beginning to believe that you sent for me to instruct me in +certain matters relative to the brotherhood of man!" + +"And you were not right at first, and are not right now. I asked +Brayley to let me have a man to help me with something I have to do +over in the valley, and he said he would send you. Do you guess why?" + +"No. It was a kindness from Brayley, and I am not in the habit of +expecting kindnesses from him." + +"Then I will tell you. He sent you because you are the only man he has +working under him whom he could spare. _Because he needs all the good +men!_" + +Conniston felt his face go red. He tried to laugh at what she said, to +show her that it mattered little to him what a man of Brayley's type +said or thought. And he was angry with himself because he knew that it +did matter. Biting back the words which first sprang to his lips, he +tried to say, lightly: + +"I'm afraid that I shall have to lick Brayley for that." + +"Lick him!" Again she laughed her disdain. "Why didn't you do it that +first night in the bunk-house? Unless," she challenged, "in spite of +all your blue blood and white hands and father's name, Brayley is the +better man!" + +"What do you know of that?" His voice was harsh, his question a +command for an answer. "Who told you?" + +"I knew there was trouble. I asked about it. Brayley told me." + +He made no answer. There was nothing for him to say. She had Brayley's +account of the fight, she believed it, and Conniston would not let her +know that he cared enough to give his own version. + +"I have not meant to be unkind, Mr. Conniston," she said, after a +moment. A new note had crept into her voice with what sounded like +sympathy. He did not look toward her. "And, after all, it is none of +my concern how you think, how you carry yourself. But I did want you +to realize just what that great handicap is. You said on that day when +you first came to the Half Moon that you were going to make yourself +my friend, didn't you? Do you mind if I talk to you now like a friend? +You may call me presumptuous if you like. No doubt I am. As a friend I +have a right to be meddlesome, haven't I?" She smiled at him as +brightly as if she had never said or thought the things which she had +flung at him a moment ago. "To begin with, then, I think that you have +deep down in some corner of your being a strength which might do great +things, that nature intended you to be a man, a great, big, splendid +man!" + +"Thanks," murmured Conniston, dryly. "I don't know what I have done to +deserve--" + +"Nothing! You have done nothing! That is just it. Oh, you see, when I +start to meddle I do it very thoroughly! It is not what you have done but +what you might do. And I was going to tell you what the real handicap is. +It is not the being-without-things, without advantages, which has +restricted the fuller growth of such men as Bat Truxton and Brayley. It +is something very different from that--essentially different. It is the +being-raised-a-rich-man's-son! It is the being-born-something instead of +the being-obliged-to-make-oneself-something!" + +"Theoretically, Miss Crawford, I suppose that you are right. But +theory is only theory, you know. Frankly, would not a man be a fool to +work when there is no need for it? Would not a man be a fool to eschew +the pleasures of life when fortune is ready to spill them into his lap +for him? Does not the rich man's son get a great deal more out of the +game than the poor devil who spends his life punching cows at thirty +dollars a month? Even if I began to take myself seriously at this late +hour and to take life as a serious sort of thing, too; even if I +tucked in and fell in love with my work"--he shuddered for her +benefit--"what good would it do me? If I turned out to be the best +rider, the best shot, the best roper of steers, what then?" + +"My father," she answered, simply, "like every other man who does big +things on a big scale, is always looking for good men, for foremen, +for men like Bat Truxton, like Brayley, and for men who must do work +for which such men as Brayley are unfit--men who have got an education +and have retained their strength of manhood through it. You could +grow; you could step from one position to another, you could yourself +be a strong man, a big man, a man like my father, like your father. +Don't you see? You could be that sort of a man, a real man, a man's +man, instead of being the sort of man who is sent upon a girl's errand +because none of the other men can be spared. You have done the natural +thing heretofore; the fault has not been yours. You have merely been +unfortunate in being too fortunate. But now, don't you see, it is +different. Now you are being submitted to the test. Why, even your +friend, Roger Hapgood--" + +"Leave out the _friend_ part. What about him?" + +"He is taking hold. He is shaking off the listlessness which has clung +to him ever since he was born. Father learned from him that he had +studied law in college and got him a place with Mr. Winston in +Crawfordsville. And he is working, working hard, and making good!" + +"You seem to know everything, Miss Crawford." + +"Oh, this is so simple. Mr. Winston is father's lawyer. Mr. Hapgood +has ridden back to the Half Moon several times upon business for the +firm." + +Conniston frowned, little pleased. The Half Moon range-house, then, +was open to Hapgood as a friend, as an equal. It was closed to Greek +Conniston as a day-laborer! And he knew well enough why Hapgood was +staying, why he was working so hard. He had not forgotten the +pale-eyed man's appreciation of the girl--and of her father's wealth. +He knew that Roger Hapgood was working for much more than his monthly +stipend, for much more than the love of the law. + +He whirled suddenly toward the girl, surprising her in her scrutiny of +his frowning face. + +"Why do you care what I do?" he cried, almost fiercely. "Why do you +tell me to go ahead, to do something? What difference does it make to +you? Will you tell me?" + +She returned his look steadily, answered steadily, not hesitating. + +"Because it seemed to me a shame for a man like you to be a pawn in a +game all of his life while he might be playing the game himself, +directing the pawns." + +"And there is no other interest?" + +"A friend's interest. For," smiling at him, "I believed what you said +when you told me that we were going to be friends." + +"We are." He spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "You have talked very plainly +to me to-day, and I can do no more and no less than to thank you. You +have told me several things. Some of them are true. I don't know that +I agree with the others. You have a way of looking at life, at the +world, which is new to me. I must think it all over. I shall know how +to think, what to do, to-morrow." + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"For to-morrow I shall have decided. And then I shall ask for my time +and quit, or--" + +"Or--?" she asked, quickly. + +"Or I shall tie into my work in earnest. I wonder which it will be?" + +"I don't wonder at all!" she cried, softly, her eyes very bright. "And +to-morrow evening will you come up to the house and tell me what you +have decided?" + +"I think," he answered her, quietly, "that I have already decided. But +I shall not tell you until to-morrow evening." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +That night Conniston sat up late, perched high on the corral fence, +staring at the stars while he tore down and builded up the World. + +He had ridden to Rattlesnake Valley with Argyl, and had spent a big +part of the day there with her. He saw scores of men at work with +scrapers, picks, and shovels, and understood little enough of what +they were doing. He rode with her into a town, a brand-new town, of +twenty small, neat houses, as alike as rows of peas. In one of the +houses he worked for Argyl, tacking down carpets in the empty rooms, +moving furniture which he had uncrated in the yard. This was to be her +father's camp, she told him, where he would soon have to spend a part +of each week superintending the work which Bat Truxton was pushing +forward seven days out of the week. Then they had at last ridden home +together, and he had left her at the house, going slowly back to the +corrals with the two horses. And now, his day's work done, he stared +at the stars, rearranging the universe. + +He knew that he was William Conniston, the son of William Conniston of +Wall Street. That fact was unchanged, unchangeable. But in some new +way, vaguely different, it was not the all-important fact which it had +been. It was still something to be glad of, something which he was not +going to forget or underestimate. But it was not everything. + +Sitting there alone, his pipe dead between his teeth, Greek Conniston +asked himself many questions which had never suggested themselves to +his complacency before. And he answered them, one by one, without fear +or favor. In what was he better than Brayley, than Toothy even? Was he +a better man physically? No. Was he a better man morally? No. Was he a +better man intellectually? He had thought he was; now he hesitated +long before answering that question. Certainly he had had an education +which they had missed. Certainly his intellect had been trained, in a +fashion, by great men, by learned university professors. But was it +any keener than Brayley's and Toothy's; was it any stronger; was it, +after all, any more highly trained? In a crisis now was his intellect +any better than theirs? In his present environment was it any better? +And finally he answered that question as he had answered the others. + +Was he a better man in the composite, in the grand total of manhood? +Measured by all the standards by which men are measured, stripping off +the superficialities of surface culture and clothes, the thin veneer +of education which in his case, as in the cases of the great majority +of young men who have been graduated from this or that university, had +imparted only a sort of finish, a neat, gleaming polish, and no great +metamorphosis of the inner and true being, was he a better man? If +there was any one particular, no matter how small, in which Greek +Conniston was a better man than the men among whom he had moved with +careless contempt, he wanted to know what it was! + +"I have been a howling young ass!" he told himself, his contempt +suddenly swerving upon himself. "A conceited fool and a snob! Lordy, +lordy, why didn't somebody tell me--and kick me? A snob--a d--d, +insufferable, conceited snob!" + +Three weeks ago the things which Argyl Crawford had said to him would +have amused the very self-satisfied young man. A week later, when +something of the truth had begun to filter in dimly upon him, he would +have felt hurt, insulted. Now he was ready to go to her, to thank her, +to tell her that a fool was dead, that he hoped a man was being born. + +"And I would right now," he muttered to himself, "only I suppose that +anything I said would sound like the braying of a jackass!" + +The one thing which she had said to him which now returned with +ever-increasing significance was the reason, as she had explained it, +why he had been chosen to go with her to Rattlesnake Valley. Out of +the dozens of men who worked under Brayley's orders he was absolutely +the only one who could be spared from the day's work! Every other man +had a quicker eye, a stronger body, a firmer hand; every other man was +a better rider, a better herder, a better roper, a better all-round +man. When there was work that must be done, man's work, he was the one +who could be spared from it. + +By nature headlong, when Greek Conniston went into a thing he was in +the habit of going deep into it. When he drove a new car he drove it +night and day and at top speed. When he spent money he spent lavishly, +generously, recklessly. When he wasted time he wasted it profligately. +And now that he abandoned an old position he did it as thoroughly as +he had dissipated his father's money. He was plunging from what had so +long seemed to him a great height. Plunging; not cautiously lowering +himself inch by inch down a dizzy precipice of self-respect, not +looking the while for the first ledge upon which he might rest; +plunging headlong from the zenith of self-conceit to the nadir of +self-contempt. And the depths into which he hurled himself seemed to +him very deep, very black. + +He ignored considerations by the way. That he had been handicapped in +the race did not suggest itself to him to comfort him. He merely saw +that the race was on and that he was far in the rear, choked with the +dust of the going. He saw, and saw clearly, that of all the men who +took their dollar a day from John Crawford he, Greek Conniston, did +the least to earn his. That he was not only not the best man on the +range, but that he was the poorest man. He was just his father's son. +_A man's son, not a man!_ + +He had not eaten supper, had forgotten that he had not eaten. Long he +sat in the thickening night, alone, feeling the part of a man marooned +by his dawning understanding upon a desert island, vast, impassable, +restless seas between him and his race. He watched the stars come out +until they were thick set in the black vault above him, flung in +sprays, flashing and scintillating down to the low horizons about him. +His brooding eyes ran out across the floor of the plain toward +Rattlesnake Valley. + +He remembered that he had promised to call to see Argyl to-morrow +night, to tell her then what he had decided. What was he going to +decide? The obvious thing was not clear to him yet. He would work over +it half the night. Out of the confusion into which he had been hurled +two things alone stood out to him now as he tried to review them; two +things gathered the light which abandoned all other considerations to +darkness. The first thing, the clearest thing, the most important +thing in all of the new world which was being built up about him was +that he loved Argyl Crawford. + +Loved her, not as Greek Conniston would have loved yesterday, could +have loved then, but with the love which was a part of the Greek +Conniston who was being born to-night. Loved her, not with the shallow +affection which would have been the tribute of a Greek Conniston of +yesterday, but with that deeper, eternal urge of soul to soul which is +true love. Loved her gravely, almost sternly, as a strong man loves. + +Upon only two days had it been given him to speak with her. He thought +of that, but he knew that made no iota of difference. For he knew her +better than he knew any woman with whom he had danced or driven or +attended theaters and dinners. In that first glimpse from the Pullman +window he had seen the purposeful character of her. To-day he had seen +it again. To-day he knew that he knew Argyl Crawford, that she had +been herself to him, unaffected, honest, womanly. Her nature was +simple, straightforward, open, unassuming. Its beauty struck one as +the beauty of a Grecian temple, its lines pure and noble, the whole +edifice the more wonderful in that it depended upon itself alone and +needed no adornment. + +She had shaken hands with him last night when he left her at the +house, not perfunctorily, but firmly, as the strong-handed cowboys +shook hands, and had said to him, simply: + +"I wish you luck, Greek Conniston, in the fight you are about to +make." + +He remembered the hand-clasp. She seemed unable to do anything, no +matter how small, without putting her whole self into it, her +frankness, her sincerity, her eagerness. And Conniston of to-night, +scowling at the match which he had swept across his thigh to light his +pipe and now let die down to his fingers, muttered, not without cause, +that he had his nerve with him even to think about her. + +The other thing which was clear to him was that he must "lick" +Brayley. If he did nothing else in all of his futile life, if he quit +work or were fired the next minute, he must "lick" Brayley. It did not +strike him as amusing, as even strange, that these two things and +these alone should be the only things of which he was sure. He merely +accepted them as inevitable. He felt no particular resentment toward +Brayley. The man had treated him fairly enough since that first night +in the bunk-house. He looked upon the matter calmly, almost +impersonally, as a duty to which he must attend. And he was not going +to wait for an excuse. An opportunity would do. + +It was half-past ten, and very late for cow-puncher land, when Greek +strode away through the darkness to the bunk-house. + +When morning came it happened that Brayley rose fifteen minutes early, +Conniston fifteen minutes late. The foreman left immediately for a far +corner of the range, and Conniston, having made a quick breakfast, +went about his own work. In the corral he selected a horse which +heretofore he had carefully left alone, knowing the brute's half-tamed +spirit and not caring to trust to it. But now it was different. He +waited his opportunity before throwing his rope. Then, as the horse, +seeming to know that he had been singled out, shot by him, he cast his +lasso. And there was a grim light, but at the same time a light of +deep satisfaction in Conniston's eyes as he saw that his whirling +noose had gone unerringly, settling as Toothy's rope would have done. + +He blindfolded the big, belligerent horse to mount him. When his feet +were securely thrust into his stirrups he leaned forward and with a +swift jerk snapped the handkerchief from the horse's eyes. For a +moment the animal's sides between his knees trembled and throbbed like +an overtaxed engine. Then there was the sudden jerk which told of a +mighty bunching of muscles, a gathering of force. And as Conniston +shot his spurs home, with the reins gripped tight in his left hand so +that the horse could not get his head down, the forelegs were lifted +high in air as the animal reared. A quick blow of the quirt and the +forelegs sought earth again, and Conniston began to realize what it +was to ride a bucking bronco. + +A series of short jumps, every one threatening to unseat him, every +one jerking him so that his body was whipped this way and that, so +that he had much ado to keep his feet from flying out of the stirrups, +and could hardly hold his right hand back from going to the horn, from +"pulling leather." The bucks came so close together that it seemed to +him that he did not rest a second in the saddle; that each time the +big brute struck the ground with his four feet bunched together, to +pause for a breathless moment, gathering every ounce of strength to +wrench, leaping sideways, he must surely be thrown. But in spite of +all he did not pull leather, he did not cease to ply spur and quirt, +and he was not thrown. It was a perfectly quiet horse he rode away +across the fields only three minutes later. + +He did a man's work that day, all that day, until long after the red +sun had gone down. And when he came up from the corral to his supper, +if he was tired, if the muscles of his body ached, it did not show in +his steady stride or in his quiet eyes. + +The suit-case which he had left in Indian Creek had been brought out +last week. He shaved himself and changed his clothes, putting on the +first white silk shirt he had worn for many a day. He even found an +old can of shoe-polish and touched up the pair of dusty shoes. And +then, laughing at the looks the men turned upon him, at the few +jesting remarks which they chose to make, he walked through the trees +and to the range-house. + +The glow of electric lights through the wide-opened front doors ran +out across the lawn to meet him. Striding along the walk, his heels +crunching in the white gravel, he again marveled at the comfort, the +luxury even, which John Crawford had brought across the desert. He ran +lightly up the broad steps. Before he could ring Argyl was at the +door, her eyes quick to find his searchingly. He knew what they sought +to find in his. And when she put out her hand to him, swiftly, +impulsively, he trusted that they had found what they sought. + +He followed her through the big front room and into the library. Here +there were many deep, soft leather chairs, here there was a blue +atmosphere of tobacco smoke, and here Mr. Crawford, immaculate in +white flannels, rose to meet him, his hand outstretched. + +"How do you do, Conniston?" Mr. Crawford took his hand warmly, the +fine lines of his stern old face softening genially. "I was mighty +glad when Argyl told me that she had asked you over. Sit down, sit +down. Have something to smoke. Tell us about yourself, and how"--the +deep-set eyes twinkling--"you like the work?" + +Conniston saw that Argyl had seated herself and dropped into one of +the big chairs himself, his whole body enjoying the luxury of it. At +his elbow was a little table with cigars and cigarettes. Mr. Crawford +laughed when he saw that Conniston, having glanced at the table, drew +out his own cheap muslin bag of tobacco and rough, brown papers. + +"I'm getting used to them," Greek apologized. "And do you know that +I'm beginning to like to roll my own 'cigareet'?" + +Argyl clapped her hands, laughing with her father. + +"I told you so, daddy!" she cried, merrily. "Didn't I say that Mr. +Conniston was born to be a good cow-puncher!" + +"And I'm half persuaded that you are right, Argyl," came from behind +the dense cloud of cigar-smoke. "But you haven't told us how you like +the work, Conniston." + +"If you had asked me a week ago I should have had to ask to be excused +from trying to tell you in the presence of ladies. I would have quit +if I hadn't been too much of a coward. But now--" + +"Now?" asked Argyl, quickly. + +And it was to her that he made his answer, not to her father. + +"Now I like it. And I am going to stick--unless I get fired for +incompetency!" + +"I like that," said Mr. Crawford, slowly. "Yes, I like that. I was +afraid that it was rather too much for you. It's hard work, Conniston, +and long hours and little pay. But Brayley tells me that you have the +makings of a rattling good cow-hand." + +"Thank you, sir. It was very decent of Brayley." + +"I ought not to mix business into a social call, I know, but I want to +tell you personally that I am very much pleased with the way you are +tucking in. You asked if any one needed a good man the day you came. +We all do. I do. Why, I always want more of them than I can find. A +young man like you, with your advantages, your education--there are +all kinds of opportunities. Yes, right with me. The West is the place +for young men--provided simply that they are men! That's as true +to-day as it was in forty-nine. And truer. Opportunities are greater, +the need of men is more urgent. Right now, right to-day, I am looking +for a man, a young man, who knows a thing or two about engineering, +who can build bridges and cut irrigation ditches and save me money +doing it." He threw out his hands. "And I can't get him!" + +"Will you tell me about the position?" asked Conniston, with keen +interest in voice and eyes alike. + +"Certainly. I am running four cattle-ranges, using close to eighty +thousand acres doing it, too. That, of course, you know. But that is +getting to be a side issue with me. I am doing something else which is +going to be a thousand times bigger--ten thousand times more worth +while. Have you been to Crawfordsville?" + +"No. I have been within a couple of miles of it. I saw it one day from +Blue Ridge." + +"Well, then you know something of it. It is in a valley ten miles long +which has always been one of the richest valleys I ever saw; sheltered +by the mountains, watered by the springs which create the source of +Indian Creek. The climate is like that of the California foothills. +And the soil is fertile--anything will grow there. I saw that twenty +years ago. I knew that the place was made for a town-site--and I made +the town. There are a lot of smaller valleys about it; there are +orchards there now and vineyards. There are mines, paying mines. There +is no end to the herds of cattle running through the valleys and at +the bases of the hills. The town has a railroad, a narrow-gage from +Bolton on the Pacific Central & Western. Building such a town, giving +it railroad connection, electric lights, and all the things which go +with unlimited water-power was simple enough." + +Conniston sat back and watched the man who spoke of city building as +of the making of a summer home. Mr. Crawford was leaning forward in +his chair, his cigar between his fingers, his eyes very steady upon +Conniston's. + +"But now," he went on, his eyes clear, but his brows drawn over them, +"we come to something different--entirely different. Out yonder in the +lap of the desert is what they call Rattlesnake Valley. It is no +valley at all, merely a great depression, a sort of natural sink. It +is twenty miles wide, forty miles long. I have found no drop of water +within thirty miles of it, no single spring, no creek. It is nothing +but sand--dry, barren, unfertile sand--five hundred square miles of +it, to look at it. And right there, in the heart of that sink, I am +going to build a town." + +He spoke quietly, his voice low, no hint of boastfulness in his tone, +no hint of doubt. He spoke as a man who has studied his ground and who +knows both the difficulties which lie ahead of him and the +possibilities. Conniston, seeing only the impossibility, the madness +of such a project, looked questioningly from him to the girl. Argyl's +face was flushed, her eyes were very bright with an intense eager +interest. + +"It sounds so big," Conniston hesitated, his gaze coming back to the +older man's face. "So daring, so impossible!" + +"It is big! Bigger than I have even hinted at. It is daring. Of +course, I take a chance of sinking everything I have out there and +finding only failure in the end." + +He shrugged his shoulders, and Conniston noticed for the first time +how big and broad they were. + +"But it is not impossible. It is merely the repetition of such work as +has been done successfully in the Imperial Valley. The stuff which +looks to be sand--barren, unfertile sand--is the richest soil in the +world. Put water on it and you can raise anything. Reclamation work is +a fairly new thing with us, Conniston. Men have been content +heretofore to squat in the green valleys and let the desert places +remain the haunts of the horned toad and coyote. But now the green +valleys are filling up, and there are hundreds of thousands of square +miles like the country you rode over from Indian Creek to the Half +Moon which are calling to us. To redeem them from barrenness, to do +the sort of work which our friends have done in the Imperial Valley, +is pioneer work. The pioneers ever since Adam, be it the Columbuses of +early navigation or the Wrights of aerial navigation, have always +taken the long chances. They are the ones who have suffered the +hardships, and who, often enough, have been forgotten by the world in +its mad rush along the trail they have opened. But they are the men +who have done the big things. The pioneers are not yet all gone from +the West, thank God! And their work is reclamation work!" + +"And it's for the work over there that you want an engineer?" + +"Yes. I want him bad, too. Do you happen to know one?" + +"I know one. I won't say how much good he is, though. I'm an engineer +myself." + +"You!" It was Argyl's voice, surprised but eager. + +"My father is a mining engineer. He always wanted me to do something +for myself, you know." Conniston laughed softly. "He sent me to +college, and since I didn't care a rap what sort of work I did, I took +a course in civil engineering to please him. Civil, instead of +mining," he added, lightly, "because I thought it would be easier." + +"Had any practical experience?" demanded Mr. Crawford. Conniston shook +his head. "It's too bad. You might be of a lot of use to me over +there--if you'd ever done anything." + +Conniston colored under the plain, blunt statement. There it was +again--he had never done anything, he had never been anything. His +teeth cut through his cigarette before he answered. + +"I didn't suppose that you could use me." He still spoke lightly, +hiding the things which he was feeling, his recurrent self-contempt. +"I don't suppose, that I know enough to run a ditch straight. I've +been rather a rum loafer." + +Mr. Crawford smiled. "I suppose you have. But you are young yet, +Conniston. A man can do anything when he is young." + +There was the grinding of wheels upon the gravel outside, a man's +voice, and then a man's steps. + +A moment later Roger Hapgood, immaculate in a smartly cut gray suit +and gloves, came smiling into the library, his hand outstretched, his +manner the manner of a man so thoroughly at home that he does not stop +to ring. He did not at first see Conniston half hidden in his big +chair. But Conniston saw him, was quick to notice the air of +familiarity, the smile which rested affectionately upon Mr. Crawford +and ran on, no doubt meant to be adoring and certainly was very soft, +to Argyl--and Conniston was seized with a sudden desire to take the +ingratiating Roger Hapgood by the back of the collar and kick him upon +the seat of his beautifully fitting trousers. + +"Good evening, Mr. Crawford. I ran in on a little business for Mr. +Winston. Ah, Miss Argyl! So glad to see you." + +His little hand, which had been swallowed up in one of Mr. Crawford's, +and which emerged rosy and crumpled, was proffered gallantly to the +girl. And then Hapgood saw Conniston. + +"Oh, I say," he stammered, a very trifle confused. "It's Conniston. I +didn't know--" + +His pale eyes, under nicely arched brows, went from father to daughter +as though Roger Hapgood were willing to admit that anything which they +thought fit to do was all very right and proper, but that he was none +the less surprised to find them entertaining one of the hired men. + +"Yes, I'm still with the Half Moon," Conniston said, still nettled, +but more amused, making no move to rise or put out his hand. "How are +you, Roger?" + +"How do, Conniston?" replied Mr. Hapgood, the rising young lawyer. +Conniston idly wondered what had made his friend go to work. On the +surface the reason seemed to be Argyl. Yet Hapgood showed a new side, +a determination most unusual in him. Later Conniston was to know, to +understand. + +"And you like it?" + +"Immensely. You ought to try it, Roger!" + +Hapgood shuddered. "Couldn't think of it. A lark, no doubt, but I +haven't the time for larks nowadays. I'm in the law." He turned to Mr. +Crawford. "Thanks to you. Fascinating, and all that, but it does keep +a man busy. I hated to disturb you to-night," with an apologetic smile +at Argyl, "but Mr. Winston thought that the matter ought to be brought +up before you immediately." + +He was bursting with importance, some of which seemed to have popped +out of his inflated little being and now protruded from an inside +pocket in the form of some very legal-looking papers. + +Mr. Crawford, upon his feet, said bluntly: "If we've got business, +Hapgood, we'd better be at it. Let's go into the office. Argyl, you +will excuse us? And you, Mr. Conniston?" + +He went out. Hapgood tarried a moment for a lingering look at Argyl. +"You will excuse us, Miss Argyl? I'll hurry through with this as fast +as I can." + +"I say, Roger," Conniston called after him, "I want to congratulate +you. I'm immensely glad that you have gone to work." He turned to the +girl who was watching them with thoughtful eyes. "Miss Crawford, what +do you say to a little stroll out on the front lawn while these men of +business transact their weighty affairs? It's the most wonderful night +you ever saw." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +When morning came, Conniston was the last man to crawl out of his +bunk. At breakfast he was the last man to finish. He dawdled over his +coffee until the cook stared curiously at him, he used up a great deal +of time buttering his hot cakes, he ate very slowly. Only after every +other man had left the table did he push his plate aside and go out +into the yard. His manner was unusually quiet this morning, his jaw +unusually firm, his eye unusually determined. He saw with deep +satisfaction that all of the Half Moon men except Lonesome Pete and +Brayley had ridden away upon their day's work. The red-headed cowboy +was even now going down to the corrals, a vacant look in his blue +eyes, the corners of a little volume sticking out of his hip-pocket, +his lips moving to unspoken words. Brayley was going through the +fringe of trees toward the house, evidently to speak with Mr. Crawford +upon some range business. Conniston strolled slowly down toward the +corrals, stopping and loitering when he had got there. + +Now and then he caught a glimpse of Lonesome Pete mending his saddle +just within the half-open stable door, but for the most part his eyes +rested steadily upon the little path which wriggled through the grove +and toward the house. He made and smoked a cigarette, tossing away the +burned stub. He glanced at his watch, noticed that he was already +half an hour late in going to work, and turned back toward the house, +his expression the set, even, placid expression of a man who waits, +and waits patiently. Five minutes passed--ten minutes--and he stood +still, making no move to get his horse and ride upon his day's duties. +And then, walking swiftly, Brayley came out of the trees and hurried, +lurching, toward the corral. + +"What are you waitin' for?" he cried, sharply, when twenty paces away. +"Ain't you got nothin' to do to-day?" + +Conniston made no answer, turning his eyes gravely upon Brayley's +face, waiting for the man to come up to him. + +"Can't you hear?" called Brayley again, more sharply, coming on +swiftly. "What are you waitin' an' loafin' here for?" + +"I want to talk with you a minute." Conniston's voice was very quiet, +almost devoid of expression. + +"Well, talk. An' talk fast! I ain't got all day." + +Brayley was standing close to him now, his eyes boring into +Conniston's, his manner impatient, irritated. For just a moment +Conniston stood as though hesitating, leaning slightly forward, +balanced upon the balls of his feet. Then he sprang forward suddenly, +without sign of warning, taking the big foreman unawares, throwing +both arms about the stalwart body, driving the heavier body back with +the impact of the one hurled against it. Brayley, standing carelessly, +loosely, his feet not braced, but close together, unprepared for the +attack, fell heavily, lifted clean off his feet, born backward, and +slammed to the ground with the breath jolted out of him, Conniston on +top of him. + +"You d--n coward!" he bellowed, as his breath came back into his body. +"Sneakin' coward!" + +He bunched his great strength and hurled it against the man, who clung +to him. Still he was at a disadvantage, being under the other and +having both arms locked to his side by the clinging embrace which held +him powerless. For a moment the two men lay writhing and twisting upon +the ground, half hid in their quiet struggle by the dust which puffed +up from the dry ground about them. Then, as Brayley again gathered his +strength in a mighty effort to rid himself of the man who held him +down, Conniston loosened his hold, springing back and up to his feet. +And in each hand Conniston held one of Brayley's guns. A quick +gesture, and as Brayley rose to his feet he saw his two revolvers +flying skyward, over the high fence and into the big corral. + +"You got 'em!" Brayley cried, hoarse with anger. "Shoot, you +coward--an' be d--d to you!" + +For answer Conniston jerked his own gun from his belt, tossing it to +lie with Brayley's two in the dust of the corral. + +"We're ruling guns out of this, Brayley," he said, quietly. "It's +going to be just man to man." + +For a moment Brayley stood, open-mouthed, staring at him. Then, as +understanding came to him, a great roar burst from his lips, and with +his huge fists clenched he rushed at Conniston. In the sudden access +of rage which blinded the man Conniston might have stepped aside. But +it was no part of his grim purpose to temporize. As Brayley rushed +upon him Conniston, too, sprang forward, and the two men met with a +dull, heavy thud of panting bodies. Brayley's weight was the greater, +his rush fiercer, and Conniston was flung back in spite of his dogged +determination not to give up an inch. He had felt Brayley's iron fist +before, but not with the rage behind it which now drove it into +Conniston's face. The blow laid open his cheek and hurled him +backward, to land upon his feet, his body rocking dizzily, his back +jammed against the corral. And only the corral kept him from falling. + +Again Brayley's great sledge-hammer fists shot out, Brayley's eyes +glowing redly behind them. Conniston knew that one more blow like the +last one, full in the face, and again he would have been beaten by +Brayley. He remembered--and, strangely enough, the remembrance came to +him calmly even while the heart within him beat as though bursting +against the walls of his chest and the blood hammered hot in his +ears--what Argyl had said the other day as they rode to Rattlesnake +Valley. She had told him that Brayley had licked him because Brayley +had been the better man. He knew that if Brayley beat him down now it +would be because he was the better man. And he had told Argyl that he +was going to lick Brayley. She had laughed. None the less, it was a +promise to her, his first promise, and he was going to keep it. + +As Brayley charged for a second blow, Conniston stepped aside swiftly +and swung with his right arm, collecting every ounce of his strength +and putting it into the blow. Brayley tried to lift his arm to protect +himself, but the fraction of a second too late. Conniston's fist +landed squarely upon the corner of the foreman's jaw, just below the +ear. Brayley's arms flew out, and with a groan driven from between his +clenched teeth he went down in a heap. + +For a moment he lay unable to rise, the black dizziness showing in his +swimming eyes. A month ago Conniston could not have struck such a +blow by many pounds. Already the range had done much, very much, for +him. But before a man could count five both the pain and astonishment +had gone from Brayley's eyes, giving place to the red anger which +surged back. And with the return of clamoring rage Brayley's dizziness +passed and he sprang to his feet. Again was Conniston ready, again +telling himself that he had a promise to keep, and that now or never +was the time to make good his word. He was over the man whom he had +set out to whip, and as Brayley struggled to his feet it was only to +receive Conniston's fist full in the face again, only to be hurled +back to the ground with cut, bleeding lips. + +Again bellowing curses which ran into one another like one long, +vicious word, Brayley got to his feet. And again Conniston's fist, +itself cut and bleeding and sore, drove into his face, knocking the +man down before he had more than risen. As the blow landed upon the +heavy bone of the cheek, Conniston's hand went suddenly limp and +useless, his face went sheet-white from the pain of it. Some bone had +broken, he realized dully. He couldn't clench the hand again. The +fingers hung at his side, shot through with sharp pain, feeling as +though they were being slowly crushed between two stones. + +Brayley got slowly to his feet, swaying like a drunken man, reeling +when he first stood up, and lurching sideways until his shoulders +struck the high fence of the corral. Conniston put up his left arm, +his right hanging powerless at his side, and followed him. Brayley, +his deep chest jerking visibly as his breath wheezed through his +swelling lips, waited for him, the anger gone once more from his eyes, +which followed Conniston's movements curiously. + +For a moment they stood motionless save for the heaving of muscles +with their quick breathing, eying each other, measuring each other. +One thing stood uppermost in Conniston's mind: the foreman, with every +deep breath he drew, was shaking off his dizziness, was regaining his +strength. The spirit within him, with all of the battering he had +received, was still unbroken. And Conniston himself felt his right arm +growing numb to the elbow. In a very few seconds he would be like a +rag doll in the other's big, strong hands.... + +"Well," panted Brayley, "what are you waitin' for? I'll lick you yet!" + +Conniston came on, stepping slowly, cautiously. Brayley stood still, +his clenched fists at his waist, his back against the fence. His eyes +left the other's face for a second and ran to the broken hand swinging +at his side. A quick light of understanding leaped into the big +cattle-man's face, and he laughed softly. And as he laughed he stepped +forward, lifting his fists. + +Conniston swung at him with his left hand. The blow whizzed by +Brayley's ear, for he had foreseen it and had ducked. But as he +retaliated with a crushing blow, Conniston sprang to the side, +ducking. Now it was Brayley again who rushed, a leaping light of hope +of victory, surety of victory, in his eyes. + +But Conniston saw his one chance and took it. He did not give back. +And he did not offer the poor defense of one arm against the flail of +blows. Instead he stooped low, very low, jerking his body double, +dropping suddenly under Brayley's threshing arms, and hurled himself +bodily to meet the attack, his left shoulder thrust forward, striking +Brayley with the full impact of his hundred and eighty pounds just +below the knees. They both went down, down together, and with +Conniston underneath. But to Brayley the thing had come with a +stunning shock of unexpectedness just as he saw the end of the fight, +and Conniston was on his feet a second the first. Again as Brayley +sprang up, Conniston stood over him. Again Conniston's fist, his left, +but driven with all of the power left in him, beat mercilessly into +the already cut face, driving Brayley down upon his knees. Now he was +swaying helplessly, hopelessly. But still the dogged spirit within him +was undefeated. A strange sort of respect, involuntary, of mingled +admiration and pity; surged into Conniston's heart. He was not angry, +he had not been angry from the beginning. This was merely a bit of his +duty, a part of the day's work, the beginning of regeneration, the +keeping of a promise. He was sorry for the man. But he was not +forgetting his promise. Brayley was swaying to his feet, his two big +hands lifted loosely, weakly, before him. Through their inefficient +guard Conniston struck once more, the last blow, swinging from the +shoulder. And Brayley went down heavily, like a falling timber, and +lay still. + +For a little Conniston stood over him, watchful, wiping the blood from +the gash in his cheek. He saw that Brayley's eyes were closed, and +felt a quick fear that he had killed him. Then he saw the eyelids +flutter open, close, open again, as the foreman's eyes rested steadily +upon his. He waited. Brayley lifted his head, even struggled to his +elbow, only to fall back prone. + +They were not ten feet from the empty corral. Lonesome Pete, his +saddle mended, rode slowly around the corner of the stable toward the +gate. The horse which he was riding was a half-broken three-year-old, +but Lonesome Pete was at home upon the backs of half-broken +three-year-olds. And his red head was full of Jocelyn Truxton and +"Macbeth." He rode with his hat low over his eyes, one hand holding +his horse's reins, the other grasping firmly a little book. So it +happened that Lonesome Pete rode through the gate and close to the two +men and did not see them. + +But the horse did see them, did see a man lying stretched upon the +ground, and with the sharp nostrils of its kind the horse scented +fresh blood. The result was that the frightened brute reared, +snorting, and wheeled suddenly, plunging back through the corral gate. +And Lonesome Pete, taken unawares as he sat loosely in the saddle, was +jerked rudely out of his dreamings of the fair Jocelyn and the bloody +Macbeth to find his horse shooting out from under him, and to find +himself sitting upon the hard ground with his legs in Brayley's lap. + +Brayley's strength of lungs came back to him with a new anger. "You +howlin' idiot, what are you tryin' to do?" + +"I was a-readin'," responded Lonesome Pete, still grinning vapidly, +still not quite certain whether the things which he saw about him were +real things or literary hallucinations. + +"A-readin'!" snapped Brayley, sitting up. "That what I'm payin' you +for, you blame gallinipper!" + +With a glance from Brayley's lacerated face to the bloody smears on +Conniston's, Lonesome Pete got to his feet and, shaking his head and +dusting the seat of his overalls as he went, turned and disappeared +into the stable after his horse. Brayley glared after him a second, +grunted, and got to his feet. + +"Well," he snarled, facing Conniston. "You licked me. Now what? Want +to beat me up some more?" + +"No, I don't," Conniston answered him, steadily. "You know I had to do +it, Brayley. You had it coming to you after that first night in the +bunk-house. Now--I want to shake hands, if you do." + +With a keen, measuring glance from under swelling eyelids, and no +faintest hesitation, Brayley put out his hand. + +"Shake!" he grunted. "You done it fair. I didn't think you had it in +you. And"--with a distorted grin--"I'll 'scuse the left hand, Con!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Brayley and Conniston went together into the corral and picked up the +three revolvers. Then Conniston turned toward the stable to get his +horse. Brayley's eyes followed him, narrowing speculatively. + +"Hey, Conniston," he called, sharply, "where you goin'?" + +"To work. It's late now." + +"Yes, it's late, all right. But you better go up to the bunk-house +first an' fix your hand up. Oh, don't be a fool. Come ahead. I'm goin' +to straighten out my face a bit." + +So Conniston turned back, and the two men went to the bunk-house. The +cook was pottering around his stove, cleaning up his pots and pans. He +looked up curiously as they came in, realizing that by now they should +have been at work. The faint, careless surprise upon his face changed +suddenly into downright bewilderment as he saw the dust-covered +bodies, the cut lips, blood-streaked cheeks, and swelling eyes of the +two men. The song which he had been humming died away into a little +gasp, and with sagging lower jaw he stood and stared. + +"Well," snapped Brayley, pushing back his hat and returning the cook's +stare fiercely. "Well, Cookie, what's eatin' you? Ain't you got +nothin' to do but stand an' gawk? By the Lord, if you ain't I know +where we can git a hash-slinger as is worth his grub!" + +Cookie's bulging eyes ranged from one face to the other. Then he +turned back to his stove and began to wash over again a pan which he +had laid aside already as clean. + +Conniston and Brayley washed with cold water in silence. Then they +found a bottle of liniment and applied it to their various cuts with a +bit of rag. Brayley, his big fingers unbelievably gentle, bandaged +Conniston's lame hand for him. And then they went back to the corrals. + +"You can go out to the east end an' give Rawhide a hand," said +Brayley, as he swung up to his horse's back. "I reckon you won't be +much good for a day or two except jest ridin'. An' say, Con. I had a +talk with the Ol' Man about you this mornin'. He wanted to know if you +was makin' good. Lucky for you," with a twisted grin, "that he asked +before we had our little set-to! You're to git forty-five a month from +now on. An' at the end of the week you're to report over to +Rattlesnake to go to work." + +As Greek Conniston rode out across the dry fields toward the east +there was a subtle exhilaration in the fresh, clean morning air which +he drew deep down into his lungs. For the moment the soreness of +bruised muscles, the biting pain in his crippled hand, were trifles +driven outward to the farthermost rim of his consciousness. His foot +was upon the first step of the long stairway which he must climb. He +had whipped Brayley in a fair, square, hand-to-hand, man-to-man fight. +He had done it through sheer dogged determination that he would do it. +He had set himself a task, the hardest task he had ever essayed. And +success had come to him as self-vindication. + +But it had been to him more, vastly more, than a mere duty, although +from the outset he had looked upon it in that light. It had been a +test. Had the outcome been reversed, had he failed, had Brayley +worsted him, there was every likelihood that Conniston would have left +the range. But now, hand in hand with dawning regeneration, there came +confidence. There were many things which his destiny had set ahead of +him, and he was ready to face them with the same dogged determination +with which he had faced the big foreman. + +Then, too, this morning he had received more than mere self-approval. +Brayley had indorsed his work in his consultation with Mr. Crawford. +And Mr. Crawford had seen fit to increase his daily wage. He had not +been worth a dollar a day a month ago, and he knew it. Now he was to +be paid a dollar and a half a day, and because he was worth that to +the Half Moon. So far, in the circumscribed area of his daily duties, +he "had made good." He felt that the first heat of the great race was +run, that in spite of his handicap he had held his own. The race +itself was almost a tangible thing ahead of him. Greek Conniston was +ready for it. And he dared think, with a sharp-drawn breath and a +leaping of blood throughout his whole being, of the golden prize at +the end of it--for the man who could win that prize. + +He worked all that day with Rawhide Jones, his left hand upon his +reins, his right thrust into his open vest as a rude sort of sling. He +met Rawhide's surprise, answered his quick question by saying, simply, +without explanation, "I got hurt." Rawhide had grunted and dropped the +subject. + +All day long one matter surged uppermost in Conniston's mind to the +exclusion of anything else: he was to be transferred from the Half +Moon to Rattlesnake Valley. He did not know whether to be glad at the +change or sorry. He was growing to know the men with whom he worked, +growing to like them, to find pleasure in their rude companionship. +Now, just as he was making friends of them he was to be shifted among +strangers. To-day he had found heretofore unsounded depths in the +nature of Brayley; he wanted to know the man better, to show him that +he had not been blind to rough, frank generosity, nor unappreciative +of it. Through these latter days, during which the scales had been +dropping from his eyes in spite of prejudice, he had been forced into +a grudging admiration of the man's capability. Brayley could read +little and spell less; he was a clown and a boor in the matter of the +finer, exacting social traditions; but he could run a cattle-range, +and he read his men as other men read books. Conniston realized +suddenly, shocked with the realization, that in Brayley there was that +same sort of thing which he had come to respect in Argyl Crawford, the +same open frankness, the same straightforward honesty, the same deep, +wide generosity. + +Argyl, too, entered into the confusion of his gladness and +disappointment at the coming change of sphere. He had planned to spend +many an evening with her; and now, just as he was finding the door to +her comradeship opened to him, he was to be whisked away from her. + +But on the other hand Conniston's optimism saw ahead of him, in the +new field of work, the dim, shadowy, and at the same time alluring +outline of a new and rare opportunity. He had not forgotten the things +which Mr. Crawford had said of his big project. And in spite of his +own deprecatory answer to Mr. Crawford's straightforward question, +Greek Conniston had not forgotten all of the engineering he had +absorbed during four years in the university. There was work to be +done, there were men wanted, above all, men who could understand +something beyond the pick-and-shovel end of the thing, men who knew +the difference between a transit and a telescope. + +And the work itself appealed to him strangely now that that labor was +not without independence, not without a stern sort of dignity even. To +take a stretch of dry, hot sand, innocent of vegetation, to wrest it +from the clutch of the desert as from the maw of a devastating giant, +to bring water mile upon mile from the mountain caņons, to make the +sterile breast of the mother earth fertile, to drive back the horned +toad and the coyote, to make green things spring up and flourish, to +carve out homes, to cause trees and flowers and vines to give shade +and disseminate fragrance, even as time went on to wring moisture from +the lead-gray sky above--it was like being granted the might of a +magician to touch the desert with the tip of his wand, bringing life +gushing forth from death. + +When night came Conniston trudged from the corrals to the bunk-house +and his evening meal devoutly thankful that the long day was gone. His +hand pained him constantly, and in the sharp twinges which shot +through it the lesser hurt of his cut cheek was forgotten. The greater +part of the other men was there before him. As he stepped in at the +door they were dragging their chairs noisily up to the table. Brayley, +one eye swollen almost shut, his lips thick like a negro's with the +blows which had hammered them, had just taken his seat. The men's eyes +were quick to catch the bruised countenance of the man at the door, +and ran swiftly from it to Brayley's face and back again. One man +chuckled aloud, Toothy giggled like a girl, and the others grinned +broadly. For a moment Brayley's face darkened ominously. Then his +frown passed, and he turned about in his chair toward the door. + +"Hello, Con," he said, quietly. + +"Hello, Brayley," Conniston answered, in the same tone. + +Brayley's eyes went back to the men at the table, shifting quickly +from one to another. He ran his tongue along his swollen lips, but +said no word until Conniston had washed and taken his own chair. Then +he spoke, his words coming with slow distinctness. + +"Conniston jumped me this mornin.' I had a lickin' comin' to me. You +boys know why. An' I got it." + +He stopped suddenly, his eyes watchful upon the faces about him. +Conniston saw that they were no longer grinning, but as serious, as +watchful, as Brayley's. + +"That was between me an' Conniston. There ain't goin' to be no makin' +fun an' fool remarks about it. He done it square, an' I'm glad he done +it! If there's any other man here as thinks he can do it I'll take him +on right now!" + +Again he paused abruptly, again he studied the grave faces and +speculative eyes intent upon his own. No man spoke. And Conniston +noticed that no man smiled. + +"All right," grunted Brayley. "That ends it. Cookie, for the love of +Mike, are you goin' to keep us waitin' all night for them spuds?" + +The meal passed with no further reference, open or covert, to the +thing which was uppermost in the minds of all. Many a curious glance, +however, went to where Conniston sat. He was conscious of them even +when he did not see them, understood that a new appraisal of him was +being made swiftly, that his fellow-workers were carefully readjusting +their first conceptions and judgments of him. + +When he had finished eating, Conniston went straight to his bunk. He +had no desire for conversation; he did want both rest and a chance to +think. He was straightening out his tumbled covers when Lonesome Pete +tapped him upon the shoulder. + +"No hay for yours, Con," he grinned. "Not yet. Miss Argyl wants you to +come up to the house. Right away, she said, as soon as you'd et. She +said special she was in a hurry, an' you wasn't to waste time puttin' +on your glad rags." + +Why did Argyl want him--to-night? He put his fingers to his cheek +where Brayley's fist had cut into the flesh. How could he go to her +like this? He was on the verge of telling Lonesome Pete that he could +not go, of framing some excuse, any excuse. But instead he closed his +lips without speaking, picked up his hat and went straight toward the +house. + +She was waiting for him at the little summer-house upon the front +lawn. He saw the white of her lacy gown, the flash of her arms as he +came nearer, her outstretched hand as he came to her side. With his +hat caught under his right arm he put out his left hand to take hers. + +"You were good to come so soon," she was saying. + +"It was good to come," he rejoined, warmly. "You know how glad I am +for every opportunity I have to see you." + +"What is the matter with your hand?" she asked, quickly. "Your right +hand?" + +"I hurt it," he answered, easily. "Nothing serious. It will be well in +a day or two." + +"How did you hurt it?" she persisted. + +"Really, Miss Crawford," he retorted, trying to laugh away the +seriousness of her tone, "there are so many ways for a man to damage +his epidermis in this sort of work--" + +She was standing close to him, looking intently up into his face +through the gathering darkness. + +"Tell me--why did you do it?" + +"What? Smash my fingers?" + +"Yes. In the way you did!" + +"What do you mean?" he hesitated, wondering what she knew. + +"On Brayley's face! Why did you fight with him?" + +"Who told you?" + +"Brayley. He had to come to see father this evening. I saw his face. I +heard him tell father that he had had trouble with one of the men. I +was afraid that it was you! I followed him out into the yard and asked +him. It is no doubt none of my business--but will you tell me why you +fought with him?" + +"I think that I would answer anything you cared to ask me, Miss +Crawford," he replied, quietly. "Will you sit down with me for a +little?" He moved slowly at her side, back to the seat in the +summer-house, grateful for any reason which gave him the privilege of +talking with her, watching her quick play of expression. "You see, my +object seemed so clear-cut and simple--and now gets itself all +tangled up in complexity when I try to explain it to you. For one +thing, ever since my first night on the Half Moon when Brayley put me +out I have felt that it was up to me to finish what was begun that +night. For another thing, I was trying to prove a theory, I imagine! I +didn't really believe that Brayley was the better man. And lastly, and +perhaps most important of all, I told you the other day that I was +going to lick him. It was a sort of promise, you know!" + +She sat with her elbow upon her knee, her chin on her hand, her eyes +lost in the shadow of her hair. He knew that she was regarding him +intently. He guessed from the line of her cheek, from the slightly +upturned curve at the corner of her mouth, that she was half inclined +to be serious, and almost ready to smile at him. + +"You are inclined to look upon Brayley as an enemy?" was all that she +said, still watching him closely. + +"No!" he cried, warmly. "I sneered at him the other day, I know. Like +the little poppinjay I was I thought myself in the position to poke +fun at him. To-day I got my first true idea of the man's nature. +To-day I found out--can you guess what I found out? That Brayley in +many things is just like--whom, do you suppose?" + +"Tell me." + +"Like you! The discovery was a shock. It nearly bowled me over. But +it's the truth!" + +"What do you mean?" she asked, plainly puzzled. "How in the world is +Brayley like me?" + +"Aside from externals, from refinement, from polish, from all that +sort of thing"--he spoke swiftly--"his nature is much like yours. +There is the same frankness, the same sincerity, the same heartiness. +There is the same sort of generosity, the same bigness of--of soul." +He broke off abruptly, surprised to find himself talking this way to +her. "You must think I'm a fool," he blurted out, after a second. "I +talk like one. You have a right to feel offended--to liken Brayley to +you--" + +"Since I believe you mean what you say--since I think I understand +what you mean--I am not offended! I am proud! Yes, proud if I can be +like Brayley in some things, some things which count! If you do +nothing beyond making a friend of that man your exile in this Western +country of ours will have been worth while. But you will do something +more. I did not ask you to come to me just to hear what you had to say +about your trouble with Brayley. He told me before you came--told me +that you had licked him, as you both put it, and that it served him +right! That is your business and Brayley's, and I should keep out of +it. But there was something else--I wonder if you think me meddlesome, +Mr. Conniston? If I _am_ meddlesome?" + +"If we are going to be friends, you and I--and you promised that you +would let me make you my friend--hadn't we better drop that word?" + +"Then I am going to tell you something. You are to go to work in the +Valley. Brayley told you that? Do you guess why--have you an +idea--why father is sending you over there?" + +"I supposed because he is pushing the work--because he needs all the +men there he can get, can spare from the Half Moon." + +"I am going to tell you. And I am afraid that father would not like +it, did he know. But I know that I am right. I may not see you again +before you go--I am going into Crawfordsville in the morning for a +few days. What I tell you, you will remember, is in strict +confidence--between friends?" + +"In strict confidence," he repeated, seriously. "Between friends." + +She leaned slightly forward, speaking swiftly, emphatically, +earnestly: + +"You have heard of Bat Truxton? He is in charge there of all the men, +general superintendent of all the work. You will be put to work under +him. You will be in a position to learn a great deal about the project +in its every detail. Bat Truxton is an engineer, a practical man who +knows what he has learned by doing it. And he is a strong man and very +capable. Then there is Garton--Tommy Garton they call him. You will +work with him. He, too, is an engineer, and he, too, knows all there +is to know about the work." + +She paused a moment, as though in hesitation. Conniston waited in +silence for her to go on. + +"Father is sending you to the Valley because he has begun to take an +interest in you. Before the year is over there is going to be an +opportunity for every man there to show what there is in him. He is +giving you your chance, your chance to make good!" + +Argyl got to her feet and stood looking away from him, out across the +duck pond. Presently she turned to him again, smiling, her voice gone +from grave to gay. + +"The race is on, isn't it? The great handicap! And, anyway, I have +given you a tip, haven't I? Now you are coming up to the house with +me, and I'm going to make you a bandage for your broken hand." + +She didn't stop to heed his protest, but ran ahead of him to the +house. And Conniston, pondering on many things, saw nothing for it but +to allow her to play nurse to him. + +Saturday morning Greek Conniston pocketed the first money he had ever +earned by good, hard work. Brayley handed him three ten-dollar gold +pieces--his month's wage. Conniston asked for some change, and for one +of the gold pieces received ten silver dollars. He knew that Mr. +Crawford and Argyl had gone into Crawfordsville, so he gave one dollar +to Brayley, saying: "Will you hand that to Mr. Crawford for me? I owe +it to him for telegraph service on the first day I spent here." And +then he made a little roll of the indispensable articles from his +suit-case, tied it to the strings behind his saddle, and rode away +across the fields toward Rattlesnake Valley. + +He was to report immediately at the office of the reclamation work in +Valley City. Following the trail he and Argyl had taken the other day, +he rode into the depression, or sink, about the middle of that long, +low hollow between the southern end and the clutter of uniform square +buildings which was planned to grow into a thriving town in the heart +of the desert. + +Every foot of ground here now had a new personal interest for him. He +studied the long, flat sweep of level land with nodding approval, +trying to see just where the main canal should run, just how its +course could be shaped most rapidly, most cheaply, most +advantageously. For the mounds, the ridges where the winds had swept +the sand into long winnows, he had a quick frown. After all, he +realized suddenly, this desert was not the flat, even floor he had +imagined it to be. A mile, two miles to his right as he rode into the +"valley" he could see a slow-moving mass of men and horses, could +catch the glint of the sun upon jerking scrapers and plows. There the +front ranks of Mr. Crawford's little army was pushing the war against +the desert. There was where the brunt of Bat Truxton's responsibility +lay. + +To his left, still several miles away, was Valley City. He swung his +horse toward the camp, which as yet was scarcely more than a man's +dream of a town, and rode on at a swift gallop. Now more than ever he +saw what some of the difficulties were in front of the handful of men +scarring the breast of this Western Sahara. For a moment he could see +the houses before him, even down to their doorsteps, and a moment +later only the roofs peered at him over the crest of a gently swelling +rise. Here the water, when it was brought this far, must be swung in a +wide sweep to right or left, or else many days, perhaps many weeks, +must be sacrificed to the leveling of a great sand-pile. He began to +wonder if there was enough water in the mountains for so mammoth a +project; if what of the precious fluid could be taken from the creeks +and springs would not be drunk up by the thirsty sands as though it +had been scattered carelessly by the spoonfuls, as a blotter drinks +drops of ink. He even began to wonder uneasily if Lonesome Pete had +been right when he had said that another name for such an attempt at +reclamation was simple "damn foolishness." The water had not come yet; +it was still running in its time-worn courses down the mountain-sides; +but something else was being drunk up daily by the parched gullet of +the dry country. And that something else was Mr. Crawford's money. His +fortune was no doubt very large; it must run into many figures before +Rattlesnake Valley grew green with fertility. + +He came at last into the little town, passed the cottage where he had +worked with Argyl, and drew up before a four-roomed, rough, unpainted +building, with a sign over the door saying, "GENERAL OFFICE +CRAWFORD RECLAMATION COMPANY." Swinging down from his horse, +which he left with reins upon the ground, he went in at the open door. +Within there were bare walls, bare floor, and three or four cheap +chairs. Under the windows looking to the south there ran a long, high +table, covered with papers and blue-prints. Another long table ran +across the middle of the room. At it, facing him, perched upon a high +stool, a young man, a pencil behind each ear, his sleeves rolled up, +was working over some papers. In one corner of the same room another +young fellow, hardly more than a boy--eighteen or nineteen, +perhaps--was ticking away busily at a typewriter. + +The man in shirt-sleeves working at the second long table looked up as +Conniston came in. He was a pale, not over-strong--looking chap, +somewhere about Conniston's own age, his short-cropped yellow hair +pushed straight back from a high forehead, his lips and eyes +good-humored and at the same time touched vaguely with a tender +wistfulness. Conniston imagined immediately that this was Garton, Bat +Truxton's helper. + +"You're Mr. Garton?" he said, voicing his impression as he came +forward. + +"No one else," Garton answered him, pleasantly. "Tom Garton at your +service. And you're Conniston from the Half Moon?" + +He put out his hand without rising. Conniston took it, surprised as +he did so at the quick, strong grip of the slender fingers. + +"I'm glad to know you, Conniston. Glad you're to be with us. Oh yes, I +knew a couple of days ago that you were coming over. Mr. Crawford +dropped in on us himself and told us about you. Have a chair." + +They had shaken hands across the table. Now, as Conniston moved across +the room to the chair at which Garton waved, the latter swung about on +his high stool toward the boy at the typewriter. + +"Hey there, Billy!" he called. "Come and meet Mr. Conniston. He's +going to be one of us. Mr. Conniston, meet Mr. Jordan--Billy +Jordan--the one man living who can take down dictation as fast as you +can sling it at him, type it as you shoot it in, and play a tune on +his typewriter at the same time!" + +Stepping about the table to meet the boy who had got to his feet, +Conniston received a shock which for a second made him forget to take +young Jordan's proffered hand. For the first time now he saw Garton's +body, which had been hidden by the table; saw that Garton had had both +legs taken off six inches above the knees. He remembered himself, and +tried to hide his surprise under some light remark to Billy Jordan. +But Garton had seen it, and laughed lightly, although with a slight +flush creeping up into his pale cheeks. + +"Hadn't heard about my having slept with Procrustes? Well, you'll get +used to having half a man around after a while. The rest do. I've +gotten used to it myself. Now sit down. Have a smoke?" He pushed a box +of cigarettes along the table. "And tell us what's the news on +Broadway." + +"You're a New-Yorker?" + +"Oh, I've galloped up and down the Big Thoroughfare a good many times +in the days of my youth," grinned Carton, helping himself to a +cigarette. "I'm an Easterner, all right; or, rather, I was an +Easterner. I guess I belong to this man's country now." + +"What school?" + +"Yale. '05." + +"Why, that's my school! I was a '06 man." + +"I know it." Garton nodded over the match he was touching to his +cigarette. "You're Greek Conniston, son of the big Conniston who does +things on the Street. But we didn't happen to travel in the same +class. I was shy on the money end of it. Oh, I remember you, all +right. I saw that record run of yours around left end to a touchdown. +Gad, that was a great day! I went crazy then with a thousand other +fellows. I remember," with an amused chuckle, "jumping up and down on +a fat man's toes, yelling into his face until I must have split his +ear-drum! Oh yes, I had two pegs in those days. The fat man got mad, +the piker, and knocked me as flat as a pancake! I guess he never went +to Yale." + +For ten minutes they chatted about old college days, games lost and +won, men and women they both had known in the East. And then, +naturally, conversation switched to the work being done in Rattlesnake +Valley. Garton's face lighted up with eagerness, his eyes grew very +bright, he spoke swiftly. It was easy to see that the man was full of +his work, pricked with the fever of it, alive with enthusiasm. + +"You seem to be mightily interested in the work," Conniston smiled. + +"I am. I am in love with it! A man can't live here ten days and be a +part of it without loving it or hating it. It's the greatest work in +the world; it's big--bigger than we can see with our noses jammed up +against it! It's a man's work. And thank God we've got the right man +at the head of it!" + +"Meaning Truxton?" + +"Meaning the man who is the brain of it and the brawn of it; the heart +and soul and glorious spirit of it; yes, and the pocket-book of it! +That's John Crawford, a big man--the biggest man I ever knew. Who else +would have the nerve to tackle a thing like this, to tackle it +lone-handed? And to hold on to it in the face of opposition which +would crush another man, and with the risk of utter financial ruin +looming as big as a house, like a glorious, grim old bulldog! Oh, you +don't know what it means yet; you can't know. Wait until you've been +here a week, seeing every day of it a thousand dollars poured into the +sand, a few square yards of sand leveled, a few yards of canal dug, +and you'll begin to understand. Why, the whole thing as it stands is +as dangerous as a dynamite bomb--and John Crawford is as cool about it +as an anarchist!" + +"You speak of opposition. I didn't know--" + +Garton rumpled his upstanding yellow hair and laughed softly. + +"I guess none of us know a great deal about it excepting John +Crawford. And John Crawford doesn't talk much. Oh, you will learn fast +enough all that we know about it. And now I suppose you'll be wanting +to know where you fit into the machine. Bring any things with you--any +personal effects?" + +"A tooth-brush and an extra suit," Conniston laughed. "They're tied to +my saddle outside." + +"You can bring 'em in here. I have a room in the back of this shack. +You're to share it with me, if you care to. You'll find a shed in the +back yard where you can leave your horse. There's a barrel of water +out there, too. And, by the way, you might as well learn right now not +to throw away a drop of the stuff; it's worth gold out here. When you +get back I'll go over things with you. Your first day's work, the +better part of it, will be to listen while I talk." + +Conniston unsaddled and tied his horse in the little shed, coming back +into the office with his roll of clothes. Garton swung about upon his +stool and pointed out the room at the back of the house which was to +serve for the present as the sleeping-room for both men. There were +two cots along opposite walls, a chair, and no other furniture. +Conniston threw down his things upon the cot which Garton called to +him was to be his, and came back into the office. Pulling a stool up +to the table alongside of Garton, he began his first day's work for +the reclamation project. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Tommy Garton spoke swiftly, clearly, concisely, explaining those +essentials of the work in hand which Conniston must grasp at the +beginning. Filled with an ardor no whit less than Mr. Crawford's, +there seemed to be no single detail which he did not have at his +fingers' ends. + +Taking from the drawer of his table a map which bore his own name in +the corner, he pointed out just where their source of water was, and +just how it was to be brought down from the mountains into the +"valley." He indicated where the work was being pushed now. He showed +where the big dam had already been thrown across a steep-walled, rocky +caņon; how, when the time came, a second dam (this purely a diversion +weir) was to be constructed across a neighboring caņon, higher up in +the mountains, deflecting the waters which poured down through it into +the lower dam, and from it turning them into the main canal at the +upper end of Rattlesnake Valley. He pointed out, five miles to the +north of these two big dams, the place where a third was to be flung +across yet another caņon, imprisoning a smaller creek and turning it +toward the southwest to join the overflow of the others in the main +canal. He ran over blue-print after blue-print, to show the type of +construction work being done. He explained where there was leveling +called for, where the canal must be turned aside. + +"We'd bring her straight through, and d--n the little knolls," he +cried, banging his fist down upon his table in sudden vehemence, "but +there is a time-limit on this thing, Conniston. And we've got to get +water here, right here in Valley City, when the last day is up. Not +twenty-four hours late, either. No, not twenty-four minutes!" + +He ran the back of his hand across his moist forehead, and sat staring +out of the window as though he had forgotten Conniston's presence. + +"What sort of a time-limit? I thought that Mr. Crawford was alone in +this thing, that he had the rest of his lifetime to finish it in if he +wanted to take that long." + +Garton snorted. + +"He's got until just exactly twelve o'clock, noon, on the first day of +October. If he is five minutes late--yes, five minutes!--there'll be +men right here holding stop-watches on the thing like it was a +blooming foot-race!--he'll be busted, ruined, smashed, and the whole +project a miserable abortion!" He paused a moment, biting the end of +his pencil. And before he went on he had turned his eyes steadily upon +Conniston's face, studying him. "If you're going to work with us, to +get into it with your sleeves rolled up like Bat Truxton and Billy +there and me and a few others of us, you might as well know in the +beginning what's what in this scrap. For it is a scrap--the biggest +scrap you ever saw, a fight to the finish, with one man lined up +against--do you have any idea what John Crawford is bucking?" + +Conniston shook his head. "I know virtually nothing of this thing, +Garton." + +"Well, I'll tell you. Single-handed that man is fighting the desert! +And he'd beat it back, too, and conquer it and muzzle it and make it +eat out of his hand if they'd only let him alone. But they won't, the +cold-blooded highway robbers! He's got them to fight with his left +hand while he hammers away at the face of the desert with his right! +Who are 'they'? 'They' are a syndicate; organized capital. 'They' +spell many millions of dollars ready to be spent to defeat John +Crawford." + +He stopped suddenly, frowning and gnawing at his pencil. Conniston was +about to ask a question when Garton went on rapidly, such hot +indignation in his tones that Billy Jordan dropped his hands from the +keys of his machine to listen to what he had heard many a time before. + +"You know already how Mr. Crawford built the town which is named after +him? He made that town just as a man takes clay into his hands and +makes a modeled figure out of it. And when the job was done he went to +the Pacific Central & Western and showed them why it would pay them to +build a narrow-gage railroad from Bolton, on the other side of the +ridge, thirty miles through mountainous country. He had that planned +out long before the first shack was put up in Crawfordsville. And he +knew what he was doing. The P. C. & W. built the road and have run an +accommodation train back and forth daily ever since. And they have +made money at it hauling freight, merchandise from the main line, +building-material, farming implements--everything which had to go into +Crawfordsville; hauling farm produce from the new settlement back into +Bolton. + +"Because he had shown the P. C. & W. that the thing could be done on a +paying basis, because it _was_ done and did pay, the P. C. & W. +listened to him when he made a second proposition to them. He went +straight to Colton Gray, and Colton Gray listened to him. What Gray +advises, the P. C. & W. does. In the end, after many interviews and +much investigation and discussion, Crawford made Gray see the matter +the way he saw it. The P. C. &. W. contracted to begin work on a line +from Crawfordsville to Valley City and on across the desert to the +main transcontinental railroad at Indian Creek the day that sufficient +water to irrigate fifty square miles of land had been brought into +this part of the 'valley.' It was agreed by both contracting parties +that the water was to be brought to this spot by noon of October +first, or all contracts became null and void. + +"The day that Gray agreed for the P. C. & W. Mr. Crawford put men to +work on the first preliminary survey. He had already the necessary +water concessions. He had studied his ground, made his plans with a +carefulness which overlooked nothing which a man could foresee, and +had every reason to believe, to be positive, that he could have all +the water he wanted in the valley a whole month before the first of +October. + +"And I tell you he could have done it if they had just let him alone! +But they wouldn't. Within thirty days after the first shovelful of +earth was turned there was a strong organization perfected to defeat +him. Why? In the first place there is a certain bloated toad in our +local puddle named Oliver Swinnerton who has his hatchet out on +general principles for the Old Man. In the town of Bolton he's the +mayor and the chief of police and the board of city fathers and the +municipal janitor all rolled into one pompous, pot-bellied little +body. He's got money and he's got brains. No sooner does word get +about of the Old Man's contract with the P. C. & W. than Oliver +Swinnerton gets busy. He went straight to Colton Gray, and at first he +could do nothing with him. Gray had taken time for his investigations +of Mr. Crawford's scheme, had been convinced that it was feasible, and +now stood pat. But Swinnerton with his counter-scheme interested a lot +of other capital, and through some of the men he got in with him he +got the ear of some of the higher-ups on the P. C. & W. He even got +his scheme into the private office of the president, and from the +president word ran down to Gray. I think even Gray began then to get +shaky in the knees. I tell you, Conniston, the Old Man's project is so +big that until it is consummated there will always be a doubt in other +men's minds whether the thing ever can be done. If it can't, if it +proves impracticable to irrigate this country, to build first Valley +City and then a string of settlements across the desert, why then of +course there would be nothing in it for the P. C. & W. to run a spur +across to Indian Creek. + +"And Oliver Swinnerton made it his business to show the management of +the railroad that the thing was impossible, that it was a mad fool's +dream, that when the first day of October came there would be nothing +accomplished because there never could be anything accomplished. He +scored his point, and then he played his trump card. He showed that +the same money which the railroad would have to spend in stringing +rails across the sand here could be spent more advantageously in +another direction. + +"On the other side of Bolton there are grassy foothills, well watered--a +big stretch of country very much like that about Crawfordsville. +Already there are orchards there, considerable small farming, +grain-raising and hay. Swinnerton planned to build a town out there in +the heart of that fertile country where there are now a number of +settlements and to have the P. C. & W. run a seventy-five-mile spur out +that way. The management naturally will not stand for the expense of +both roads at the same time, since both would be very largely in the +nature of experiments. Swinnerton's scheme looked more promising than +the Old Man's. Swinnerton got his contract with the railroad. And that +contract says that if on the first day of October Mr. Crawford has not +made good he will be given not a day's grace, but work will be begun on +the other road into Swinnerton's country. Do you see now what I mean by +opposition? Do you see what will happen if we don't come up to time on +our end of the game? Swinnerton is so confident that he holds the +winning hand that he has already founded his town, already sunk a pile +of money in it. Somebody is going to go to the wall when the first day +of October comes." + +"But," demurred Conniston, "Swinnerton and his corporation are doing +nothing actively to retard our work--can do nothing. If--" + +"He isn't?" snorted Garton. "That's all you know about it! How do we +get all of our implements, our supplies, all of our men? They come to +us by rail, don't they? And that means they come to us over the P. C. +& W., doesn't it? And the P. C. & W. is scared out of its life, +praying every day to its little gods for Crawford's failure. What +happens? We get delayed shipments, we wait for our stuff, and it lies +sidetracked somewhere; we get our men stolen from us before they ever +get to Bolton, and shunted off to work for the opposition! There are +a hundred ways in which Swinnerton and the bigger men in with him can +slip their knife into us every day of the week. And they are not +missing very many bets, either. Oh, Gray's all right; he's square +enough and willing enough to stand by his word. But he can't do +everything. It takes time to get matters up to him, and it takes time +for him to adjust them. And right now he's in San Francisco attending +a railroad conference, and he'll be there fifteen days, I suppose. +What sort of service do you suppose we get in the mean time? You get +that idea out of your head that Swinnerton isn't doing anything +actively to retard us. He's doing everything he can think of, and I +told you at the jump that the man has brains." + +As well as a man could understand it without actually going over the +ground, Conniston learned that afternoon all that Bat Truxton's +assistant could tell him. He learned, roughly, of course, how much had +been done already, what remained to be done first, what could be +allowed to wait until more men came to swell the forces now at work, +what chief natural difficulties and obstacles lay across the path of +the great venture. + +Little Tommy Garton's enthusiasm was so keen a thing, so spontaneous, +so whole-souled, that long before time came for the noon meal +Conniston felt his own blood pounding and clamoring for action. +Swiftly he was granted the first true glimpse which had ever come to +him of the real nature of work. Such work as he was now about to +engage in was so infused with the elements of hazard, of risk, of +uncertainty, of opposition, that it was shot through with a deep, +stern fascination. It was not drudgery, and almost until now he had +looked upon all work as that. It was a great game, the greatest game +in the world. He already began to look forward to to-morrow, when he +was to leave the office and go out upon the field of action with Bat +Truxton with an eagerness such as he had felt in the old college days +on the eve of the big Thanksgiving football game. Something of the +spirit which had made old William Conniston the dynamic, forceful man +of business which he had always been, and which had never before +manifested itself in old Conniston's son, suddenly awoke and shook +itself, active, eager, the fighting spirit of a fighting man. + +At noon Billy Jordan pushed back his chair and got to his feet, +stretching his arms high over his head. + +"Time to eat," he said, picking up his hat. "Coming, Mr. Conniston?" + +"And you?" Conniston asked of Garton. + +"Oh, me!" laughed Garton. "I don't travel that far. Not until my new +legs come. I had trouble with 'em," he explained. "Had to send 'em +back to Chicago. I'm hoping," with a whimsical smile, "that they don't +get sidetracked with the rest of our stuff on the P. C. & W. Go with +Billy, Conniston. He'll show you where to eat." + +He whirled about on his stool, squirmed suddenly over on his stomach, +and lowered himself to the floor. Swinging the leathern-capped stumps +of his legs between his hands, which he placed palm down on the floor, +as a man may swing his body between crutches, he moved with short, +quick jerks into the room where the two cots were. Conniston turned +away abruptly. + +With Billy Jordan he went nearly to the end of the short street before +they came to a rude lunch-counter, set under a canvas awning, where a +thin, nervous little man and his fat, stolid wife set canned goods and +coffee before them. Billy produced a yellow ticket to be punched, +Conniston paid his two bits, and they strolled back to the office. +When Conniston suggested that they take something to Garton, Billy +told him that a boy took him his meals. + +There was so much to be got over that day, Conniston was so eager to +learn what details he could, Tommy Garton so eager to impart them, +that it was scarcely half-past twelve when the two men were back at +the long table going over maps and blue-prints. There were no +interruptions. An imprisoned house-fly buzzed monotonously and +sullenly against a pane of glass, his drone fitting into the heavy +silence on the face of the hot desert so that it became a part of it. + +At four o'clock a handful of ragged children, barefooted, bronzed of +legs and hands and faces, scampered by on their noisy way home from +school. A pretty young woman in neat walking-habit and big white straw +hat followed the children, smiling in through the open door at Garton, +noting Conniston with a flash of big brown eyes and quickly dropping +lids. Billy, in seeming carelessness, had wandered to the door when +the children passed, and stepped outside, chatting with her for five +or ten minutes. + +"Miss Jocelyn," Garton told him. "Bat Truxton's daughter, and the +village schoolmistress. Billy thinks he's rather hard hit, I fancy." + +"I've heard of her," Conniston replied, frowning at the map he was +holding flat on the table. "Dam Number Two is the one which is +completed, isn't it? And Number Three is the smaller auxiliary dam? +How about Number One, which seems to be the most important of the +lot? When do we go to work on that?" + +Garton chuckled. "You're going to be as bad as I am, Conniston! Can't +even stop to look at a pretty girl? The Lord knows they're scarce +enough out here, too. Yes, Dam Number One is the important one of the +lot. It will be the biggest, the hardest, and most expensive to build, +and it will control the water-supply which is going to save our +bacon." + +Whereupon he, too, forgot Miss Jocelyn and Billy, and launched into +further explanation. At six o'clock Billy Jordan covered his +typewriter and put on his coat and hat. He came over to the table and +leaned his elbow on it, waiting for Garton to finish something that he +was saying. + +"I'm going around to Truxton's a little while this evening," he said, +trying to speak as a man of the world should, but flushing up under +Garton's twinkling eyes. "If you find time dragging on your hands you +might come along, Mr. Conniston. Miss Jocelyn"--he hesitated a +moment--"Miss Jocelyn said I might bring you around." + +Conniston thanked him and asked him to thank Miss Jocelyn, but assured +him that instead of having time lagging for him he had more to do than +he could manage. So Billy went on his way alone. Nor did he seem +disappointed at Conniston's refusal to accompany him. It was only when +it began to grow dusk and the boy brought Garton's supper that +Conniston got up and went down the street to his own solitary evening +meal at the lunch-counter. + +It was after nine o'clock, and Conniston was lying on his cot in the +little rear room of the office-building listening to Tommy Garton talk +about reclamation--it seemed the only thing in the world he cared to +talk about during working-hours or after--when the outside door was +flung open and a man's heavy tread came through the office and to +their sleeping-room. + +"That'll be Truxton," Garton said. "Wants to see you, I guess." + +The heavy tread came on through the office, and the door to Garton's +room was flung open with as little ceremony as the front door had +been. In the light of a kerosene-lamp upon the chair near his cot +Conniston saw a short, squat, heavy-set man of perhaps forty-five, +very broad across the forehead, very salient-jawed, his mustache +short-cropped and grizzled, his mouth large and firm-lipped, his eyes +steady and keen as they turned swiftly upon Conniston from under +shaggy, tangled, iron-gray brows. The man had nodded curtly toward +Tommy Garton, and then stood still in the doorway regarding young +Conniston intently. + +"You're Conniston." + +It was a positive statement rather than a question, but Conniston +answered as he sat up on the edge of his cot: + +"Yes. I'm Conniston." + +"All right." Truxton removed the lamp from the one chair in the room, +placed it upon the window-sill, and sat down, pulling the chair around +so that he faced Conniston. "You're goin' to work with me in the +mornin'. Now, what do you know?" + +His manner was abrupt, his voice curt. Conniston felt a trifle ill at +ease under the man's piercing gaze, which seemed to be measuring him. + +"Not a great deal, I'm afraid. You see, I--" + +"I thought you were an engineer?" + +"I am--after a fashion. Graduate of Yale--" + +"Ever had any actual, practical experience?" + +"Only field work in college." + +"Ever had any experience handlin' men? Ever bossed a gang of men?" + +"No." + +"Ever do any kind of construction work?" + +"In college--" + +"Forget what you did with a four-eyed professor standin' over you! +Ever build a bridge or a grade or a dam or a railroad?" + +"No." Conniston answered shortly, half angrily. + +"Then," grunted Truxton, plainly disgusted, "I'd like to know what the +Old Man meant by sendin' you over here! I can't be bothered teachin' +college boys how to do things. What I need an' need bad is an engineer +that can do his part of the day's work." + +"Look here!" cried Conniston, hotly. "We all have to begin some time, +don't we? You had your first job, didn't you? And I'll bet you didn't +fall down on it, either! It's up to you. If you think I'm no good, all +right. If you give me my work to do I'll do it." + +"It _ain't_ up to me. The Old Man sent you over. You go to work in the +mornin'. If I was doin' it I wouldn't put you on. I don't say you +won't make good--I'm just sayin' I wouldn't take the chance. I'll stop +here for you at four o'clock in the mornin'." He swung about from +Conniston and toward Garton. "How're they comin', Tommy?" + +All of the curt brusqueness was gone from his tone, the keen, cold, +measuring calculation from his eye. With the compelling force of the +man's blunt nature the whole atmosphere of the room was altered. + +"First rate, Bat," Tommy answered, cheerfully. "How's the work +going?" + +"Good! The best day I've had in two weeks. We get to work on those +seven knolls to-morrow. You remember--Miss Argyl calls 'em Little +Rome." + +"What have you decided? Going to make a detour, or--" + +"Detour nothin'. I'm goin' right straight through 'em. It'll take +time, all right. But in the end we'll save. I'll cut through 'em in +four days or four an' a half." + +"And then--it's Dam Number One?" + +Truxton swore softly. "If I can get the men, it is! Swinnerton stole +my last gang--seventy-five of 'em. The blamed little porcupine offered +'em two bits more than we're payin' an' grabbed every one of 'em. The +Old Man has wired Denver for a hundred more muckers. Swinnerton can't +keep takin' men on all year. He's got more now than he knows what to +do with. I guess this gang 'll come on through. As soon as they come, +Tommy, I'll have that big dam growin' faster'n you ever saw a dam grow +before." + +For half an hour the two men talked, and Conniston lay back listening. +In spite of Bat Truxton's sour acceptance of him, Conniston began to +feel a decided liking for the old engineer. After all, he told +himself, were he in Truxton's place he would have small liking for +putting a green man on the job. He realized that there was nothing +personal in Truxton's attitude toward him. Truxton was not looking for +a man, but for an efficient, reliable machine, one that had already +been tested and found to be strong, trustworthy, infallible. + +Again the question had been put to him, "What have you done?" And it +was nobody's fault but his that he had done nothing. + +"I wish you had two legs, Tommy," Truxton said, when at last he got up +and went to the door. "You an' me workin' together out there--well, +we'd make things jump, that's all." + +Tommy laughed, but his sensitive mouth twitched as though with a sharp +physical pain. + +"Oh, I'm doing all right inside," he answered, quietly. "Somebody's +got to attend to this end of the game. And Conniston will be on to the +ropes in a few days. He'll help you make things jump." + +Truxton made no answer. For a moment he stood frowning at the floor. +Then he turned once more to Conniston for a short, intent scrutiny. + +"You have your blankets ready, Conniston," he said, shortly. "You'll +sleep on a sand-pile to-morrow night." + +And he went out, slamming the door behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +At half-past three, Conniston, awakened with a start by the jangle and +clamor of Tommy Garton's little alarm-clock, got up and dressed. At +the lunch-counter the man who had been fidgety yesterday and was +merely sleepy this morning set coffee and flapjacks and bacon before +him. Before four he had saddled his horse, rolled into a neat bundle a +blanket and a couple of quilts from the cot upon which he had slept +last night, tied them behind his saddle, and was ready for the coming +of Bat Truxton. Then Truxton on horseback joined him. Conniston +mounted, acknowledged Truxton's short "Good mornin'," and rode with +him away from the sleeping village and out toward the south. + +"Tommy's told you somethin' about what we got ahead of us?" Truxton +asked, when they had ridden half a mile in silence. + +"Yes. We went over the whole thing together as well as we could in a +day's time." + +"That's good. If any man's got a head on him for this sort of thing, +that man's Tommy Garton. He'd make it as plain as a man could on +paper, without goin' over the ground. To-day we're tyin' into those +seven sand-hills I mentioned last night. I've got two hundred men +workin' there. So they won't get in each other's way I've divided 'em +up in four gangs, fifty men to the gang. There's all kinds of men in +that two hundred, Conniston, and about the biggest part of your day's +work will be to sort of size your men up. I've divided 'em, not +accordin' to efficiency, but partly accordin' to nationality an' +mostly accordin' to cussedness. I'm givin' you the tame ones to begin +on. I'll take care of the ornery jaspers until you get your hand in. +But I can't spare more'n a day or two. Then it'll be up to you. You'll +have to swing the whole bunch, if you can. An' if you can't it'll be +up to you to quit! Oh, it ain't so all-fired hard, not if you've got +the savvy. I've got a foreman over each section that knows what he's +doin' an' will do pretty much everything if you can furnish the head +work." + +"Where is the trouble with them? What do you mean by the ornery ones? +They're all here because they want to work, aren't they? If they get +dissatisfied they quit, don't they?" + +Truxton looked at him curiously. "You got a lot of things to learn, +Conniston. Just you take a tip from me: You keep your eyes an' ears +real wide open for the next few days an' your mouth shut as long as +you can. Tommy explained to you about the opposition? About what +Oliver Swinnerton is doin' an' tryin' to do?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you remember that; don't overlook it for a minute, wakin' or +sleepin'. It'll explain a whole lot." + +When they rode into the camp at Little Rome the two hundred men +employed there were just beginning to stir. Conniston's eyes took in +with no little interest the details of the camp. There was one long, +low tent, the canvas sides rolled up so that he could see a big +cooking-stove with two or three men working over it. This, plainly +enough, was the kitchen. From each side of the door a long line of +twelve-inch boards laid across saw-horses ran out across the level +sand. Upon the parallel boards were tin plates stacked high in piles, +tin cups, knives and forks, and scores of loaves of bread. There were +in addition perhaps twenty tin buckets half filled with sugar. + +Scattered here and there upon the sand, some not twenty feet from the +tent, some a hundred yards, some few with a little straw under them, +the most of them with their blankets thrown upon the sand or upon +heaps of cut sage-brush, were Truxton's "muckers." They lay there like +a bivouacking army, their bodies disposed loosely, some upon their +backs, still sleeping heavily; many just sitting up, awakened by the +clatter of the cook's big iron spoon against a tin pan. + +Behind the tent, picketed in rows by short ropes, were the horses and +mules. And lined up to the right of the tent were twenty big, +long-bodied Studebaker wagons, each with four barrels of water. Two +more wagons at the other side of the tent were piled high with boxes +and bags of provisions. + +Truxton and Conniston unsaddled swiftly, and after staking out their +horses, Conniston throwing his roll of bedding down behind the tent, +they walked around to the front. Already most of the men were up, +rolling blankets or hurrying to the rude tables. Several of them had +gone to the aid of the cooks, and now were hurrying up and down +between the parallel boards, setting out immense black pots of coffee, +great lumps of butter, big pans of mush, beans, stewed "jerky," and +potatoes boiled in their jackets. The men who had rolled out of their +beds fully dressed, save for shoes, formed in a long line near the +tent door and moved swiftly along the tables, taking up knives, +forks, plates, and cups as they went, helping themselves generously to +each different dish as they came to it. Many stopped at the farther +ends of the boards, standing and eating from them. Many more took +their plates and cups of coffee away from the tables and squatted down +to eat, placing their dishes upon the sand. There was remarkably +little confusion, no time lost, as the two hundred men helped +themselves to their breakfast. They did not appear to have seen +Truxton; they glanced swiftly at Conniston and seemed to forget his +presence in their hunger. + +Never had Conniston seen a crowd of men like these. There were +Americans there, and from the broken bits of conversation which +floated to him he knew that they hailed from east, west, north, and +south. There were Hungarians, Slavonians, Swedes--heavy, stolid, +slow-moving men whose knowledge of the English language rose and set +in "damn" and "hell." There were Chinamen and Japs--a dozen of the +slant-eyed, yellow-faced Orientals--the Chinamen all big, gaunt men +with their queues coiled about their heads. There were Italians, the +lower class known to the West as "Dagoes." And almost to the last man +of them they were the hardest-faced men he had ever seen. + +There was a big, loose-limbed giant of an Englishman who walked like a +sailor, who carried a great white scar across his cheek and upper lip, +and who wore a long unscabbarded knife swinging from his belt. There +was a wiry little Frenchman who showed a deep scar at the base of his +throat, from which his shirt was rolled back, and who snarled like a +cat when another man accidentally trod upon his foot. Conniston saw a +dozen faces scarred as though by knife-cuts; twisted, evil faces; +dark, scowling faces; faces lined by unbridled passions; brutal, +heavy-jawed faces. + +But if their faces showed the handiwork of the devil, from their chins +down they were men cast in the mold of the image of God. From the +biggest Dane standing close to six feet six inches to the smallest Jap +less than five feet tall, they were men of iron and steel. Quick-eyed, +quick-footed, hard, they were the sort of men to drive the fight +against the desert. + +Breakfast finished, the men dropped their cups and plates into one of +two big tubs as they passed by the tent, their knives and forks into +another, and went quietly and promptly to work. Each man had his duty +and went about it without waiting to be told. They filled buckets at +the water-barrels and watered their horses; they harnessed and hitched +up to plows and scrapers; half a dozen of them hitched four horses to +each of six of the wagons whose barrels had been emptied, and swung +out across the plain toward the Half Moon for more water. + +Truxton beckoned to Conniston and led him toward the south. And +suddenly, coming about the foot of a little knoll, Conniston had his +first glimpse of the main canal. + +Here it was a great ditch, ten feet deep, thirty feet wide, its banks +sloping, the earth which had been dragged out of it by the scrapers +piled high upon each side in long mounds, like dikes. Truxton stood +staring at it, his eyes frowning, his jaw set and stern. + +"There she is, Conniston. A simple enough thing to look at, but so is +the business end of a mule. This thing is goin' to make the Old Man a +thousand times over--or it's goin' to break him in two like a rotten +stick." + +The workmen were coming up, driving their teams with dragging +trace-chains to be hitched to the scrapers and big plows standing +where they had quit work the night before. Truxton, tugging +thoughtfully at his grizzled mustache, watched them a moment as they +"hooked up" and dropped, one behind another, into a long, slow-moving +procession, the great shovel-like scrapers scooping up ton after ton +of the soft earth, dragging it up the slope where the end of the ditch +was, wheeling and dumping it along the edge of the excavation, turning +again, again going back down into the cut to scoop up other tons of +dirt, again to climb the incline to deposit it upon the bank. Here +Conniston counted forty-nine teams and forty-nine drivers. One man--it +was the big Englishman with the scarred lip and cheek and the +unsheathed knife--was standing ten feet away from the edge of the +ditch, his great bare arms folded, watching. + +"That's one of your foremen," Truxton said, his eyes following +Conniston's. "Ben, his name is. He knows his business, too. He'll take +care of this gang for you while you come along with me. I'll show you +your other shift." + +They followed a line marked by the survey stakes for a quarter of a +mile past the camp. Here another fifty men were at work; and here, +where the top of the sand had already been scraped away, a harder soil +called for the use of the big plows before the scrapers could be of +any use. The foreman here, a South-of-Market San-Franciscan by his +speech, shouted a command to one of the drivers and came up to +Truxton. + +"Whatcher want to-day?" he demanded. "Ten foot?" + +"Nine," Truxton told him, shortly. "Nine an' a half by the time you +get to that first stake. Nine three-quarters at the second. Can you +get that far to-day?" + +The foreman turned a quid of tobacco, squinted his eye at the two +stakes, and nodded. + +"Sure thing," he said. + +And then he turned on his heel and went back to the point he had quit, +yelling his orders as he went. + +"Another good man," Truxton muttered. "Thank the Lord, we've got some +of them you couldn't beat if you went a thousand miles for 'em." + +Still farther on was the third gang, and beyond that the fourth. These +hundred men were at work on the "Seven Knolls." And there Truxton +himself would superintend the work to-day. He stopped and stood with +Conniston upon one of the mounds, from which they could see all that +was being done. And with slow, thoughtful carefulness he told +Conniston all that he could of the work in detail. + +"You do a good deal of watchin' to-day," he ended. "Ben an' the +Lark--that's what they call that little cuss bossin' the second +gang--listen to him whistle an' you'll know why--know well what to do. +Right now an' right here the work's dead easy, Conniston. Only don't +go an' let 'em drive you in a hole where you have to admit you don't +know. You've _got_ to know." + +The work here was in reality so simple that men like Ben and the Lark +grasped it quickly. Conniston had little trouble in seeing readily +what was to be done. The details Truxton furnished him. + +When noon came they ate with the men. And at one o'clock Truxton +called Ben and the Lark aside and told them shortly that Conniston was +the new engineer and that they were to take orders from him. Whereupon +Conniston took upon himself the responsibility of "bossing" a hundred +men, the biggest responsibility which he had ever taken upon his +care-free shoulders. + +He had seen the slow, measuring glances which both of his two foremen +had bestowed upon him when Truxton told them; knew that they accepted +him as their overseer because they took orders from Truxton, but saw +in their faces that they reserved judgment of him personally until +such time as they could see how much or how little he knew. He was not +greatly in fear of the outcome. The work was running so smoothly, +there were so few possible difficulties to come up now, that it seemed +to him that all he had to do was to stand and watch. + +And at first he did little but watch and, as Truxton had suggested, +try to study his men. He saw that both the Lark and Ben said very few +words, that when they did speak they barked out short, explosive +commands surcharged with profanity, that when they interfered there +was a good reason for it, that their commands were obeyed without +hesitation and without question. Not once in two hours did either of +them so much as look toward him. And the long processions of men and +horses came and went, scooped and dumped their big scraper-loads, and +swung back into the ditch, each man of them moving like a machine. + +It was after three o'clock when he noticed something which he would +have seen before had he been used to the work and the men. He saw the +long string of scrapers come to a halt for perhaps two minutes; saw +that the cause of the halt was a big Northlander who had stopped just +as he came upon the bank and was working over at race-chain which +seemed to be causing trouble. In a moment he started up again, the +other scrapers began to move, and Conniston dismissed the matter as of +no consequence. This was the gang over which Ben was foreman. He +glanced quickly at the big Englishman and saw that his eyes were upon +the Northlander. Again, not twenty minutes later, came a second brief +stoppage, again the Swede was working over a trace-chain--and now Ben +had swung about and was striding toward Conniston. + +"Hi say there," he said, as he came to Conniston's side. "Bat says +Hi'm to take horders off you. Do you want me to 'andle those Johnnies? +Hor do you figure on a-stepping in? Hi?" + +"What do you mean?" demanded Conniston, a bit puzzled. "I haven't +interfered with you, have I?" + +"No. Hi just want to know, you know. Hi 'andle 'em my wi, hor Hi quit, +you know." + +"You are to do just as you have always done," Conniston told him, +shortly. "If you can handle them, all right. Go to it. If you need any +help--What's the matter?" + +"Hi don't awsk any 'elp," muttered Ben. "Just one man--" + +"You mean that Swede with the big white mare in the lead?" interrupted +Conniston, quickly. + +Ben looked at him swiftly. Grunting an answer which Conniston did not +catch, he turned and went back along the edge of the ditch. + +The Swede was again coming up the bank. At the top he did as he had +done more than once before: turned out in a wide circle, letting two +men pass him. The Englishman strode swiftly toward him. + +"Hi, there, you big Swede!" he yelled, his words accompanied by a +volley of insulting epithets born in the slums of London. "Wot you +trying to do? Want the 'ole works to pawss you w'ile you rest? You +blooming spoonbill, get inter that! Step lively, man!" + +The Northlander's heavy, slow-moving feet stopped entirely as he +turned a stolid face toward the foreman. + +"I bane to like I tam plase," he muttered, slowly. "Yo bane go hell." + +The big Englishman sprang back, swept up a broken pick-handle half +buried in the sand, and leaped forward. As he leaped he swung the bit +of heavy, hard wood above his head. The Swede dropped his reins and +threw up his arms to guard himself, but the pick-handle, wielded in a +great, sinewy right hand, beat down his arms and struck him a crashing +blow across his forehead. Conniston heard the thud of it where he +stood. The Swede's arms flew out and he went down like a steer in a +slaughter-house. + +"You bloody spoonbill!" cried the Englishman, standing over the +prostrate body. "Wot are you laying down for? Get hup, hor Hi'll beat +the bloody 'ead hoff your bloody shoulders! Get hup!" + +Slowly, weakly, reeling as he got upon his knees, the Swede rose to +his feet. A great, smoldering, cold-blooded wrath shone in his blue +eyes, mingled with a surly fear. He made no motion toward the man who +stood three feet from him threatening him. Nor did he stir toward his +fallen reins. Instead he turned half about toward the camp. + +"I bane quit," he muttered, thickly. "I bane get my time." + +"Quit!" yelled Ben--"quit, will you!" + +The Swede muttered something which Conniston did not catch. Ben took +one short, quick step forward, swinging his pick-handle high above his +head. For a moment the Swede paused, hesitating. And then, again +muttering, he stooped, picked up his reins, and swung his team back +into the cut. + +The other men had all stopped to watch. Now Ben swung about upon them, +his voice lifted in a string of cockney oaths, commanding them not to +stand still all day, but to get to work. At almost his first word the +teams began to move again, the men laughing, calling to one another, +jeering at the defeated Swede, or merely shrugging their shoulders. +And Greek Conniston, his face still white from what he had just +witnessed, began to see, although still dimly, what it was he had +taken into his two hands to do. + +He glanced down at his hands. The middle finger of the right one, with +which he had struck Brayley's heavy cheek-bone, was swollen to twice +its natural size, stiff and sore. The nails were broken and blackened. +There were a dozen scratches and little cuts. The palms were hard and +calloused, with bits of loose skin along the base of the fingers where +blisters had formed and broken and healed over. + +He lifted his head, and his speculative eyes ran back along the ditch. +The work was again running smoothly, quietly, save for the clanking of +the scrapers and the men's voices calling to their horses and mules, +each man intent upon his own duty, the face of the desert as peaceful +as the hot, clear arch of the sky above. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Three days passed, four, a week, and still no word came of the men for +whom the "Old Man" had wired to Denver. Conniston had nearly forgotten +them. His day was from daylight until dark, often until long after +dark. Upon more than one evening, after the men had had their suppers +and crawled into their blankets, he and Truxton had sat in the tent at +the cook's rude table, a lantern between them, figuring and planning +upon the next day. + +He began to notice a vague change in the older engineer as the days +went by. At first he was hardly conscious of it, at a loss to +catalogue it. But before the middle of the week he realized that each +evening found Truxton more irritable, more prone to explode into quick +rage over some trifle. The man's eyes began to show the restless fever +within him, and some sort of an unsleeping, nervous anxiety. +Throughout the days the men stood clear of him. His flaming wrath +burst out at a blundering mistake or at a man's failure to follow to +the last letter some short-spoken instructions. It was only one night +when Conniston made careless mention of Oliver Swinnerton, and Truxton +flew into a towering, cursing rage, that he began to believe that he +saw the real reason for Truxton's growing ill temper. + +"The thievin', mangy, pot-bellied porcupine!" Truxton had shouted, +banging his fist down upon the cook's table so hard that the lantern +jumped two inches in the air. "I'll just naturally rid the earth of +him one of these days. Those men ought to have arrived from Denver +three days ago. How am I ever goin' to get anything done, an' no men +to work for me? With Colton Gray gone an' the rest of the P. C. & W. +thieves playin' into that scoundrel Swinnerton's hands, where do we +get off? We send for a hundred men, an' it saves Swinnerton the +trouble an' expense of a wire. By now every man jack of them is makin' +fences an' buildin' houses for him, or I'm the worst-fooled man in the +country." And he swung off into a string of curses which would not +have been unworthy of Ben the Englishman. + +One afternoon when they had run the ditch through the Seven Knolls and +were cutting rapidly through a level stretch with a double line of +smaller hills a mile ahead of the foremost team, Truxton came striding +along the ditch to where Conniston was standing. + +"Think you can handle all four gangs without me for the rest of the +afternoon?" he asked, as he came to Conniston's side. + +"Yes," answered Conniston. "I can handle them." + +Truxton laughed softly. + +"You're comin' ahead, youngster. Wouldn't have wanted the job a week +ago, would you? I believe you could handle 'em, too. But I'll do it +this trip. I want you to go to the office for me. See Tommy and run +over these figures with him. I told you last night that I was sure of +'em. To-day I'm gettin' balled up. Tell him that I'm puttin' a gang on +that double line of hills first thing in the mornin'. Run over the +thing with him and verify our figures. If there's anything left of the +afternoon when you get through you can take it off an' see the sights +in Valley City. Find out how they're fixed for water an' grub an' +wood. Tommy's got all that dope at the tip of his tongue. An' be back +here the first thing in the mornin'." + +He went back to his work, and Conniston hurried away, decidedly glad +for the change of work. Just to grip his horse between his knees, to +swing out alone across the rolling fields, to drink deep of the +untroubled stillness of the wide places, to be an independent, swiftly +moving figure with nothing to break the silent harmony of the still, +hot sky above and the still, hot sands beneath--a harmony which the +soul leaped out to meet--brought a quiet, peaceful content. The day +was serene and perfect, like yesterday and to-morrow in this land of +dreary barrenness and of infinite possibility; the faint blue of the +cloudless sky met the gray monotone of the earth between two mounds in +front of him; and as his horse's hoofs fell noiselessly, as though +upon padded felt, his sensation was that of drifting across the wide +sweep of a gently swelling ocean toward a landlocked sea of pale +turquoise. + +It was shortly after four o'clock when he rode into Valley City. He +passed the one-room school-house, with its distinctive little belfry +and flag-pole, and a glance in at the open windows told him that the +children had been dismissed. At the corner of the building he came +suddenly upon a saddled horse biting and stamping at the flies which +defied swishing tail and savage teeth. Half smiling, he stopped. He +had recognized the horse as a Half Moon animal, one he had ridden +several times, and thought that he could guess who was inside paying +his respects to the schoolmistress. Even as he paused Jocelyn Truxton +came out, opening her white parasol. And in all the holiday regalia of +shaggy black chaps, bright-blue neck-handkerchief, and new Stetson +hat, Lonesome Pete followed her. + +Pete, as he emerged from behind the parasol, saw Conniston and called +a hearty "Hello, Con!" to him. And Conniston turned his horse and rode +back to the front steps. + +"Miss Jocelyn says as how she ain't been interdooced," Lonesome Pete +was saying, his hat turning nervously in his hands, his face flushing +as he met Conniston's eyes. "Shake han's with Mr. Conniston, Miss +Jocelyn." + +Miss Jocelyn lifted her dropped eyelids with a quick flutter, favored +Conniston with a flashing smile, banished her smile to replace it with +a pouting of pursed lips, and said, archly: + +"I have half a mind _not_ to shake hands with Mr. Conniston! If he had +wanted to meet me he would have come with Billy Jordan the other +night." + +But, none the less, she finished by putting out a small, gloved hand, +and Conniston, leaning from the saddle, took it in his. + +"I was sorry, Miss Truxton," he said, lightly. "Didn't Jordan tell +you? Garton and I had a lot to do that night, and worked late. It was +very kind of you to say that I might come." + +"If you had wanted to come _very_ much--" she said, shaking her head +saucily. "_You_ would have found time to come, wouldn't you, Pete?" + +Lonesome Pete, his spurred boots shifting uneasily, put on his hat, +noticed immediately that Conniston still held his in his hand, +snatched it off again, spun it about upon a big forefinger, and +grinned redly. + +"I sure would, Miss Jocelyn," he declared with great emphasis. + +Miss Jocelyn turned back to lock the school-house door, and then came +down the steps and into the road. + +"I'll go git my hoss an' walk along," Lonesome Pete said, and hurried +around to the back of the house. + +"Are you going my way, Mr. Conniston?" + +Conniston said that he was, and swung down, walking at her side and +leading his horse. + +"If you really _do_ care to come to see me," Jocelyn said, quickly, +before the cowboy had rejoined them, "you may call this evening." + +Conniston thanked her, and, not to seem rude, said that he would drop +in after he and Tommy Garton had finished their work. Jocelyn smiled +at him brightly. + +"You may come early, if you like. I am sure that you will have a whole +lot of things to tell me about the progress you and papa are making +with the ditch. I'm _so_ interested in the work, Mr. Conniston." + +Pete had taken up his horse's dragging reins and led him into the +street. Jocelyn, her chin a trifle lifted, her air more than a trifle +coquettish as she smiled at Conniston, pretended not to see her +red-headed adorer. Walking between the two men, she even tilted her +parasol so that it did no slightest good in the world in the matter of +protecting her from the sun, but served very effectively in shutting +out Lonesome Pete. Conniston laughed and talked lightly with her, +vastly amused at the situation and the discomfiture upon her ardent +lover's expressive face. And so, with Pete trudging along in silence, +unnoticed, they came to the office and stopped, Jocelyn and Conniston +still talking to each other, Lonesome Pete tying and untying knots in +his bridle-reins. + +"Can't you give up enough of your precious time to walk on home with +me? I have some icy cold lemonade waiting for me," she tempted. + +"I'm sorry. I'd like to, but I've got a lot of work to get over with +Garton--" + +Only three or four doors from the office was the little cottage which +he had helped Argyl to prepare for her father. Even while he was +making his excuses he saw the door open, and Argyl herself, lithe and +trim in her gray riding-habit, step out upon the tiny porch. + +"I beg pardon," he broke off, suddenly. "I--Will you excuse me?" + +And, jerking his horse's reins so that the animal started up after him +at a trot, he strode down the street, his hat off, his face lifted +eagerly to Argyl's. A moment later he was holding her hand in his, +oblivious of Jocelyn, Pete, Valley City, everything in the world +except the girl with the big gray eyes, the girl whom he had seen +through his shifting day-dreams. + +When the cowboy and the schoolmistress passed him Lonesome Pete was +talking once more and she was being very gracious to him, but +Conniston had no eye for such trifles. Jocelyn nodded a bit stiffly to +Argyl, and, smiling at Conniston, cried gaily, "You won't forget, Mr. +Conniston!" + +But he had already forgotten. He had not hoped to see Argyl for many +days yet, perhaps many weeks, and the unexpected sight of her thrilled +through him, driving all thoughts of Jocelyn out of his mind. And when +in a few minutes he was forced to remember that he had business with +Garton he left reluctantly and with a promise to have dinner at six +o'clock with her and her father. + +Tommy Garton he found as cheerful as a cricket and heartily glad to +see him. Billy Jordan had looked out as Jocelyn and her two escorts +came by, and now was back at his typewriter, pounding the keys for +dear life, the ticking and clicking of his machine keeping time to +"Yankee Doodle," which he was whistling softly. He, too, shook hands, +but his cheerfulness was of a grade noticeably inferior to Garton's. +And immediately he went back to his machine and his rhythmical +pounding. + +Conniston was of a mind to get the business of the day done with +before six. The first part of his errand took up the greater part of +an hour. Then Garton reported upon the other matter which Truxton had +wanted ascertained. There was water enough to last four days. +Provisions were holding out well, but soon there would be a need for +fresh supplies of sugar, flour, and jerked beef. There was enough of +canned goods at the general store to last for a month, a fresh +shipment having been recently received--two big wagon-loads from +Crawfordsville. + +"I expect Mr. Crawford to drop in on us some time before dark," Garton +said, as he put away carefully into a drawer the papers he had taken +from it during the consultation. "Miss Argyl is already here. Stopped +in a minute to let us know that the Old Man is coming." + +"Yes, I know. I saw her a minute just before I came in." + +They chatted for a while longer, until Conniston saw by his watch that +it was six o'clock. Then he got up and reached for his hat. + +"You'll spend the night with me, Conniston," Tommy Garton offered. +"I've got plenty of bedding; a man doesn't suffer for covers these +nights. Drop in as soon as you and Billy get through supper. I think +that I can beat you a game of crib." + +"Much obliged, Garton. But I may not run in for an hour or so. Miss +Crawford has asked me to eat with them to-night." + +"Oh." There was a great lack of expression in Garton's monosyllable, +but as he swung about upon his stool, bending over the box of +cigarettes which he swept up, Conniston thought that he saw a little +twitch as of pain about the sensitive lips. Not understanding, feeling +at once that he would like to say something and not knowing what to +say, he went slowly to the door. As he was going out Garton called to +him, his voice and face alike as cheerful as they had been throughout +the afternoon. + +"I say, Conniston. Remember me to Miss Argyl, will you? She's a +glorious girl. I never saw her match. She's got the same capability +for doing big things that her father has. I said the other day that he +was the whole brain and brawn of this war for reclamation. I ought to +have been kicked. Do you know that the whole project, from its +inception, has been as much hers as his? Why, that girl has ridden +over every foot of this valley, knows it like a book. Dam Number +Three, that auxiliary dam, is her idea. And a rattling good idea, too. +The men call it 'Miss Argyl's Dam.' Better brush up on your +engineering before you talk reclamation with her, old man. She's read +all the books I've got. A glorious girl, Conniston." + +Conniston came back into the room. + +"See here, Garton," he said, gently. "Why don't you come along. She +told me that she wanted you, that she had asked you and--" + +Garton waved an interrupting hand, smiling quickly. But Conniston saw +that his face looked tired. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +At Conniston's knock Argyl's voice from somewhere in the back of the +cottage called "Come in!" He opened the door, went through the cozy +sitting-room, which was scarcely larger than the fire-place at the +range-house, and at a second invitation found his way into the rear +room. There an oil-stove was shooting up its yellow flames about a +couple of stew-pans, and there Argyl herself, in blue gingham apron, +her sleeves rolled up on her plump, white arms, was completing +preparations for the evening meal. She turned to nod to Conniston and +then back to her cooking. + +"You'll find a chair in the corner," she told him, as he stopped in +the doorway, looking amusedly at her. "That is, of course, if you care +to call on the cook? Otherwise you will find cigars and a last month's +paper in the sitting-room." + +"There isn't any otherwise," he laughed back at her. And after a +moment, in which she was very busy over the stove and he very content +to stand and watch her: "We're even now. Last time we were here I was +the hired man and tacked down carpets for you. Now I'm the guest of +the family, if you please, and you're the cook." + +"You can have two cupfuls of water to wash your hands and one for your +face. You'll find the barrel and basin upon the back porch. And don't +throw the water away! I'll save it for you to use the next time you +come." + +"Thank you. But I washed over at Garton's. He lets me have two cupfuls +for my face. And now I'm going to help you. What can I do?" + +"Nothing. If you wanted to work, why did you wait until the last +minute? Unless you know how to set a table?" + +"I can set anything from an eight-day clock to a hen," he assured her, +gravely. "Where's Mr. Crawford? Has he come yet?" + +"No. I expect him any minute. But we won't wait for him. It's against +the law in the Crawford home to wait meals for anybody." + +Under her direction he found the dishes in a cupboard built into the +walls, knives, forks, spoons, and napkins in drawers below, and +journeying many times from kitchen to dining-room, stopping after each +trip to stand and watch his hostess in her preparations for dinner, he +at length had the table set. And then he insisted upon helping play +waiter with her until she informed him that he was positively +retarding matters. Whereupon he made a cigarette and sat upon the +kitchen table and merely watched. + +For many days Conniston had longed to see Mr. Crawford, to talk with +him concerning the big work. Now, as he and Argyl sat down together, +his one wish was that Mr. Crawford be delayed indefinitely. As he +looked across the table, with its white cloth, its few cheap dishes, +its simple fare, he was conscious of a deep content. He helped Argyl +to the _pičce de résistance_--it consisted of dried beef, potatoes, +onions, and carrots all stewed together; she passed to him the +biscuits which she had just made; they drank each other's health and +success to the Great Work in light, cooled claret made doubly +refreshing with a dash of lemon; and they dined ten times as merrily +as they would have dined at Sherry's. + +He told her of Tommy Garton, and suddenly surprised in her a phase of +nature which he had never seen before. Her eyes filled with a quick, +soft sympathy, a sympathy almost motherly. + +"Poor little Tommy," she said, gently. "He laughs at himself and calls +himself 'half a man,' while he's greater than any two men he comes in +contact with once in a year. I call Tommy my cathedral--which sounds +foolish, I know, but which isn't! Do you know the feeling you get when +you steal all alone into one of those great, empty, silent churches, +where it is always a dim twilight? Not that Tommy is as somber and +stately as a great cathedral," she smiled. "Just the opposite, I know. +But his sunny nature, his unruffled cheerfulness affect me like a +sermon. When I allow myself to descend into the depths and see how +Tommy manages it, I feel as if I ought to be spanked. I think," she +ended, "that I have pretty well mixed things up, haven't I? But you +understand what I mean?" + +"I understand. And since we have drunk to the Great Work, shall we +drink to a Great Soul who is a vital part of it? I don't know how we'd +manage without Tommy Garton." + +They touched glasses gravely and drank to a man who, as they sat +looking out upon life through long, glorious vistas, dawn-flushed, lay +alone upon his cot, his face buried in his arms. + +They finished their meal, cleared away the dishes together, and still +Mr. Crawford had not come. Then Conniston dragged two of the chairs +out to the front porch, took a cigar from the jar where it had been +kept moist with half an apple, and they went out to enjoy the cool +freshness of the evening. The sun had sunk out of sight, the mood of +the desert had changed. All of the dull gray monotone was gone. All +the length of the long, low western horizon the dross of the garish +day was being transmuted by the alchemy of the sunset into red and +yellow gold, molten and ever flowing, as though spilled from some +great retort to run sluggishly in a gleaming band about the earth. + +A little wandering breeze had sprung up, and went whispering out +across the dim plains. It swirled away the smoke from Conniston's +cigar; he saw it stir a strand of hair across Argyl's cheek. The glory +of the desert was still the wonderful thing it had been, but it was +less than the essential, vital glory of a girl. Suddenly a great +desire was upon him to call out to her, to tell her that he loved her +more than all of the rest of life, to make her listen to him, to make +her love him. And with the rush of the desire came the thought, as +though it were a whispered voice from the heart of the desert: "What +are you that you should speak so to her. _What have you done to make +you worthy of this woman?_ You, a laggard, as frivolous a thing until +now as a weathercock, and by no means so useful a factor in the world, +your regeneration merely begun; she the Incomparable Woman!" + +It was Argyl who spoke first, and only after nearly an inch of white +ash had formed at the end of Conniston's cigar. + +"People who do not understand--they are aliens to whom the desert has +never spoken!--ask why father gives the best part of a ripe manhood to +a struggle with such a country. Does not an evening like this answer +their question? No people in the world can so love their land as do +the children of the desert. For when they have made it over they are +still a part of it and it has become a part of them." + +He told her all that he could of the work and Truxton and the men, +going into detail as he found that she followed him, that Tommy Garton +had not exaggerated when he had said that she knew every sand-hill and +hollow. She listened to him silently, only now and then asking a +pertinent question, her eyes upon his face as she leaned forward in +her chair, her hands clasped about her knees. And when he had finished +he found that his cigar had long since gone out and that she was +smiling at him. + +"It has got you, too!" she cried, softly. "You are as enthusiastic +already as Tommy Garton is. I wonder if you realized it? And I +wonder," her eyes again upon the fading colors in the west, the smile +gone out of them, "what it would mean to you if, after all, our dream +came to nothing, if it proved that we were more daring than wise, if +we lost everything where we are staking everything?" + +"I have been a small, unnecessary cog in a great machine for only a +week," he told her, slowly. "And yet you will know that I am telling +you the plain truth when I say that such a failure would bring to me +the biggest disappointment I have ever felt. Failure," he cried, +sharply, as though he had but grasped the full significance of the +word after he himself had employed it--"there won't be failure at the +end of it for us! There can't be. It means too much. I tell you that +we are going to drive the thing to a successful conclusion. It's got +to be!" + +"Yes," she repeated, quietly, after him, "it has got to be. I don't +doubt the outcome for one single second. Down in my heart I _know_. +And I know, too, how much there is yet to be done, how much you men +have to contend with, how swiftly the time is slipping by us. Do you +realize, Mr. Conniston, how little time we have ahead of us before the +first of October?" + +"Yes, I know. And there are four miles of main canal to dig, mile +after mile of smaller cross ditches, to irrigate the land after we get +the water here, and two dams to complete." He got to his feet, his +cigar again forgotten, his eyes frowning down upon her. "Truxton is +right. We've got to get more men--many more men. And we've got to get +them in a hurry." + +"Father, when he comes to-night, will know about the men we have been +expecting from Denver. He has been all day in Crawfordsville. What do +you think of Bat Truxton?" + +"He is a good man who knows his business. He is a skilful, practical +engineer, and he knows how to get every ounce of power out of the men +under him. He is as much the man for the place as if he and the job +had been created for each other." + +She was now standing with him, watching his face eagerly. + +"Have you noticed," she asked, quietly--through the gathering dusk he +thought that he could see a faint shadow upon her face which was not a +part of the thickening night--"any sort of change in the man since you +went to work with him?" + +Conniston hesitated, frowning, before he answered. "He has been +irritable," he finally admitted, with slow reluctance. "But the reason +is not far to seek and does not discredit him. He is heart and soul in +this work, Miss Crawford. Like all of us--you, your father, Tommy +Garton, me--I think that he feels his responsibility heavily, very +heavily. And when day after day rushes by and finds the work far from +being finished, and he has to have more men, and the men don't +come--good heavens! isn't it enough to make a man restive?" + +For a long time Argyl made no answer, but, rising, stood looking far +out into the misty obscurity, as though she would look beyond to-day +and deep into the future for an answer to many things. The short +twilight passed, the warm colors in the west faded, the breeze of a +moment ago died down in faint and fainter whispers, the stars grew +brighter, ever more thick-set, in the wide arch of the heavens. + +"I hope that you are right," she said, slowly, at last. And then, with +a queer little laugh which jarred upon Conniston strangely: "I am +getting fanciful, I suppose, and faint-hearted! Never has our +undertaking seemed so big to me; never have the obstacles loomed so +high. I find myself waking up with a start night after night from some +horrible dream that the water has failed in the mountains, or that +Oliver Swinnerton has stolen all of our men, or that Bat Truxton has +gone over to the opposition! Oh, I know that I am foolish. For, as you +say, we _can't_ fail. Everything has got to come out right! And now," +in the manner native and natural to her--frank, hearty, even eager--"I +am going to tell you some good news. In the first place, I see that I +have been doing nothing too long, and that always makes one morbid, I +think. I am going to get back to work. Isn't that good news? It is to +me, at least. And, secondly, I have made a discovery. You'd never +guess." + +Conniston shook his head. "What is it?" + +"What," she asked him, laughingly, and yet with a serious note in her +voice, "is the one thing which we should like to discover here? If a +good old-style genie straight from between the covers of the _Arabian +Nights_ were to drop down in front of you and say, 'Name the thing +which thou wouldst have, and thou shalt have it!' what would that +thing be?" + +And Conniston, with his thoughts upon the Great Work, knowing that her +thoughts were with his there, answered quickly: + +"Water! But that is impossible!" + +"My secret--yet," she answered him. "I had not meant to say anything +about it so soon. Promise to say nothing about it until I give you +leave, and I'll tell you a little--oh, a very little--about my +secret." + +Conniston promised, and she went on, speaking swiftly, earnestly: + +"It was last week. I was riding out into the desert to the north of +here--no matter how far--when I came upon it. It is a spring. Oh, not +much of a spring to look at it. Just a few square feet of moist soil, +here and there a sprig of drying grass, three or four brown willows. +But those things mean that there is water there. How it came there +while all of the rest of the desert so far as we know it is bone-dry +does not matter so much as _what can we do with it?_ I hardly dare +hope," she finished, thoughtfully, "that my spring is going to prove a +factor in our irrigation scheme. But I hope that it may help to supply +us here with drinking-water, water for our horses. That in itself +would mean a good deal, wouldn't it, Mr. Conniston?" + +"There is no end to what it might mean--may mean. If your spring can +be made to supply Valley City and the men working out yonder with +water, to supply the horses and mules, it will mean that all the men +and teams being used daily to haul from the Half Moon creek can be put +to active work on the ditch. And--who knows?--if you can find water at +all in the desert we may be able to use it to irrigate! God knows we +want water on this land soon--and the mountains are still a long way +off! But," and he tried to make out her features in the darkness, "how +does it happen that this spring has never been found before?" + +"The country all about it is what the desert is everywhere. No one +would dream of water in it. Then there is a rude circle of low-lying +sand-hills. Within their inclosure, consequently shut off from view +unless one rides to the crest of the hills as I happened to do, is the +spring." + +He thought that she was going to add something further, perhaps more +in the way of a description of the location of the spring, when he +heard horses' hoofs and the rattle of dry wagon-wheels, and she broke +off suddenly. + +"It is father at last," she said, softly. "Remember, Mr. Conniston, I +want to keep this a secret from father for a while--until I know what +it is worth." + +"I'll remember," he answered, rising with her and turning toward the +two figures which had leaped down from the wagon and were hastening +toward the cottage. The man slightly in front of his companion, coming +first into the rays of the lamp streaming through the window, was Mr. +Crawford. And Conniston saw with a quick frown that the other man was +Roger Hapgood. + +"Argyl, my dear," said Mr. Crawford, as he kissed the girl who had +gone to meet him, "I am sorry we are late. You'll be sorry, too, for +I'm amazingly hungry. Anything left? Ah, Mr. Conniston, isn't it? Glad +to see you." He took Conniston's hand in a strong grip. "Haven't seen +you since you came to the Valley. I'm glad you're here. I want to talk +with you about the work." + +He went on into the house, Argyl with him. She had shaken hands with +Roger Hapgood, and, with an invitation to him and Conniston to follow, +went ahead with her father. + +For a moment the two men faced each other in silence through the +half-darkness. Then Hapgood turned upon his heel and went into the +house. In a moment Conniston followed him, smiling. + +He took a chair at the side of the room and lighted a fresh cigar +while he watched the two men at table and Argyl bringing them their +supper. He saw that Mr. Crawford's manner was what it always had +been--bluff, frank, open, cheery. But he saw, too, or thought that he +saw, little lines of worry upon the high forehead which had not been +there a month ago. + +Hapgood's face, seen now clearly, was as smug as ever, but there had +been wrought in it a subtle change. In place of the fresh, pink +complexion, the desert had given him a healthy coat of tan. But that, +while Conniston was quick to note it, was not the change that startled +him. There was an indefinable something in Hapgood's eyes, at the +corners of his thin-lipped mouth, that had not been there before. +Conniston wondered if the hand of this Western country had touched the +inner man as it had the outer, if the new life had found certain small +seeds of strength in the heretofore futile Hapgood and were developing +them? + +Hapgood's manner, however, was unchanged, irreproachable. He placed +salt and pepper, bread, butter, whatever it was that Mr. Crawford +wanted, before him before the older man had realized that he wanted +it. His attitude toward Argyl was at all times deferential, eloquent +of respectful admiration. Hapgood was nothing if not urbane. Toward +Conniston, however, he did not once glance. To his way of thinking, +evidently, there were but three people in the room--the wonderfully +masterful Mr. Crawford, the radiantly beautiful Argyl, the deeply +appreciative Hapgood--and certain negligible, necessary furniture. + +During the short meal Mr. Crawford spoke little, contenting himself +with a few light remarks to Argyl and the others. Often he ate in +silence, abstractedly. Argyl had looked curiously at him and +thereafter offered few words. Hapgood took his cue from the masterful +Mr. Crawford. Conniston smoked and watched the three of them, his eyes +finding oftenest Argyl and resting longest upon her. Finally, when he +had finished and pushed away his plate, taking the cigar Argyl offered +him, Mr. Crawford spoke shortly, emphatically. + +"I got word to-day from the men we have been expecting from Denver. +They have gone to work by now." + +"Under Bat Truxton?" demanded Conniston, quickly. + +The older man cut off the end of his cigar, rolled the black perfecto +between his lips, and lighted it before he replied. + +"They have gone to work," he repeated, as though discussing a matter +of no moment, "for Oliver Swinnerton. Shall we go into the front +room? I want to ask you some questions about the work, Conniston. I +did not have a chance to see Truxton this afternoon." + +He rose and led the way into the other room. Conniston, casting a +swift glance at Argyl's face, which had suddenly gone white, followed +him. Argyl had stepped forward as though to go with them when Hapgood +laid a detaining hand lightly, respectfully, upon her arm. + +"May I speak with you a moment, Miss Argyl?" he whispered, but not so +low that Conniston did not catch the words distinctly. "It will take +just a moment, and--and it is very important." + +Reluctantly she paused. Conniston went out and heard Hapgood shut the +door after him. He shrugged his shoulders. + +Mr. Crawford did not again refer to the bad news which he had brought, +but instead seemed to have forgotten it. He asked Conniston question +after question, seeking significant details, demanding to know how +many feet the ditch had been driven upon each separate day of the +week, what difficulties had been met, how the men did the parts +allotted them, what Truxton counted upon accomplishing upon each day +to come. And after ten minutes of sharp, quick questions he leaned +forward and, with his eyes steady and searching upon Conniston's, +demanded, abruptly: + +"Is Truxton showing any signs of nervous irritability?" + +"Yes." Conniston hesitated, wondering what was in the other man's +thoughts. He began an explanation such as he had made Argyl, but Mr. +Crawford cut him short. + +"That will do. Thank you. That is all that I wanted to know." + +He got to his feet and strode back and forth in the little room, his +brows bunched together. Conniston, seeing for the first time in this +man whom he had held unendingly resourceful, indomitable, signs of a +militating anxiety, felt a sudden chill at his heart. Were they, after +all, playing a losing game? Was the combination of desert and +Swinnerton and capital going to prove too much for them? Was John +Crawford even now looking clearly into the future and seeing himself a +beaten, broken man? + +For a moment of torture, during which he realized to the uttermost +what success would mean, what failure, he feared that the vision which +he had thought to have glimpsed through this sturdy pioneer's eyes was +the true vision, feared that the fight was going out of John Crawford. + +And a moment later a little shiver tingled through him as John +Crawford stopped in front of him, looking down at him, as he saw that +the make-up of this man was not broken, but that it was being bent +like a powerful spring which draws its strength from outside pressure. +He thought swiftly that the greater the weight put upon a powerful +spring the greater was its recoil, the greater weights might it fling +aside. Mr. Crawford was half smiling. His lips were calm. In his eyes +there was no hint of fear or of failure. Instead a steady light there +spoke with clear forcefulness of an unshaken determination, and more +than hinted of a certain grim joy of combat. + +"Young man," he said, almost gently, "you are mighty fortunate." + +Conniston rose, making no reply, as he waited for an explanation. + +"Yes, mighty fortunate. You are taking hold. I know what you were when +you came to us; I know what you are now. I can see what you are going +to grow to be. I congratulate you. And I congratulate you upon being +placed in a position from which you are going to see the biggest fight +that was ever heard of in this part of the country. Things are going +dead against us these days. Do you know what that means?" He squared +his shoulders, and for a moment his lips came together in a straight +line. Then he smiled again. + +"Are you never--afraid of the outcome?" asked Conniston. + +"I believe in God, Mr. Conniston. I believe in my work. I believe in +myself. We are not going to fail." + +In that one brief, fleeting second Conniston had a view of John +Crawford he had never glimpsed before. He made no reply. For a moment +there was complete silence, broken after a little by Hapgood's voice +from the dining-room. Mr. Crawford, walking composedly back and forth, +drawing thoughtfully at his cigar, gave no evidence of so much as +hearing the low-toned voice. To Conniston, who thought that he could +guess what it was that had put the pleading note into the guarded +tones, the words came in an indistinguishable murmur. Conniston, +having no desire to play the part of eavesdropper, strolled out upon +the porch. + +It was only a moment later when the door which he had softly closed +behind him was thrown violently open, and Roger Hapgood, his hat +crushed in his hand, hastened out, ran down the steps, and with no +word of farewell disappeared into the darkness. Conniston gazed after +him in wonderment a moment, and then turned toward the open door +behind him. + +Argyl had come into the room, her face flushed, her eyes bright with +anger. Mr. Crawford, looking up from his papers, was saying, quietly: + +"What is it, Argyl? What is the matter with Hapgood?" + +"I told him to go," she cried, hotly. "I told him never to speak to me +again, never to come into this house!" + +Mr. Crawford stroked his chin thoughtfully. + +"For good and sufficient reasons, Argyl dear?" he asked, gently. + +"Yes. And--and I slapped his face, too!" + +A little smile rippled across her father's face. + +"Then I am sure that the reason was good and sufficient. And I shall +take pleasure in horsewhipping the little man for you, dear, if you +wish." + +Argyl ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. + +"God bless you, daddy!" she cried, softly. "I just love you to death. +And," holding him away from her and smiling brightly at him, "I don't +think that it is necessary. I slapped him _hard_!" + +Conniston came back into the room. + +Argyl was speaking swiftly, emphatically. "Mr. Hapgood has just done +me the honor to ask me to marry him. He told me that he had acquainted +Mr. Conniston with his intentions, so it is no secret. No, I did not +slap him for that. But you, father, and you, too, Mr. Conniston, since +you are one of us in our work, ought both to know what he threatened. +He says that we are upon the very brink of failure; that Swinnerton +has almost sufficient strength to ruin us and our hopes. And he +threatened, if I did not marry him, to turn his back upon us and join +the opposition. And I slapped his face." + +Mr. Crawford took her hand and kissed it. + +"I can think of no more forceful answer you could have made him, Argyl +girl. Fortunately, I have not confided in him to any dangerous extent. +He knows--" + +"He knows," she cried, quickly, "all that you have let Mr. Winston +know! Everything you have told your lawyer--" + +She paused, hesitating. Mr. Crawford looked at her sharply. + +"What?" he demanded, a vague hint of anxiety in his tone. + +"He knows--for he told me--the exact condition of your finances." + +"Had I not better go?" suggested Conniston. "I do not want--" + +"No. You are with us. If Hapgood knows, if he is going to peddle what +he knows, you might as well know too! What did he say, Argyl?" + +"He said, father, that you had played to the end of your string. He +said that you did not have ten thousand dollars in the world. He said +that you did not know where to turn to raise the cash for the rest of +the work we have before us. I--I--" She looked anxiously at him. "Did +I do wrong, father? Should I have temporized with him--ought I to have +kept him from going away angry?" + +"You should have let me throw him outdoors. I am not afraid of him." +He turned from her to Conniston. His face was very grave, his eyes +troubled, but he spoke firmly, confidently. "You see, Mr. Conniston, +that we have a fight ahead of us. Some people would say that we are +on a sinking ship. What do you think?" + +"I think," said Conniston, simply, "that we will win out in spite of +what people say. I hope I may help you." + +"Thank you. To-morrow morning I am coming out to see what you and +Truxton are doing. I shall want to have a talk with him--and with you. +You will of course say nothing of what has happened to-night." + +Out in the darkness Conniston walked slowly toward the office +building, his brows drawn, his eyes upon the ground, a fear which he +could not argue away in his heart. With untold capital to back them +the fight against the desert was such a fight as most men would not +want upon their hands. With Oliver Swinnerton and the gold behind him +which he was spending with the recklessness of assurance, the fight +was tenfold harder. And now, when it was clear that the great bulk of +John Crawford's fortune was already sunk into the sand, the fight +seemed hopeless. + +It had been a bad night for lovers. At the office building, leaning +against the wall, a cigarette dangling dejectedly from his lips, +Lonesome Pete was waiting for him. + +"That you, Con?" + +"Yes. What are you doing here?" + +"Waitin' for you, an' meditatin' mos'ly." He cast away his cigarette, +sighed deeply, and began a search for his paper and tobacco. "I was +wantin' to ask you a question, Con." + +Conniston said, "Go ahead, Pete," and made himself a cigarette. + +"It's this-a-way." The cowboy lighted a match and let it burn out +without applying the flame to his brown paper. For a moment he +hesitated, and then blurted out: "You've knowed some considerable +females in your time, I take it. Huh, Con?" + +"Well?" Conniston repeated. + +"I gotta be hittin' the trail back to the Half Moon real soon. I +wanted to ask you a question firs'." Again he hesitated, again broke +out suddenly: "I take it a lady ain't the same in no particulars as a +man. Huh, Con?" + +Conniston, thinking of Argyl, said "No," fervently. + +"If a man likes you real well you can tell every time, can't you? An' +if he ain't got no use for you, you can tell that, too, can't you?" + +Conniston nodded, thinking that he began to guess Pete's troubles. + +"Don't you know--can't you tell--how Miss Jocelyn feels toward you, +Pete? Is that it?" + +"That's it, only how in blazes you guessed it gets me! Con, I tell +you, I can't tell nothin' for sure. It's worse 'n gamblin' on the +weather. One day I'm thinkin' she likes me real well, an' she shows me +things about grammar an' stuff, an' we git on fine. An' then--maybe +it's nex' day an' maybe it's only two minutes later--she's all +diff'rent somehow, an' she jest makes fun of the way I talk, an' you'd +suppose she wouldn't wipe her feet on me if I laid down an' begged her +to." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +After a long night, during which he slept little and thought much, +Conniston rose early, breakfasted at the little lunch-counter, and +without waking Tommy Garton rode swiftly toward Truxton's camp. He +hastened, for although it was still early morning it was time for work +to begin upon the ditch. + +From the top of a knoll half a mile out of camp he could look down +into the little hollow where the men and teams should be already at +their daily grind. A little frown gathered his brows as he saw instead +that the horses were standing at their stakes in a long row, that the +men were gathered together in clumps, obviously idle. And even then he +had no way to guess what new trouble had come to the Great Work. + +Shooting his spurs into his horse's panting sides, he swept down the +gentle slope of the sand-hill and galloped straight toward the cook's +tent. He saw that not only were the men idle, but that they gave no +evidence of an intention to go to work. He saw, too, that they looked +at him as he rode among them, that they watched him curiously, that +many of them were laughing. + +Fifty paces from the tent he came upon his two foremen--Ben the +Englishman and the Lark--talking in low tones with the two foremen who +had worked under Truxton's eye. + +"What's the matter?" he called, sharply, angrily, although he did not +know it. "Where's Truxton?" + +"Inside the tent," the Lark answered him, shortly. + +And, asking no further questions, waiting for no explanation, +Conniston swung down from his horse, hurried to the tent, flung back +the flap, and entered. Only then did the truth dawn on him, and he +staggered back as though a man had struck him a stunning blow full in +the face. + +The air in the tent was reeking and foul with the fumes of cheap +whisky. At the little table Bat Truxton sat slouched forward, his face +hidden in the arm he had flung out as he slipped forward. An empty +quart bottle lay on its side at his elbow. A second bottle, with an +inch of the amber fluid in it, stood just beyond his clenched fist. + +Truxton made no sign, did not so much as stir, as Conniston dropped +the flap of canvas and stood over him. His breath came heavily, +saturated with whisky. Conniston laid a rude hand upon the slack +shoulder, shaking it roughly. Still Truxton did not lift his head, did +not even mutter as a drunken man is apt to do in his stupor. With the +full purport of this thing upon him, Conniston was driven to a fury of +rage. He jerked Truxton's head back and slapped him across the face +until his fingers tingled. Now Truxton's eyes opened, red-rimmed, +bloodshot, fixed in a vacant, idiotic stare. And before Conniston +could speak the eyes were closed again, the head had sunk forward upon +the table. + +"My God!" cried Conniston, feeling now only a great despair upon him, +seeing only the death to all hopes of success for the reclamation +project with Truxton lost to it. He started to leave the tent, and +suddenly swung about again, grasping Truxton's two shoulders in his +hands. + +"It ain't no go, pardner. He's very--hic--drunk!" + +He had not seen the other man, had seen little enough but the +sprawling, inert figure. It was the camp cook. And as Conniston turned +upon him he saw that this man's face was flushed, that he was little +better than Truxton. And if he needed further indication of the reason +for the cook's plight it was not far to seek. The man held in his left +hand, thrust clumsily behind him, a third bottle, half empty. + +"You, too!" shouted Conniston. "Drop that bottle, and drop it quick!" + +The cook, with a drunken assumption of dignity, tried to straighten +up, grasping his bottle the more firmly. + +"Who're you?" he leered. "G'wan; chase yourself. I ain't throwin' +away--" + +He did not finish. Conniston stepped forward quickly and jerked the +bottle out of the cook's hand, hurling it against the stove, where it +broke into a score of pieces. The bottle upon the table he treated in +similar fashion. + +"Now," he said, sternly, "you get to work and get something cooked for +the men. Haven't even a fire, have you?" He stepped close to the cook +again, thrusting his face close up to the other's. He did not know his +own voice, which had gone suddenly hoarse and low, as he went on: "You +have a fire going in two minutes. Where are your helpers? And you have +breakfast on the tables in half an hour, or I give you my word I'll +come back here and beat you half to death!" + +He turned and went out with no single look behind him, glad to be out +in the open, thankful for the fresh air, which he drew deep down into +his stifling lungs. And, realizing only that nothing could be done +with Truxton for the present and that he himself was next in command, +he hastened to where the four foremen were standing, grinning at him. + +"Get your men busy," he snapped at them. "Ben, send some men up to the +tent to help get something to eat. Let them put on anything. If the +cook doesn't get coffee ready in fifteen minutes let me know. All of +you have your men hook up their teams. They can do that while +breakfast is getting ready. And hurry!" + +The men looked at him curiously, then at one another. Ben was the +first to move. + +"Aye, aye, sir," he said, with a grin, lifting his hand from his hip +to his forelock, and dropping it to his hip again as he walked away. +The others followed. + +"Hold on!" cried Conniston, suddenly, before they had gone ten paces. +"Do all of the men know about this?" + +The men laughed. "They ain't blind," explained one of them. + +"And do they know--does any one of you know--where he got the whisky?" + +They shrugged their shoulders. Only the Lark answered. + +"I know, pal," he said, slowly. "I seen it." + +"All right. You wait a minute. I want to talk with you. You other +fellows get busy." + +The little San-Franciscan dropped back and waited. Conniston came up +with him and demanded shortly: + +"Tell me about it." + +"It was last night, 'bo, about 'leven o'clock, I guess. It was sure +some dark, too, take it from me. I woke up thirsty as a water-front +bum, an' beat it for the water-barrel. Comin' back, I come past the +tent. Bat was in there figgerin' when I went to the wagon. When I come +back he was talkin' to another guy. I stops an' listens, just for fun, +you know. The other guy I hadn't never saw. An' he said as how Mr. +Crawford had sent him out to ask how everything was runnin'. Purty +soon he puts a bottle on the table an' says, 'Have one?' Bat says +'No,' but you could see with one eye shut an' in the dark o' the moon +as he wanted it worse 'n I'd wanted the water I walked clean over to +the barrel to git. The stranger has one, an' fills a glass an' shoves +it under Bat's nose. An' if any longshoreman I ever seen had saw the +way ol' Bat put that red-eye under his vest he'd 'a' died with +jealousy. I knowed as how there wouldn't be nothin' in it for me, so I +went an' got another drink of water an' hit the rag-pile. That what +you wanted to know, 'bo?" + +"Who was the man?" Conniston insisted. "What did he look like?" + +"That's dead easy. I'm sure the gumshoe when it comes to pipin' a man +off so's I got his photograph in my eye. He was a little cuss an' +dressed to kill, with gloves on, an' all that. He was skinny an' pale +an' weak-eyed-lookin'." + +"That will do!" cut in Conniston, brusquely. "And now get your men +going. We've got a day's work ahead of us." + +A little more than fifteen minutes later Conniston himself pounded one +of the cook's pans as a summons to breakfast. The cook, surly, +glowering as he moved, set forth the big pots of coffee. + +Less than half an hour after he had ridden into the idle camp +Conniston saw the two hundred men resume their work of yesterday as +though nothing unusual had happened, saw the teams string out in the +four sections of the ditch where Truxton had left off, watched the +long lines of scrapers and plows cutting into the soft soil, scooping +it out and piling it upon the banks of the canal. + +He climbed to a little knoll from which he could glance over them +before and behind the ditch-cutters. Yonder, toward Valley City, +Truxton's two foremen were directing their men with the same +quick-eyed, steady competence which they had manifested under the eye +of the older engineer. From them he turned to the men working under +Ben and the Lark. There, too, was machine-like regularity; there, too, +each man, each straining animal was in its place, putting forth its +utmost of capability. + +There came to the man who watched an irritating sense of his own +uselessness: the work was going forward with great, swinging, rhythmic +effectiveness. This thing had leaped out upon him unawares, and he was +half afraid of the responsibility which had fastened itself upon his +shoulders. For, after all, Greek Conniston had not yet entirely found +himself, was not sure of himself. + +Brow drawn and anxious, watchful, deeply thoughtful, Conniston did not +see Mr. Crawford until the buckboard driven by Half-breed Joe had +stopped close behind him. He wheeled about, startled at Mr. Crawford's +voice. + +"Good morning, Conniston. How's the work going?" + +"All right, I hope." He came to the buckboard and, resting his hand +upon the wheel, looked up into the face of the man who was to learn of +another savage blow dealt to the hopes of his project. + +"Where is Truxton?" Mr. Crawford was standing up in the wagon, looking +as Conniston had looked at the sweep of work being done. + +"He--" Conniston hesitated. "He's in the tent." + +Mr. Crawford turned suddenly upon him, his eyes narrowing. + +"What's the matter?" he demanded, hurriedly. + +Conniston shook his head slowly, turning his eyes away from the face +which a glance had shown him was drawn with quick anxiety. + +"Drive to the tent, Joe!" commanded Mr. Crawford, his voice very +stern. + +Conniston watched them as their horses leaped forward in the slack +traces, saw Mr. Crawford jump down, enter the tent, saw him come out +again and spring back into the buckboard. + +"Now, Joe," as he got down beside Conniston, "you can unhook your +horses. I am going to be here this morning." + +Joe drove away to where the camp horses had been picketed. And Mr. +Crawford turned to Conniston. + +"This is going to make it hard, Conniston," he said, slowly, his face +and voice alike very grave. "It is the one thing which I had hoped +would not happen. But we've got to make the most of it." He paused +suddenly, and his keen eyes ran thoughtfully from one to another of +the four gangs of men. "They're working all right," he ended, his eyes +coming back to Conniston's. + +"Yes. They're good men. The four foremen are as capable as a man could +ask for." + +"Were they working this way when you got here?" + +"No. They were waiting for orders." + +Mr. Crawford nodded, making no reply. + +"I don't know," Conniston offered after a moment, "that there is any +immediate call for worry. I think that I can handle them until Truxton +gets around--" + +"Truxton won't get around!" + +"You mean--" + +"That the moment he is sober enough to know anything he will know that +he is discharged!" + +"But we can't get along without him. He is the one man--" + +"We shall have to get along without him. I have told him that if he +touched whisky again on this job he could go." + +"But would it not be better to wait a few days--to give him a chance +to sober up?" + +"Conniston, I have never found it necessary to break my word. I am +through with Truxton. And if my last hope of success goes with him he +must go just the same. I am sorry for the man--the poor fellow can't +help these periodic drunks of his. But I am through with him." + +Conniston frowned into the eyes which were fixed intently upon him. + +"You know best. I am ready to do what I can to help out. I think I can +promise you to keep the work going until you can get a man to take his +place." + +Mr. Crawford bent a long, searching regard upon him. And when he spoke +it was slowly, sternly. + +"What am I paying you, Conniston?" + +"Forty-five dollars a month." + +"All right. I'll give you seventy-five dollars a week to take Bat +Truxton's place for me--not for a few days, but until the first day +of October. Will you do it?" + +A hot flush spread over Conniston's face, and surged away, leaving it +white. + +"Do you think that I can do it?" + +"I am not the one to think. You are. You know what the work is, what +it means. Can you do it?" + +And Conniston stared long out across the wide sweep of the desert, his +lips set hard in white, bloodless lines, before he answered, briefly: + +"Yes." + +"It's a big job, Conniston, and, frankly, I wouldn't put it into your +hands if I had a man I thought better qualified to carry it on. A big +job! I wonder if you know how big? You will hold the whole fate of +this country in the palm of your hand, to make or to mar. You will +hold in the palm of your hand my whole life-work. For if you succeed I +succeed. And if you fail, all hope of reclamation here dies, +still-born, and I am a ruined man. Understand what you are to do? I +cannot even stay here to help you. I will leave to-night for Denver. I +can't send another man in my place. Would to God that I could! I must +go myself; I must raise money--fifty thousand dollars at the very +lowest figure. And when I come back I shall bring the money with me, +and I shall bring at least five hundred more men. And you will have to +oversee the work of seven hundred men then; you will have to drive +this ditch night and day; you will have to complete two big dams. And +you will have to do that before the first day of October. It is a big +job, Conniston. Can you do it?" + +Conniston wet his dry lips and hesitated. + +"Mr. Crawford, it is a big job. I do not even know that the thing is +possible. I believe that it is. I do not know, I cannot know, if I +can do it. I believe that I can. If you have a better man, if in +Denver or anywhere else you can find a better man, put him in +Truxton's place. If you can't, if you want me to go ahead with the +work, I'll do it." + +"Then that is settled. Confer often with Tommy Garton. If you need +advice while I am away, go to him. But remember that in all things it +will be up to you to make the final decision. There can be no sharing +of responsibility." + +"Then," said Conniston, with quiet decision, "I want an absolute and +unrestricted authority here. I want the power to take on new men, to +fire old men, to raise wages, to do what I think wise and best. I want +every man working for you to know that he is under my orders, and that +there is no recourse from my judgment. I want to be able to call upon +the Half Moon outfit, if I find it necessary, just as you would call +upon them." + +"You are asking a great deal, Conniston." + +"I am asking everything." + +"And you can have what you ask!" + +"To begin with, I shall want a man here to take my place if I find it +necessary to be away at all. I want Brayley here, and right away." + +"Brayley is the best man on the Half Moon. You can have him." + +"Thank you. There is one further thing." + +"Name it." + +"I do not draw a cent of wages until the first day of October. Then if +I have water in the valley I get it in a block. If I do not have +water--I don't touch it!" + +A curious little smile flitted across Mr. Crawford's lips. + +"You are in a position to dictate, Conniston. Let it be as you say." + +"And now, if you have no immediate orders for me, I want to get to +work. I am going to shift the gang under the Lark out yonder, in front +of the others. He's the best pace-maker I've got." + +"Go ahead. I'll be here until noon." + +Unconsciously squaring his shoulders as he went, Conniston strode away +toward the ditch. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +At noon Mr. Crawford told the men gathered at the long tables that in +the future they were to look to Conniston for all orders, that he was +empowered to act as he saw fit in any crisis, that he would have +absolute command over every part of the reclamation work, here or +elsewhere. And then he gripped Conniston's hand warmly, gave him an +address in Denver where a telegram would find him, and drove away +toward Crawfordsville, promising to telephone to Brayley to report to +the Valley immediately. + +Before he was out of sight the new superintendent called his four +overseers aside. + +"What wages are you fellows drawing down?" he asked, bluntly. + +"Three bones," the Lark told him. + +"Now, look here. Do you fellows know that we have got to get this +whole job done by the first of October? That's a lot of work, and +maybe you boys know it. It is up to you four fellows as much as it is +up to anybody to see that the work is done. You've got to get every +inch done every day that you can. You've got to drive your men all +they'll stand for. You know what will happen if you make a mistake and +try to get too much out of them?" + +"Dead easy, Mr. Conniston," grinned the Lark. "They'll quit. They say +there is lots of easy graft up in the mountains with a guy named +Swinnerton." + +"Then," went on Conniston, quietly, "you've got to be careful not to +drive them too hard. Keep your men good-natured. If you see any signs +of balking let me know. I haven't any kick to make about the way you +have been working, but I want you to work harder! Get me? And I am +going to pay you four dollars a day instead of three. Wait. I am going +to make you another proposition: over and above your wages I'll pay +each man of you for every day between the day we get water on the land +and the first of October. And for that time I'll pay each man of you +at the rate of twenty dollars a day!" + +"Gee!" exclaimed the Lark. "You ain't stringing us, are you?" + +"No. Understand what I mean: in case we get the work done five days +before the first each man of you draws down one hundred dollars above +his wages. Drive your men as hard as you can; but don't forget what +will happen if you try to do too much. What wages are your men +getting?" + +"Two dollars and a half." + +"Go back and offer them two-seventy-five. And tell them that for every +day between the first of October and the day we get water on the land +each and every man of them will draw down an extra five dollars. Now +get to work. I want to see what you can get done by quitting-time." + +That afternoon Conniston left everything in the hands of his foremen. +He did not once go to the ditch to see what they were doing. Instead +he took Truxton's note-book from the table in the tent--Truxton was +still in a deep stupor--and from one o'clock until dark worked over +it, seeking desperately to grasp every detail which he must know +later and to plan for the morrow and the morrows to come. + +When he heard the men coming in from work he got his horse and saddled +it, and then waited for the foremen with their daily reports. + +"I beat my record by twenty feet to-day," the Lark told him, with a +cheerful grin, as he handed Conniston a soiled bit of paper. "I'm hot +on the trail of my bonus, take it from me." + +That evening Conniston spent with Tommy Garton. He did not even take +the time to call on Argyl. He told the little fellow what had +happened, received a hearty grip of the hand which meant more to him +than a wordy congratulation, laid what few plans he had had time to +outline before him, and asked his advice upon them. + +"I want the plans and specifications for Dam Number One, Tommy." + +Garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table. + +"I will look over them on the job to-morrow. And I want to know how +long you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get to +work on it?" + +"I don't see how it can be done and done right," Garton answered, +promptly, "in much less than thirty days. You might be able to do a +temporary job of it--put in a bulwark that would do until we could get +water down here and live up to our contract--and then build the real +dam after the first of October. That might be done in less time." + +"How big a shift of men were you planning on putting to work up +there?" + +"Two hundred. You couldn't use more than that. There isn't room. +They'd get in one another's way." + +Conniston sat frowning moodily, his fingers tapping the roll of +blue-prints in his hands. + +"Isn't there any way," he asked suddenly, swinging upon Garton, "of +making a go of this without building that dam?" + +"No, Greek, there isn't. You see, there isn't any too much water up in +the mountains at best. We have to get every drop that the law allows +us." + +"Figure on it, Tommy. I want your chief work for the next few days to +be just figuring out where we can cut down, where we can save not only +money but men. It's men we need." He broke off suddenly and leaned +forward, putting his hand on Garton's arm. "Damn it, Tommy," he said, +huskily, "I want you to know that I don't enjoy giving you orders. I +want you to know that _I_ know you ought to be doing what I am doing +to-day. You are a better man than I am every day in the week, and I +know it. If it were not--" + +"Oh, shut up, Greek!" laughed Garton, frankly. "You're an old liar, +and that's what I know! And," and his voice softened as he put out his +hand for a second time that night, "I love you for it. Now let's cut +out the slush and get to work." + +"Then, since it's up to me, here goes: I want your advice at every +jump. I need it, Tommy, need it bad now, and the Lord knows how I'll +need it before the time is up! In about three or four days I'll come +to you or send for you. I don't know which it'll be. To-morrow morning +I am going up into the mountains. Brayley will be in camp some time +to-night. He'll take my place for a few days. No, he doesn't know a +thing about the work, but my foremen do, and Brayley knows men as you +know your multiplication-tables. And I will take a gang of fifty men +with me. I don't like to remove them from the ditch, but I've got to +get that dam started. I won't be able to sleep until I see that +country and get my hands on it. And, Tommy, one thing more: Mr. +Crawford tells me that there will be a telephone line into Valley City +from Crawfordsville within the week. He is to get five hundred men to +me as soon as he can rush them through. When they are within twelve +hours of us I want you to let Brayley know. That is, of course, in +case I am not back here. Brayley will then double his men's pay and +keep them at work all night. Then I'll send half of the new men--half +of five hundred, I hope--to Brayley, and he'll put on a day shift and +a night shift--with all the work they can stand up under. And I'll +have a day shift and a night shift slinging that dam across Deep +Creek. It's up there, Tommy, that I expect you'll have to help me +out." + +"Anything I can do, Conniston. And I'll get busy first thing in the +morning along the line you suggest. And," he hesitated a moment, and +then finished, gravely, "I'm glad to see the way you're tying into +this. And, do you know, I'd bet a man every cent I've got that we put +the thing across!" + +Conniston stood up, thrusting his papers into his pocket. + +"If Truxton--" he began. + +"Forget Truxton. He was all right and a mighty good man. One of the +best men I ever worked with. But," and his rare smile worked about the +corners of his sensitive mouth and lighted up his eyes warmly--"but I +have an idea that the man who made that end run for Yale back in the +old days is going to score a touchdown such as Bat Truxton would +never have thought of. Go to it, Conniston--only let me get into the +interference!" + +Conniston's plans for the next day had been founded upon his assurance +that Brayley would arrive before morning. But Brayley did not come. +And even had he arrived on time Conniston would not have dared leave. +At first he had thought to remain overnight with Tommy Garton. Then, +remembering that he alone was responsible for the camp, he told Garton +good night and rode out into the desert. It was late when at last he +came to the tent and found his roll of blankets behind it. And ten +minutes later cares and responsibilities alike succumbed to bodily +fatigue, and he slept soundly. + +It was long after midnight, perhaps three o'clock, and still very +dark, when he awoke. Two men off in the distance were talking. He paid +little attention to them, but rolled over and went to sleep again. And +even as consciousness slipped away from him he was vaguely aware that +more voices had joined the two which had awakened him. But he thought +only that some of the men were calling to one another from their +sleeping-places, and attached no further importance to the matter. + +It was an hour or two later when he again awoke. There were already +faint streaks of dawn lying low, close to the face of the desert. His +first connected impression was that he had overslept and that the men +were already going to work. For he saw a long line, fifty men at the +least count, filing out toward the spot where the water-barrels stood +in the long-bodied wagons, while other crowds of men were grouped +about one of the wagons. And then suddenly he sat bolt upright, +strangely uneasy. It was still long before day--and something was +wrong. + +He pulled on his boots and, without stopping to lace them, hurried +toward the wagons. And before he had gone twenty paces he knew what it +was that had happened. The men had been talking in hushed voices, so +as not to wake him; but, now that two or three made out who he was, a +shout rose sharply into the morning stillness, a shout at once of +warning and of derision. And it was clearly the shout of drunkenness. +It was taken up by fifty throats, a hundred throats, clamorous, +exultant, jeering. + +As the men moved back and forth, many of them staggered perceptibly. +Conniston saw one of them pitch forward and lie helpless. A man passed +by him, swaying and lurching, and in the pale light there was +something fiendish in the fellow's leering face, his open mouth, his +wide, staring eyes. Off yonder he heard two men quarreling, their +voices raised in windy gusts of snapping oaths; saw one of them lift +his hand and strike, not as a man strikes with his bare fist, but as a +man strikes with a knife; saw the other man fling out his arms, heard +his gurgling, choking cry above the sudden clamorous tumult; saw him +settle quietly to the ground as though every bone in his body had +jellied. His eyes accustomed to the half-light, his ears free of the +wax of sleep, it seemed to Conniston that he was peering into a scene +which could be no part of earth, but which must be some frenzied +corner of hell. + +As he ran forward, brushing past tottering forms which cursed him +thickly, he saw yet another group of men beyond the wagons; saw that +there, too, the spirit of alcohol was rampant; heard a man's voice, +high-raised and raspingly shrill, in a monotonous song. And as he ran +men did not fall back, but glared at him belligerently, many a +coarse-featured countenance distorted hideously, while the men about +the wagon bunched up close together threateningly. + +He stopped suddenly, trying to think. A mighty laugh greeted his +hesitation. He saw a big fellow thrust a tin cup down into one of the +barrels, the head of which had been knocked in, lift his cup high +above his head, laughing, and then put it to his lips. Then he +understood while he did not understand: one of the barrels which +should have contained water was nearly full of raw whisky! + +Conniston did not believe that there were a dozen sober men in camp. +He had recognized the big man standing at the barrel. It was Ben the +Englishman. Mundy and Peters, obviously drunk, stood close to him. The +little San-Franciscan was standing in the body of the wagon, trying to +put his two short arms about the barrel. He had the grotesque look of +a dwarf embracing a fat wife. + +He could look to no one for help. These two hundred men--men whose +hard, brutish natures had known nothing of the excitation of alcohol +for weeks, perhaps months, whose brains were now inflamed with it, +whose reckless spirits were unchained by it--would listen to words +from him, from any man in the world, as much as they would listen to +the sighing of the breeze which was beginning to stir the scanty +desert vegetation. And above all other considerations, above even the +half-formed wonder, "How came it there?" rose the knowledge which +would not down, _he and he alone was responsible for what these men +did_. + +He turned away with white, wretched face, and strode back toward the +tent. He must get away from them for a little, he must try to think, +he must find something to do. And as he turned a yell of derisive +triumph from two hundred throats went booming and thundering out +across the desert. + +Until now he had been merely grief-stricken that such chaos should +have sprung into being under his hand where there should be only order +and efficiency. Now there surged into his heart a flaming, scorching +rage. The whiteness left his face, and it went a dull, burning red. He +prayed dumbly for the might of a Nero that he might wreck the +vengeance of a Nero. No words came, but he cursed them in his heart. +He saw their blackened fingers choking the life out of the last hope +of success of the Great Work, and he longed with an infinite longing +to have those yelling throats in the grip of his own two hands that he +might tear at them. + +He stalked on blindly, his back turned upon them, his ears filled with +laughter and shouting, cursing and discordant singing, his brain so +teeming with a score of broken thoughts that no single thought +remained clear. He told himself that this thing was a nightmare, that +it could not be, that it was impossible, ludicrously impossible! He +tried to ask himself what it would mean. He tried to answer--and could +not. It would mean that there could be no work done to-day! And +to-morrow? Would the men be fit to work to-morrow? And the next day? +How long would the stuff last?--how long the effects of it when it was +gone? + +He thought suddenly of the revolver which Lonesome Pete had given him, +and which struck against his hip as he walked; and he stopped dead in +his tracks at the thought of it. And then he laughed at himself for a +fool and strode on. Half of the men were armed. True, they were drunk, +but what of that? They were two hundred against one, and they were +not cowards. And in the end he would not have helped the Great Work; +he would only have done a fool's part and lost his own life. No, there +was no chance-- + +One thought suggests another. He had not gone on a dozen steps before +he stopped again, a light of hope and of determination creeping slowly +into his eyes. A moment he hesitated. And then, flinging all +hesitation from him, seeing clearly his one desperate hope, crying +aloud, "I'll do it!" he broke into a run toward the tent. Yesterday +they had taken Bat Truxton to Valley City. But they had forgotten Bat +Truxton's rifle. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +With eager fingers Conniston struck a match. Almost the first thing +which his searching eyes found was the heavy Winchester, three inches +of its barrel protruding from a roll of bedding. He flung the bedding +open upon the ground. There was half a box of cartridges with it. He +made sure that the magazine was filled, threw a shell into the barrel, +thrust the box into his pocket, and ran outside. + +No one had seen him. There were no eyes for him. A very few stragglers +moved unsteadily here and there; the great majority of the men were +packed in a mass about the barrel. Tin cups, dippers, even buckets and +pans ran from hand to hand, from those nearest the wagon to the +clamorous fellows upon the outskirts of the crowd, spilling the liquor +freely as they were jolted and jostled. + +This his eyes took in at a quick glance. Then he saw that fifty yards +from the group of men there was another wagon which had been drawn +aside with its four empty barrels. Walking slowly now, the rifle held +vertically close to the side which was turned away from them, he moved +toward this second wagon. He reached it, attracting no attention. +Springing into its low bed, he dragged the four barrels close +together. The broadside of the wagon was turned toward the clamorous +crowd. Keeping his body hidden behind the bulwark he had made, he +watched and waited for more light. + +Slowly the pale glow in the east lengthened and broadened and +brightened. Once Conniston lifted his rifle quickly to see if he could +find the sights. It was still too dark for quick, accurate work. + +So again he waited. A strange, cool calmness had succeeded to his +almost frenzied agitation of a moment ago. He knew the danger of the +thing which he was about to do; he knew and realized clearly what he +might be called upon to do in self-protection alone when once he had +taken his stand. But there was no other way; and, no matter what the +consequences, no matter what the results, he accepted the only chance +which circumstances had left him. And moments of unswerving +determination do not make for nervous excitement. It is the anxious +uncertainty, like that through which he had just passed, that makes a +man's finger tremble upon the trigger. + +Louder and ever louder rose the throaty voices, faster and faster +passed the cups and dippers. Ben and Mundy had their arms about each +other. In the wagon the Lark had slipped down, and now lay upon his +back, staring at the dim, swirling stars and babbling incoherent +nothings. + +Men sang in strident, raucous, unmusical voices. A swarthy little +Italian was playing waltzes upon a harmonica, and heavy-booted feet +shuffled and stamped upon the sand as men flung their brawny arms +about one another and swayed back and forth. Conniston saw that when a +man thrust his arm down into the barrel for a fresh cupful of whisky +it did not disappear three inches above the elbow. + +Swiftly the desert daylight came. Conniston stooped and tied his +boot-laces, that they might not trip him when he moved. He stood up +and whipped his revolver from its holster, spinning the cylinder, and +then shoving it back. And then, laying the rifle across the top of one +of the barrels, he cleared his throat and called out loudly. + +One of the men nearest him heard him above the shouting and pointed +him out to another. The two laughed loudly and turned away from him, +forgetting him as they turned. Again he called, louder than before. No +one heard him, no one looked to him. He waved his hat above his head. +If any one saw, no one gave sign of seeing. He licked his lips and +lifted the rifle. + +"God see me through with it!" he muttered. + +He fired high above their heads. The sudden report crashed through the +babel of shoutings, a veritable babel into which half of the tongues +of Europe mingled with Chinese and Japanese sing-song. As the crack of +the gun died away all other sounds died with it. The desert grew as +suddenly still as it ever is in the depths of its man-free solitudes. +Staring, wondering faces which had first turned to one another turned +now toward him. + +Again there broke out a volley of abrupt cries, followed by as sudden +a silence, as they watched him to see what he meant, what he would do. +And Conniston took quick advantage of this short hush. + +"Leave that wagon, every man of you!" he shouted. "Move toward the +ditch. And move fast!" + +No man of them stirred. Their numbers, their intoxication, gave them +assurance. He was no longer the "boss." They were all just men now, +and he was only one while they were two hundred. They began to laugh. +The Italian with the harmonica struck up a fresh, jigging air. The +heavy-booted feet took up the rhythm. A man climbed into the wagon +and scooped up a dipperful of whisky, holding it aloft before he +drank. + +The light was still uncertain, but the dipper was a bright, clear +target. Conniston waited a moment, his teeth hard set, hardly +breathing. Then, as the man lowered the dipper from his face and held +it out invitingly over the heads of the men on the ground, he fired. + +The bullet crashed through the tin thing, hurling it into the crowd. +The man who had held it cried out aloud, and, clutching the fingers of +his right hand in his left, leaped down from the wagon. The Lark +rolled over and to the ground, dived between the wheels, and +disappeared. And again came a sudden silence. + +Now Conniston did not wait. He fired at the barrel itself, hoping to +smash in the staves, to drill holes near the bottom through which the +confined liquor could escape. And now the men ceased singing and +dancing and leaped back, crowding away from the barrel, plunging and +stumbling out of the line of bullets. For a moment Conniston thought +that in that wild, headlong scramble for safety he saw the end of the +thing. And almost before the thought was formed he knew better. + +The men were talking sullenly. He could hear their angry, snarling +voices, no longer shouting, but low-pitched. He began to make out +their faces and saw nowhere an expression of fear, everywhere black +wrath, restless fury. They no longer moved backward, but stood their +ground, muttering. In a moment--he knew what would happen. He could +read it in their faces, could sense it in their low, rumbling tones. +And so he shouted to them again, his voice ringing clear above their +mutterings. + +"I drop the first man that takes a step this way!" + +Tense, anxious, watchful, he waited. He saw hesitation, but saw, too, +that the hesitation was momentary, that it would be followed by a +blind rush if he could not drive fear into their hearts. And he +realized with a sick sinking of his own heart that there was little +fear in men like these. + +"It looks like an end of things for Greek Conniston," he muttered, +dully. + +His watchful eyes saw a little commotion upon the fringe of the knot +of men who had moved a little toward the tent. He saw one of the men +step out quickly and raise a big revolver. The man, as he lifted the +revolver, fired, not seeming to aim. The bullet struck one of the +front wheels of Conniston's wagon. Almost at the same second Conniston +fired. Fired and missed, and fired again. With the second report came +a shrill cry from the man with the revolver, and Conniston saw him +stagger, drop his gun, wheel half around, and fall. And where he fell +he lay, writhing and calling out to his fellows. + +For a moment the others hung back, hesitating. The man upon the ground +lifted himself upon an elbow, glared at Conniston, and began to crawl +slowly back toward the tent. Obviously, he had been struck in the +thigh or side. The man who had shot him, and who was new to this sort +of work, thanked God that he had not killed the fellow outright. + +The next moment he forgot him entirely. Ben and Mundy were a pace or +two in front of their men, who from force of habit had begun to flock +toward their daily leaders. They were talking earnestly, their voices +lowered so that the pressing forms about them had to crane their necks +to listen. + +Still the whisky-barrel stood scarcely more than touched. Conniston, +seeing that as long as it stood there he could hope to do nothing +toward a restoration of order, emptied the magazine of his rifle into +it. He saw the splinters fly, saw that the bullets had torn great +holes into the hard wood, heard the snapping of oaths from those of +the men who had drunk only enough to arouse their thirst, and began +slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine. + +"There'll be precious little of that stuff left, anyway," he grunted, +with grim satisfaction. + +He had expected a charge, but it did not come. Ben and Mundy had in +all evidence taken command now. Their backs were to him as they issued +short orders which he could not catch. But their purport was plain +enough. He took his revolver from its holster and laid it in front of +him upon a board across the top of one of the barrels. + +Silently the men were falling back. And as they retreated they spread +out into a great semicircle, wider and wider. He saw that fifty, +perhaps seventy-five, of them had revolvers in their hands. And he saw +that these men stood in advance of their companions. In another five +minutes, in less than five minutes, the semicircle would be a circle +of which he would be the center. Then they would close in on him, and +then-- + +There must be no _then_. That was the one thing clear. He might shoot +down a dozen of them, but they would get him in the end. At one end of +the slowly widening arc was Ben the Englishman. At the other was +Mundy. + +"Ben!" shouted Conniston, sharply. "You've got to stop that! Mundy, +stop where you are! I don't want to kill you fellows, but I'll do it +if you keep on!" + +In the beginning he had hoped to bluff them. Now such hope had died +out of him. These were the sort of men who would want to see the other +man's cards laid down on the table. And he knew that he must make good +his bluff or there would in sober truth be an end of him. His voice +rang with cold determination. And Ben and Mundy stopped. + +Conniston watched that line of black faces, and as his eyes clung to +the threatening arc he thought with a queer twitching of the lips of +the football line-ups which he had watched in other days. He was +surprised that his feelings now were much as they had been then. It +was a game, and that in the other games a goal had been the thing he +schemed and battled for while now it was his life made little +difference. He was surprised that he was cool, that his heart beat +steadily, that his hands upon his gun were like rock. + +There was something strange in the way the men were watching him, +something in their sudden silence, in their eager faces, which puzzled +him. Their whole attitude spoke of one thing--a breathless waiting. +What were they waiting for? Had his words put the fear of death in +them? Were they watching to see if he was going to shoot down the men +who led them? Was there a chance-- + +His taut senses told him of a danger which he could not understand. +Something was wrong; death hovered over him--close, closer. What was +it? His eyes flashed up and down the long curve of motionless figures, +seeking an explanation and finding none. A little shiver ran up and +down his backbone. He could not understand-- + +A sound, scarcely louder than the footfall of a cat, but jarring +harshly upon his straining, over-acute ears, told him. He swung about +with a sharp cry. There was the explanation. There, just behind him, +barefooted, bent almost double, crouching to leap upon him, a great +Chinaman, a long, curved knife clenched in his hand, was not three +feet away. Even as he swung about the giant Asiatic sprang forward, +the knife flashing up and down. Conniston struck with his rifle--the +range was too short for him to use the thirty-thirty save as a club. +It struck the big man a glancing blow upon the shoulder. + +The lean, snarling, yellow face was so close to his that he could feel +the hot, whisky-laden breath. He parried, and the rifle was jerked +from his grasp, falling with a clatter to the bed of the wagon. The +knife struck and bit into the shoulder he had thrown forward. Again it +was raised. Conniston sprang back, and as he leaped he swept up the +revolver from the barrel-top. As the knife fell, cutting a long gash +again in his shoulder, he jammed the muzzle of Lonesome Pete's gun +against the Chinaman's stomach and fired. The Chinaman grunted, +coughed, and sank limply, vomiting blood. + +For a moment Conniston forgot the men out yonder, growing suddenly +sick at the sight of the ugly, twitching thing at his feet. And then +as quickly as it had come, the nausea was gone, and he was +clear-headed and watchful. He snatched up his rifle and whirled toward +Ben and Mundy and the men between them. + +They had not moved, had taken no single step forward. He remembered +having seen a man near Mundy standing with open mouth and bulging +eyes; the fellow's jaw still sagged, his eyes were fixed in the same +strange stare, his eyelids had not so much as winked. + +"That's one!" yelled Conniston. He laughed out loud, the laugh of a +man whose nerves are strained almost to the point of snapping. + +"Come on, come on! Who'll be next?" + +They muttered among themselves; here and there a man called out +sharply. But still they did not move. A thing like that which they had +just witnessed drives the fumes of alcohol from a man's brain like a +dip in ice-water. They could beat him down, they could take him, they +could kill him as he had killed the Chinaman. But he could kill more +than one of them before they could drop him. These things were clear. +And the men hesitated. + +"Afraid?" he laughed, taunting, jeering them, all discretion swept +away from him. "Why don't you send some more men? There might be a +little whisky left--if you hurry!" + +He saw Ben and Mundy stir uneasily, saw them glance at each other, at +the barrel with its shattered staves and gushing liquor, at the men +whom they were self-elected to lead, and back to him. He saw the Lark +and the man Peters standing close together, talking earnestly, seeming +to argue with growing heat. And as the wave of hot blood left him and +he grew cool and his saner judgment came back to him he called out to +them sternly, but not threateningly, not mockingly: + +"Ben! Mundy! you, Peters! and you, Lark! what's the use? Hasn't this +thing gone far enough? You can kill me, but what good will it do? Your +whisky is spilled, and you can't get it back. You know the wages I +offered you fellows yesterday. You can go back to them, and nothing +said. I have five hundred more men coming from Denver. They can take +your jobs if you like. You can go to Swinnerton, but when he knows +that I have fired you he won't take you on. You know that he is just +taking men to keep us from getting them. You'd be fools to give up +your jobs now. What's the word, boys? Will you go back to work, Ben? +And you, Peters? And you, Mundy and the Lark? Shall I tell the cook to +get coffee ready? Talk up lively. What is it?" + +A rumbling chorus of murmurs rose up to greet him. The men were +sullen, and they snarled openly at him. But he could see that already +the thing had gone further than the more law-abiding spirits had +thought to see it go. A sudden soberness had fallen upon many of them, +and with it a cooler sanity. They broke into quick talk everywhere up +and down the line. He could see that no longer at least were they +united against him. He could see that the argument between Peters and +the Lark was strong, heated. And he hoped and prayed that good might +come of it and of the brief hesitation. + +Suddenly the Lark broke away from his comrades and ran forward. +Conniston, ever watchful, ever suspicious, covered him with his rifle. +But the Lark was grinning, and as he came closer he lifted his two +hands. + +"I'm with you!" he shouted. "I got a bellyful of this here racket. +An'," with a glance over his shoulder, "I got a bellyful of that +rotgut, too. Besides, it's all gone. How about coffee, boys?" + +"And you, Mundy? How about you?" Conniston called, quickly. "Do you +want to keep your job at the wages I offered you yesterday? Or shall I +put another man in your place? Quick, man! Speak up!" + +Mundy hesitated, glancing at Ben before he answered. And then slowly +he stepped out to where the Lark already stood. + +"I'll keep my job," he grunted, sullenly. + +"Please, sir," grinned the Lark, shaking his hand high above his head +like a ragged urchin in school, "kin I go git a drink? Water, I mean," +he finished with widening grin. + +"Yes," answered Conniston, trying to keep from his eyes the gladness +which was surging up within him. "Come this way first. There--stop. +Now throw your gun toward me. You've got some sense. Now go get your +water." + +Ben came forward; and slowly, reluctantly, with evil, red-rimmed eyes, +Peters. And, as the Lark had done, they tossed their revolvers to the +sand near Conniston's wagon and trudged off toward the nearest +water-wagon. A dozen men followed them. Gradually the line broke up as +the call of water grew imperative to parched throats. + +From the corner of his eye Conniston saw these men go to the first +wagon, tilt up the barrels, and go to the next. And suddenly he heard +a great shout go up from them--a shout no longer of anger, but of +sheer surprise. + +In the bottom of every barrel there was an auger-hole. There was not a +single drop of water in camp! + +In a flash of inspiration Conniston saw the thing which he must say. + +"Who wants to go to work for Swinnerton now?" he cried. "You know +whose work this is; you know who is trying to block every move we +make. You know as well as I do that it was Swinnerton, or one of the +men working for Swinnerton, the same man who got Bat Truxton drunk, +who has given you your whisky--and taken away your chasers! And you +know as well as I do how many miles it is to water." + +The rest of the men had flung down their guns and rushed to the empty +barrels. Already the burning thirst engendered by the raw, vile whisky +was making them lick their dry lips, making their throats work +painfully. They pulled over barrel after barrel, seeking to find that +somewhere there was a cupful of water. And they found none. + +"It's Swinnerton's gang you have to thank for this, boys," Conniston +shouted again, seeing and taking his opportunity. "Swinnerton, who +wants to break us like a rotten stick. He will be a millionaire many +times over if he breaks us. And if we put our work across, if we make +a go of it, Swinnerton will be the rotten stick!" + +He stopped suddenly and watched them. And as often as he heard them +curse him he heard them curse Swinnerton. + +"Ben," he cried, when he had waited for them to understand what he had +said, "get the harness on some horses and take one of the wagons to +Valley City. Take a couple of men with you. Go to the general office +and ask for Tommy Garton. Tell him we've got to have water. You, Lark, +take the rest of the wagons as fast as you can send your horses to the +Half Moon for more water. Take what men you need. Cook, see if you +have enough water in your tent to do any good. And then get us +something to eat. Ben will be back from Valley City before you know +it. The rest of you fellows better lie around and chew tobacco until +water comes. We'll get an early start to-morrow to make up for lost +time. Peters, you and Mundy see that somebody looks out for the men +that are hurt. Take them to the tent. They get first water if the +cook has any. If not, Ben, you take them with you to Valley City." + +His orders came with staccato precision. There was no tremor of doubt +in his tones. And there was no slightest hesitation in obeying the +orders from the man who was again "boss." Ben shouted out his own +commands to two men who stood close to him, and they ran for the +horses. The Lark was at the same time snapping out his orders, and the +men he called by name hurried for horses, and many hands made quick +work of the hitching-up. Other fingers whittled plugs, wrapped them +about with bits of sack, and drove them tight into the holes in the +barrels. The cook sped to his tent, found a bucket half full of water, +and was drinking thirstily when Mundy jerked it from his hands. + +"None of that, you sneakin' skunk!" he shouted. "Them guys as got hurt +gets the first show." + +The fellow Conniston had shot in the thigh, and the man whom he had +seen a companion strike with a knife, cutting him deeply in the neck, +were carried into the tent, water thrust up to their parched lips, +their wounds bound swiftly and gently. The Chinaman Mundy rolled over +with his foot. + +"Deader 'n hell," he grunted. "Might as well leave him where he is +until plantin'-time." + +Once more order had grown quietly out of chaos. The men stood here and +there talking, chewing tobacco, cursing the thirst which as the +minutes dragged by grew ever more tormenting. Already the sun had +rolled upward above the flat horizon. Already the desert heat had +leaped out at them. A dozen men climbed upon Ben's wagon, thinking to +go to Valley City with him to get water there. But he drove them back, +threatening them with his big fists and cockney oaths, and they +dropped down and watched him as the wagon, rocking and swaying and +lurching, was drawn away from them by galloping horses. + +At a sharp word from Conniston two of the men brought the broken +barrel which had contained whisky to where the discarded revolvers lay +glinting in the early light and tossed them into it. And then Brayley +came. + +"What's up, Con?" he asked, swinging down from his panting horse, his +keen eyes taking in the fading excitement, the general idleness. And +then, as he stooped forward and looked into the barrel: "Good heavens! +What _is_ the matter?" + +In a few words Conniston told him. For a moment Brayley said nothing, +shaking his head and eying him curiously. + +"You sure got your nerve, Con," he said, simply, after a minute. + +Conniston laughed shakily. Again a sinking nausea made him faint and +dizzy. He could remember now the way the nose of his revolver had sunk +into the Chinaman's stomach, could see again all of the horror of the +thing which he had done. + +"I'm sick, Brayley," he said, unsteadily. "The thing will drive me +mad. I--I had to kill a man--and I can't forget how he looked!" + +"How you managed to stop 'em jest killing _one_ gets me. Where is he?" + +Conniston nodded to the wagon and turned away shuddering. The Half +Moon foreman strode over to the wagon and looked closely at the limp +body. And then he came to Conniston with long strides. + +"Hell," he grunted, disgustedly. "I thought you said you'd killed a +man! That's only a Chink!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The few barefooted, tattered urchins of Valley City had scampered +homeward through the quiet street, swept along upon the high tide of +glee. Bat Truxton had got drunk again; Mr. Crawford had fired him; +Miss Jocelyn had gone away with him to Crawfordsville; there was every +reason for their glad optimism to see a long vacation before them. +What was the importance of reclamation somewhere off in the misty +future when vacation, unexpected and thence all the more delectable, +smiled upon them now? + +"Mr. Crawford has been just as mean to poor papa as he could be," Miss +Jocelyn had confided to them, in tear-dampened scornfulness. "Papa +doesn't want me to teach, anyway. And"--with a sniff and a toss of her +head--"we'll be in town now where we can enjoy ourselves." + +It is not a pretty thing to contradict a lady, but certainly if Miss +Jocelyn's papa made the remark which she attributed to him it must +have been at some time prior to his return from the camp to Valley +City; prior, too, to his exit from Valley City to Crawfordsville. For +her papa went out of the Valley reclining wordlessly upon a thick +padding of quilts in the bed of a big wagon, with his few household +effects so arranged about him as to screen him from the sun and the +curious gaze of a chance passer-by, and in no condition to express +himself upon any matter whatever. + +There was in Crawfordsville, upon a pleasant, shady avenue, a little +vine-covered cottage belonging to Bat Truxton, and thither the big +wagon conveyed him, his scornful daughter, and his few household +effects. And there shortly after twilight upon the third day after the +closing of school in Valley City Mr. Roger Hapgood, sartorially +immaculate in shining raiment, glorious as to tie and silken socks, +presented himself. + +Miss Jocelyn Truxton, a big, yellow-hearted rose peeping forth at him +from a carefully careless profusion of brown hair, came out upon the +porch at his knock, smiled at him saucily, and offered him her hand. + +"How do you do, Mr. Hapgood? We didn't expect you again so soon. I +thought that maybe you had forgotten us." And then, blushing prettily +over the hand which Mr. Hapgood was still holding ardently in his, +"Won't you come in?" + +Mr. Hapgood, having assured her that he should forget all else in the +world before he forgot her, called her attention to the fact that it +was a deucedly fine evening, and that it would be too bad to lose any +of it by going into the house. His smile and eloquent eyes pointed out +that there was a not uncomfortable rustic bench, large enough to +accommodate two nicely, at the cozy, vine-sheltered end of the porch. + +"And how is Mr. Truxton?" he asked, his tone gently solicitous, when +they were seated. + +"I have had Dr. Biggs call since you were here," she told him, +assuming the pose which a certain Broadway favorite had discovered +(the photograph of the leading lady in this particular pose had been +cut from the latest theatrical gazette which now lay upon the +sitting-room table; it is denied us to enter the room set aside for +Miss Jocelyn to see if the picture be pinned to the wall over her +dresser!)--a pose which was not lost to the appreciative and admiring +eyes of Mr. Hapgood. "Dr. Biggs says that papa's is a high-strung, +nervous disposition which at times makes the taking of--of a little +alcohol absolutely necessary. And that the--the stimulant is liable to +upset him. It is entirely a nervous trouble, and in a few days, with +perfect rest, he will be well again." + +Mr. Hapgood nodded gravely, sympathetically. + +"Mr. Truxton has been so great a factor in the reclamation project--he +has been the very heart and soul of the actual work done--that I +wonder how Mr. Crawford's schemes will get along without him?" + +"I hope they fail," cried Jocelyn, hotly. "Papa has given the best in +him to help them, and look how they send him adrift when--when he +makes one little slip!" + +"Do you know why Crawford really let him go?" Hapgood, speaking in +hushed tones, continued to eye her keenly. "Don't you know that +Crawford was just waiting and looking for an excuse--any excuse?" + +Jocelyn turned widening eyes upon him. "What do you mean?" + +Hapgood gave the impression of a man hesitating over a serious matter. +And then, with a sudden burst of something remarkably like ingenuous +ardor, he exclaimed: + +"Why should I say anything? Perhaps I should keep my peace and let +matters take their own course. I have a distinctive dislike to +interfering in any way with the affairs of other people. And yet, Miss +Jocelyn, I feel so strong an interest in you--you will forgive me if +I have to speak plainly; you will pardon me when you know I mean no +offense?--that I cannot keep my peace." A momentary struggle between +his desire to befriend her and his dislike to say evil of others, and +then with vehement intensity, "I will _not_ remain silent." + +Whereupon he became immediately silent and remained so until the +curiosity which he had fired urged him to go on. + +"When Conniston left the Half Moon and went to work in the Valley +under your father"--leaning forward, his low-toned voice again deeply +confidential--"the whole plot was laid and perfected. He was to work +there until he had learned all that Mr. Truxton could teach him, until +the greater part of the work had been done, and then your father was +to be discharged so that Conniston could take his place. Yes, and so +that when the work was completed--the work which your own father had +made possible--Conniston would reap the rewards of it, take all the +honors." + +He paused suddenly, and again his pale eyes, intent upon the girl's +face, were keen with the shrewdness in them. Jocelyn sprang to her +feet, her face flaming, her body tense. + +"The--the wretches!" she gasped. + +Roger Hapgood made no reply, content for the moment to rest upon his +oars, watching the boat he had launched drift as it would. + +"Why," asked Jocelyn, after a little, her face puzzled--"why do you +tell me this, when you are one of Mr. Crawford's lawyers?" + +He lifted his hand as though warding off a blow. + +"Don't say that! Miss Jocelyn, did you think that I was the sort of +man, so forgetful of his manhood, that I would remain in the service +of such people when I had found them out? Did you dream that I could +remain a part of a project a second after such a man as Conniston had +been put at the head of it? Did you think," half sadly, half +reproachfully, "that I could continue my affiliations with such men +after the treatment which Mr. Truxton--_your father_--had received? +Miss Jocelyn, I went straight to Mr. Winston and handed him my +resignation. Thank God that if I must give up my position I can at +least keep my self-respect!" + +It was very effectively done, and Jocelyn thrilled with it. + +"I am so sorry!" she said, softly, her light touch sympathetic upon +his arm. "So sorry that because of us--" + +"Don't say it--please don't, Miss Jocelyn! I can never forget that it +was I, no matter how innocently, who helped them in getting the excuse +they were looking for. And don't you see, I shall feel in a way that +my fortune is linked with yours, I shall feel that there are certain +bonds between us, I shall feel that in a small, very small way I am +being of some light service to your father and," very softly--"and to +you." + +"But what will you do? You have so few friends here. This is a new +country to you--" + +"For a moment I thought of returning immediately to the East. But I +could not. Why? I won't tell you now; I dare not." He paused long +enough to look the things which short acquaintance forbade him saying, +and then, as though shaking himself mentally, went on, "What shall I +do? I have already done it. Just so long as I thought blindly that the +right was with us I worked for reclamation as a man does not often +work. And now that the scales have dropped from my eyes, do I +hesitate? I have gone to Mr. Swinnerton. I have offered him my +services. And he has seen fit to accept them. And now I shall not have +to sit idly by, my hands in my lap, waiting to see the Crawfords reap +the rewards and assume the honors which belong--elsewhere!" + +Jocelyn had read stories of heroes. Never before had she known what it +was to find herself in the actual bodily presence of one of these +creatures. And small wonder she thrilled again, not alone because of +the fact that this great-hearted gentleman had sacrificed himself upon +the altar of righteousness, but, further, that in the reasons for such +self-immolation had entered thoughts of her. A real, perfectly +delightful romance was being enacted, and _she_ was its heroine! + +"You are very good," she murmured, quite as the heroine should. "And +papa will appreciate it when I tell him. And," shyly, "if you care to +know it, I think that your generous kindness is the finest thing I +have ever known." + +It was the psychological time for a love avowal. But Mr. Hapgood had +not played out his other rôle. He rose hastily, looking at his watch. + +"I stopped in for just a moment," he said, quickly. "I am on my way to +the post-office. I expect some important mail to-night. By the way," +stopping with a glove half drawn on, "if your father cares to accept a +position again soon I think that I know of one which would suit him. +Mr. Swinnerton wants a competent engineer to aid him in a bit of work. +I took the liberty to mention Mr. Truxton to him. He was delighted at +the bare mention of your father's name. But"--and again the old +shrewd look crept into his eyes--"maybe Mr. Truxton does not care to +work against the reclamation? Maybe he is willing to see the Crawfords +and that Conniston fellow succeed in their scheme?" + +"I am going right in to talk with papa," she told him, quickly. "I am +going to tell him the real truth. And I think, Mr. Hapgood, that you +can tell Mr. Swinnerton that papa will come out to see him to-morrow or +the next day." + +Mr. Hapgood took the hand which she held out to him, bestowed upon her +a look which spoke of warm admiration tinged with half-melancholy +longing, sighed, relinquished her hand with a gentle pressure, and ran +down the steps. + +"Good night, Jocelyn," he called, softly, from the little gate. + +"Good night, Roger," she whispered. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +A certain old football phrase rang day and night in Conniston's brain, +"_It is anybody's game!_" Anybody's game! For there was a chance for +success in the Great Work, and he saw that chance clearly, and fought +hard for it. If everything went smoothly now, if Mr. Crawford gave him +five hundred more men, if there were no unforeseen obstacles set in +his way, no smashing accidents, he would see the ditches in +Rattlesnake Valley filled with water by the last day of September. He +had figured on everything, he had sat late into many a night after the +grind of a twelve or fifteen hour day, frowning over details, +calculating to the cubic yard what he must do each and every day, +going over his calculations with a care which missed no detail. And he +knew that he could play this game safely and win--if they would only +let him alone! And still he knew that it was anybody's game. Could +Swinnerton block him in some way which he could not foresee, could +Swinnerton make him lose a single day's work, could Swinnerton steal +his five hundred men as he had stolen men in the past, it was +Swinnerton's game. + +Brayley was driving the work in the Valley now. Tommy Garton had his +new legs from Chicago, and from the seat of a buckboard, sometimes +from the ground where his crutches sank into the soft sand, he advised +Brayley and watched the work. Conniston was in the mountains, and the +Lark with fifty men was with him. + +Once in Deep Creek, with the site of Dam Number One before him, +Conniston studied long before he gave the order to the Lark to begin +work. Here were the stakes of Truxton's survey, here were the +foundations already laid, here was a nature-made dam-site. He had not +needed the stakes to show him the spot. And still he hesitated. + +Here, where plans had been made for the chief dam, Deep Creek belied +its name. It ran clear and untroubled over a gentle slope, widening +out until from edge to edge of the water it measured close upon forty +feet. Still farther back upon either hand the sides of the caņon stood +in perpendicular walls thirty feet high. Above the site the walls +widened gradually until they formed a pocket, flat-bottomed, half a +mile wide. Still farther up the creek's course these natural walls +grew steadily closer together until perhaps three-eighths of a mile +deeper in the caņon they drew so close together that there was +scarcely more than the width of an ordinary room between them. + +It was this point--the Lark had been here with Bat Truxton when the +survey was made and called it the "Jaws"--that inspired Conniston's +hesitation. Here was a second dam-site, and not until he had studied +both long and carefully, with a keen eye to advantage and +disadvantage, did he give the word to begin work. + +If it were only a question of a site, with time not an element to +success, he would have chosen as Truxton had done and without a +second's doubt. Had he had only to consider the building of a dam +across Deep Creek in the shortest possible time, he would have chosen +the site at the Jaws. But the thing which he wanted now was the +largest possible dam in the shortest possible time. There was a pocket +above the Jaws, but it was shorter, narrower. And above it the +creek-bed plunged downward, at times broken into perpendicular +waterfalls, until, yonder at a sharp bend, the water as it now frothed +through its narrow, rocky caņon was on a level with the top of the +Jaws. He needed to take out water in vast quantities, countless +millions of gallons of it, to turn into the ditches thirty miles away +across the dry desert. + +"The one question," he told himself, as he stood upon a boulder whence +he could overlook the two sites, "is, can I get the dam finished where +Bat Truxton planned it--get it done in time?" + +And in the end he told himself that if the five hundred men came he +could have his dam completed in time; and that if the five hundred men +did not come the whole task before him was hopeless. Then he waved his +hand to the Lark, and the Lark shouted a command which set fifty idle +men to work before the echoes of his voice had died away between the +rocky walls of the caņon. + +The materials he should require--the lumber for the great flume which +was to turn the water from the weir into the cut which was to be made +across the spine of the ridge separating Deep Creek from the wider +caņon through which Indian Creek shot down upon the uplands of the +Half Moon, the kegs of giant powder, the horses and implements--he had +brought with him or had conveyed hither yesterday from Crawfordsville. +He knew that in a very few days now the main canal would be completed, +stretching like a mammoth serpent over the five miles of rolling +hills through which it twisted intricately to avoid rocky ridges and +knolls to follow natural hollows; that when at last Dam Number One +should be an actuality of stone and mortar, with the water rising high +above the flood-gates through which he could send it hissing and +boiling into the flume, the way was open to shake his victorious fist +in the face of nature itself, to drive water across thirty miles of +desert and into the heart of Rattlesnake Valley. + +Upon one thing Conniston had set his heart before he had been +twenty-four hours in Bat Truxton's shoes. He would forget the date +which had been marked in red numerals since his first talk with Tommy +Garton; he would not think once of the first day of October. He would +have everything in readiness upon the twenty-fifth day of September. + +He knew that the water would at first run slowly through the dry +canals, that the thirsty soil would drink up the first of the precious +gallons, that he must allow himself those five days in order that he +play safe. And now that he had seen the scope of the work to be done, +now that he felt that he could manage without the auxiliary dam until +after the first of October, that the two dams here on Deep Creek and +Indian Creek would give him enough water to keep to the terms of the +contract, he believed that he would have everything in readiness by +the twenty-fifth of September. + +For this he had hoped, at first half heartedly; for this he was now +working. Besides the inducements he had offered his men he now +promised them a wage of once and a half for overtime. That meant that +from the first light of morning until dark, with often less than an +hour off at noon, they worked day after day. They fought with the +uneven bed of the stream, they fought with great boulders, until their +arms ached in their sockets and their scanty clothing was drenched +with sweat. Conniston, while he urged them on to do all that was in +them, marveled that they did not break down under the strain. + +Nor did he spare himself. Many a night during the swift weeks which +followed he had no more than three or four hours' sleep. + +Until the Lark yelled to his men to "knock" off at night, Conniston +labored with them. Then, when they had rolled heavily into their +blankets, he more than once had saddled his horse and ridden down +along the foothills across the stretch of sand and to Valley City to +advise with Garton, to learn how the work was going there, to plan and +order for the days to follow. He grew gaunt and nervous and +hollow-eyed. Heavier and heavier the load of his responsibility rested +upon his shoulders. Nearer and nearer came the end of the time +allotted to him, and always the things still to do loomed ahead of him +like mountains of rock. He went for two weeks without shaving, and +scarcely realized it. His hands grew to be like the hands of his men, +torn and cut and blackened with dirt ground into the skin. His boots +were in strips before he thought of another pair; his clothes were +ragged. He thought only of the Great Work. + +In the Present, which came to him with tight-clenched, iron fingers +gripping the promise which he must rend from them with the strength of +brain and brawn, there was only the Great Work. The Past extended back +only to the day when Bat Truxton had fallen and he had been called to +take the place of command; and since then there had been only the +Great Work. And the Future, mocking him now, smiling upon him the next +day, then hiding her face in her misty veil, held high above his head +the success or the failure of the Great Work. + +And as he grew haggard and tense-nerved and unkempt, little lines +formed about the corners of his mouth which would have told William +Conniston, Senior, that there had been wrought in his son a change +which was not of the body, not of the mind alone, but even of the +secret soul. + +He thought that he should have heard from Mr. Crawford by now, and yet +no word had reached him. When the day's work had been done upon the +dam he rode the ten miles into Crawfordsville and inquired at the +Western Union office for a telegram. No, nothing had come. The next +day he was as short-spoken as Bat Truxton had been the day before +Hapgood had tempted him, as irritable. He saw half a dozen men +struggling with a great rugged mass of rock, and cursed them for their +slowness. And then he turned away from the Lark's curious eyes, biting +his lips. For he knew that they were doing all that six big +iron-bodied men could do, and that he was not fit. + +Again that night he rode to Crawfordsville. He thought that the +telegraph agent grinned maliciously as he tossed a yellow envelope +upon the counter. + +"Sign here, Mr. Conniston," he said. + +Conniston signed and, stepping outside, read the words which drove a +groan to his lips: + + "WILLIAM CONNISTON, Jr., + + "General Supt., Crawford Reclamation, Crawfordsville. + + "No success yet. May have to go to St. Louis for the money. + Hope to have men in four or five days. + + "JOHN W. CRAWFORD." + +He did not see Jocelyn Truxton in front of the post-office as he rode +past, did not see Hapgood come out of the two-story building and join +her. He saw only the days which were rushing down upon him, offering +him a broken, blunt weapon to fight a giant. + +Never once had Conniston doubted as he doubted now. Never before had +all glint of hope been lost in rayless blackness. If he had the five +hundred men, _if he had them now_, there was a fighting chance. But if +he must wait another week before they came-- + +To-day the telephone line had been completed to Valley City. All day +he had looked forward to a talk with Argyl. Now he swept by the little +office without lifting his head. He could not talk with her; he could +not talk with Tommy Garton even. They would know soon enough, and they +would know from other lips than his. + +That night he slept little, but sat staring at the stars, searching +stubbornly to find his lost hope, struggling over and over to see the +way. And all that he could see was a long, dry, ugly cut in the +desert, a vain, foolish, stupid thing; Mr. Crawford a ruined, broken +man; Argyl smitten with sorrow and disappointment; himself the +vanquished leader of a mad campaign; Oliver Swinnerton and his +servitors flushed with victory. Still he fought to find the way, and +shut his lips tight together, and strove to shut from his mind the +pictures which his insistent fancy painted there. And when morning +came and he walked to the dam which was taking form, pale, worn with +the fatigue of the night after the fatigue of the day, he snapped out +his orders half viciously, and watched with a hard smile while his +handful of men resumed their mammoth task. + +"Take it from me"--the Lark was regarding him curiously--"you better +go git some sleep, or it's goin' to be a redwood box for yours." + +The sun had just pushed a shining edge of its burning disk over the +mountain-tops when Conniston suddenly cried out like a man awaking +from the clutch of a frightful nightmare, and pointed with shaking +finger to the road winding up the caņon. + +"What's up, 'bo?" asked the Lark, swinging upon him. + +"I don't know," Conniston said, harshly. "I--guess I'm just seeing +things. Look!" + +A wagon had crept around a turn in the road, and its long bed was +close packed with the forms of men standing upright, their hands upon +the back of the high seat or upon one another's shoulders to steady +themselves as the wagon pitched and lurched over the ill-defined road. +Around the bend another wagon, similarly loaded with a human freight +which taxed the strength of four puffing horses, came into view. And +behind that another and another-- + +"Am I seeing things?" snapped Conniston, his hand biting into the +Lark's shoulder. "What is that?" + +"Them," grunted the Lark, wriggling like an eel in Conniston's grip, +"is your five hundred new guys, or I'm a liar! An' fergit you're the +strong man in a sideshow doin' stunts with a rag doll--" + +But Conniston did not hear him. Already he was running toward the +wagons. And there was a light in his eyes which had not been there for +many days. A little, youngish man, sandy of hair, with bird-like +brightness of eye and the grin of a sanctified cherub, swung down from +the seat of the foremost wagon, lifted his hand, thereby stopping the +laboring procession, and came forward to meet Conniston. + +"I want to talk with the superintendent," he said, as the two men met. +"Where is he?" + +"I'm the superintendent. I'm Conniston. You want me?" + +"All right, Mr. Conniston. I'm Jimmie Kent." + +He put out his hand, which was painfully small, but which gripped +Conniston's larger hand like a vise. "There are your five hundred men. +Or, to be exact, five hundred and five. I started with five hundred +and seven. Lost two on the road." + +"But," interrupted Conniston, staring half incredulously at him, "Mr. +Crawford's telegram--" + +Jimmie Kent laughed. + +"Mr. Crawford kicked like a bay steer over that telegram. And in the +end, when he wouldn't put his name to a lie, I did the trick for him." + +"But why?" + +"Simply, sir, because I am under contract to deliver five hundred men +into your hands. Simply because the telegraph agent in Crawfordsville +belongs body and soul, bread and butter, to our esteemed friend Mr. +Oliver Swinnerton. Know Oliver personally? Capable man, charming host, +but the very devil to buck when he has his back aloft! And they tell +me that he is playing high this trip. It was just as well, don't you +think, that I sent that wire? Had Oliver known that this consignment +of hands was coming, and when they were coming--well, I don't know how +he would have managed it, but one way or another he would have come +mighty close to taking them off my hands. And now," whipping a big, +fat note-book from his pocket, "will you sign right there?" + +Kent removed the cap from a gold-filigreed fountain-pen, handed it +with a bit of paper and the note-book to Conniston, and pointed out +where the signature was wanted. And Conniston set his name down under +a statement acknowledging the receipt from James Kent of five hundred +and five men, "in good and satisfactory shape." + +"Thank you, Mr. Conniston," as he blotted and returned the document to +his breast pocket. "Perhaps, however, you would have preferred to have +counted before signing?" + +"That's all right. I'll take your word for it. If there aren't five +hundred, there are as good as five hundred. And thank God, and you, +Jimmie Kent, that they are here!" + +"Need 'em pretty bad? Well, I'm glad I got 'em to you in time. And you +might as well know how I did it. I unloaded my men at Littleton, two +hundred miles east of here. And then I chartered a freight and sneaked +'em into Bolton at night. Got into Bolton last night, and came right +out. I don't believe," with a genial grin, "that our friend Oliver +knows a thing about it yet. I do believe that that wire to you at +Crawfordsville has got him sidetracked." + +Conniston called the Lark to him. + +"I am going to put two hundred more men to work right here and right +now," he said, swiftly. "You get double salary to act as general +foreman over the two hundred and fifty. Divide your old gang of fifty +into five parts, ten each. Break up the new gang of two hundred into +five sections, forty men to a section. Then put ten of our old men to +work with each section of forty, making, when that is done, five +gangs, fifty men to the gang. Understand?" + +The Lark nodded, his eyes bright. + +"Then pick out from your old gang the five best men you have. No +favoritism--understand me? The five best men! You know them better +than I do. I want them to do the sort of thing you have been doing, +each of them to act as section boss, under you, over fifty men. Send +them to me. And get a move on!" + +The Lark shot away, losing no time in question or answer. A moment +later five big, strapping fellows stood before Conniston, eying him +curiously. + +"You fellows," Conniston told them, bluntly, "are to act as section +bosses. You are to get the wages the Lark here has been getting. You +are to get the same money I offered him for every day between the +first of October and the day we get water into the Valley. You are to +take orders from him and no questions asked. You can hold your jobs +just as long as you do the work. If you can't do the work you'll get +fired and another man put in your place. Come along with me. And you," +to the Lark, "come too." + +He swung off toward the wagons, the five men and Jimmie Kent following +him. At the first wagon he called to the men to "climb out." As they +clambered down the men in the other wagons got to the ground and came +forward. + +"I want forty men," Conniston called. "Walk by me single file so I can +count." + +When the fortieth had passed him he raised his hand. + +"You," he said to the one of the new foremen nearest him, "take these +forty men, add ten of the old section to them, and go to work on the +dam. Wait a minute. Have you boys had any breakfast?" + +They had not. + +"Go to the cook, then," he ordered. "Tell him to give you the best he +can sling out at quick notice. Tell him that there will be one hundred +and sixty more to feed. I'll send for more grub right away." + +The men passed on to the cook's tent, and one after another Conniston +counted off the other sections of forty and sent them to be fed. + +"The rest of you," he called to the three hundred men who had watched +their fellows move away, "go to the Valley. You can loaf until we +scare up something to eat for you and until the horses rest a bit. +I'll send right away to Crawfordsville--" + +"Mr. Conniston," interrupted Jimmie Kent, "in those two wagons back +there is a lot of grub. And tools," he added. "Mr. Crawford had me +pick them up in Littleton." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Never had Conniston known a busier forenoon, never a happier. The +fatigue, the despondency, the utter hopelessness of the early morning +was swept away. He felt a new life course through his veins, there +came a fresh elasticity to his stride, his voice rang with confidence. +For he was as a leader of a lost hope within the walls of a +beleaguered city to whom, when all hope was gone, reinforcements had +come. + +He felt that now nothing could tire him in body or in mind, nothing +drive from his heart his glorious conviction of success to come. + +And yet he had no faintest idea how busy the day was to be. When two +hours had passed and the wagons carrying three hundred men had started +for the Valley, Conniston had the two hundred and fifty men at Deep +Creek working with a swiftness, an effectiveness which would have told +a chance observer that they had been familiar many days with the work. +He was to leave them before noon, to hurry on horseback to overtake +the wagons that he might personally oversee the arrangements to be +made upon their coming into the Valley. And there was much to be done, +many specific orders to give the Lark, before he dared leave. + +Upon the dam itself he put a hundred men to work. The remaining +hundred and fifty he set to building the great flume which was to +carry the stored water for five hundred yards along the ridge, then +into the cut in the crest of the ridge and into Dam Number Two. He saw +that he must have more horses, more plows and scrapers. But for the +present he could do without them. There was blasting to be done upon +the rugged wall of the caņon, there were tall pines bunched in groves, +many of which must come down before the flume could be completed or +the ditch made. And men with axes and crowbars and giant powder were +set to their tasks. + +Everywhere he went the Lark dogged his heels, listening intently to +the orders which his superior gave him. + +"The main thing," Conniston told him, when he had outlined the work as +well as he could, "is to keep your men working! Don't lose any time. +I'll be back as soon as I can make it, some time to-morrow, and if you +don't know how to handle anything that comes up put your men on +something else. The dam has got to be made, the flume has got to be +built, the cut has to be dug, a lot of trees and boulders have to come +out. You will have enough to keep you busy." + +"Do you know, Mr. Conniston," Jimmie Kent told him, as they sat down +together for a bite of lunch, "I've got a hunch. A rare, golden +hunch!" + +Conniston laughed--he was in the mood to laugh at anything now--and +asked what the rare "hunch" was. + +"Just this: there's going to be some fun pulled off in this very same +neck of the woods before the first of October! And, by Harry, I'd like +to see it! Have you any objection to my sort of roosting around and +keeping my bright eye on the game? Oh, I don't want a salary; I'll pay +for my grub, and you can have my valuable advice gratis. Can I stick +around?" + +When Conniston told him that he should be glad to have him stay, and +as his and the company's guest, Jimmie Kent beamed. + +"That's bully of you! If you don't mind, and we can scare up a horse +for me, I'd like to ride into Valley City with you? I can send a wire +from there to my firm asking for an indefinite vacation. Oh, they'll +grant it, all right. They want a man like me in their business." + +It was after one o'clock, work was in progress, and Conniston and +Jimmie Kent swung into their saddles and started for Valley City. +Before they had ridden a mile down the mountainous road Conniston +heard Kent whistle softly, and ahead of them, coming to meet them, saw +a light pole buggy swiftly approaching. A moment later and the man +driving had stopped his horses and was looking with small, shrewd eyes +into Conniston's. + +He was a short man, round of face, round of eyes, round of stomach. +Very fair, very bland, very red under the flaming sun, the sweat +trickling down his face and upon the crumpled white of his +shirt-bosom. His eyes were mildly surprised as they rested upon Kent. +They were only smiling as they returned to Conniston. + +"I was looking for Mr. Conniston, the superintendent," he said, in a +soft, fat voice. "Can you direct me--" + +"I am Conniston. And I am in a very big hurry. What can I do for you?" + +The man in the buggy swelled pompously. + +"I am Oliver Swinnerton," he said, with dignity. And then suffering +what he might have been pleased to consider austerity to melt under a +soft, fat smile, "Glad to know you, Conniston. Shake!" + +He put out a soft, fat hand. Conniston stared at him in amazement. + +"Swinnerton!" he cried, sharply. "Oliver Swinnerton! And what in the +world do you want with me?" + +When it was obvious that Conniston was not going to lean forward in +the saddle to take his hand Mr. Swinnerton withdrew it to mop his +moist forehead. + +"Oliver Swinnerton," he repeated, nodding pleasantly. "And I wanted to +talk with you about"--his left eyelid, red and puffy, drooped, and his +right eye squinted craftily--"about reclamation." + +"I can't imagine what common interests you and I have in reclamation. +And I am in a hurry." + +Oliver Swinnerton chuckled as at a rare jest. + +"How do, Kent?" was what he said, having seen Jimmie Kent, it would +seem, for the first time. "And what might you be doing in this part of +the country?" + +Jimmie Kent's voice was as pleasant as Swinnerton's had been. + +"Maybe you remember how you did me up in the matter of the Bolton town +lots, Mr. Swinnerton? Well, I am just sticking around for the fun of +seeing some one do you up." + +Mr. Swinnerton's chuckle was softer, oilier than before. He smiled +upon Kent as though the sandy-haired man were in truth the apple of +his eye. + +"Always up to your little repartee, ain't you, Jimmie? Well, well! And +now, Mr. Conniston--Jimmie, you'll pardon us?--may I have a word in +private with you?" + +"No," Conniston flared out, "you may not! I don't know you, Mr. +Swinnerton, and I don't want to." + +Only a something akin to the hurt surprise of a child in voice and +look alike as Swinnerton queried softly: + +"No? Pray, why not? What have I done, Mr. Conniston?" + +"You have proven yourself a scoundrel!" burst out Conniston, angrily. +"A fair fight in the open is one thing. Such cowardly means as you +take to gain your ends is another. And if you will turn your horses +and drive back off of Crawford territory I'll be glad to see the back +of you." + +For a moment Swinnerton stared at him in stupefaction. And then he +broke into a delighted giggle which drove the tears into his eyes. +Jimmie Kent looked from one to the other, and then, whistling softly +to himself and saying no word, rode on down the road. + +"I don't know what you are gurgling about," Conniston said, shortly. +"But if you will follow Mr. Kent and get off and stay off this land I +shall be much obliged to you." + +Mr. Swinnerton wiped the tears from his eyes and gasped from the +depths of his mirth: + +"You'll do, Conniston! He, he! Oh, you'll certainly do!" + +"I don't know what you're talking about," snapped Conniston. "But I +tell you what I will do if you don't get out of here. I'll just +naturally pitch you out!" + +"I'd never have guessed it," chuckled Swinnerton. "Never in the world. +I'd never even have thought of such a thing. Conniston, it's the +bulliest scheme I ever heard of! How you managed it so easily--" + +"Managed what?" Conniston's curiosity, in spite of him, had for the +moment the upper hand of his anger. "What do you mean?" + +"Close-lipped, eh? Close-lipped to the end! That's business--mighty +good business, too. Oh, you'll do." + +"Are you going to tell me what you mean? I tell you I haven't any time +to waste, and I want to see your back, and see it moving, too. If you +have anything to say, say it quick." + +"That's the stuff, Conniston. Close-lipped to the end. But," and with +a glance over his shoulder at Jimmie Kent, now out of hearing, and +leaning a pudgy arm upon a pudgy knee as he smiled confidentially into +Conniston's frowning face, "ain't it pretty close to the end now?" + +"I give you my word, Swinnerton, that if you can't tell me straight +out what you are driving at, off of this land you go." + +The stern assurance of Conniston's tone seemed to surprise Swinnerton. + +"Come, come," he said, rather sharply. "What's the use of this +shenanigan? Can't I see through clear window-glass? Am I a fool? Oh, I +didn't guess, I didn't know that such a man as you were alive; I +didn't so much as know your name until yesterday. But--know a man +named Hapgood?" And his eyes twinkled again. + +"Yes," bluntly. "What about him?" + +"Oh, nothing much. Only he told me about you. And now what he didn't +guess I know, Mr. William Conniston, Junior." + +"And, pray, what might that be?" + +"Want me to tell you, eh? Want to be sure that I know, do you? Want to +see if Oliver Swinnerton is a fool, blind in both eyes? All right." +His voice dropped yet lower, and he blinked with cunning eyes as he +finished. "You are up to the same game I am! You are going to slip the +knife into John Crawford clean up to the hilt. You are going to make a +bluff at getting work done until the last minute, and then you are +going to have nothing done. You are going to throw him into my hands +like I would throw a sick pup into a ditch." + +"Am I?" asked Conniston, coolly, mastering the sudden desire to take +this little fat man into his two hands and choke him. "You know a +great deal about what I intend to do, Mr. Swinnerton. And now, if you +are not through talking your infernal nonsense, I am through listening +to it. There is room to turn right here. Understand?" + +"But--" began Swinnerton, only to be cut short with: + +"There are no buts about it!" + +He stooped, seized the bit of one of Swinnerton's horses, and jerked +it about into the road. + +"Get out!" + +"I tell you," yelled Swinnerton, "Conniston or no Conniston, you can't +bluff me. Do you hear?" + +Conniston made no reply as he jerked the horses farther around. When +their heads were turned toward the way which Swinnerton had come he +lifted his quirt high above his head. Oliver Swinnerton went suddenly +white and raised his arm to protect his face. But only Conniston's +laugh stung him as the quirt fell heavily across the horses' backs. +The buggy lurched, the horses leaped forward; Oliver Swinnerton's +surprised torrent of curses was lost in the rattle of wheels, his red +face obscured in the swirling dust. + +"I wonder what he was driving at?" muttered Conniston as he watched +the horses race down the road. + +Jimmie Kent, reining his horse aside as Swinnerton swept by him, +smiled and called, pleasantly: + +"Good-by, Oliver. Seem to be in a hurry!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Conniston and Kent, riding swiftly, side by side, overtook the wagons +conveying the three hundred men to the Valley, and, passing them, +arrived at Brayley's camp before the men there had quit work for the +day. Brayley was more than half expecting them, as Kent had telephoned +to the office from Bolton to learn where Conniston was and had told +Tommy Garton of his errand. + +"An' now," proclaimed Brayley, with deep satisfaction, "we'll have the +big ditch clean through Valley City an' the cross-ditches growin' real +fast before a week's up." + +"I've told the drivers to stop when they get here, Brayley. Some of +the men have blankets with them. We can rush more from Mr. Crawford's +store in Crawfordsville. We can make out as to food. Have you figured +out what more horses, what further tools you'll need? That's good. +Send a man to the Half Moon right now with word to Rawhide Jones to +rush us the horses. Put your new men to work in the morning if you +have to make them dig ditch with shovels. Also send a hundred of them +into Valley City as soon as it's daylight to begin the cross-ditches. +Let Ben go with them. He can get his instructions there from me or +from Tommy Garton. How is everything going?" + +Brayley reported that the work was running smoothly, that his foremen +were as good men as he ever wanted to see, that he had no fault to +find anywhere. + +"An' this ol' ditch is sure growin', Con," he finished, with a sudden +gleam of pride. + +Conniston did not wait for the arrival of the wagons to ride on into +Valley City. Kent he left behind him at the camp. + +"I've a tremendous curiosity to see how you do this sort of thing," +Kent confided to him, as he handed Conniston the message he wished +sent from Valley City to Clayton & Paxton, of Denver. "I think that if +Mr. Brayley has no objections and can spare me a blanket and some +bread and coffee I'll roost here and watch the ditch grow in the +morning." + +Tommy Garton was still perched upon his high stool when Conniston came +to the office. + +"Just through, though," he said, as he climbed down and with the aid +of his crutches piloted his new legs toward the door, grasping +Conniston's hand warmly. "Good news, eh, Greek?" + +"The best, Tommy. If we don't put this thing across now we ought to be +kicked from one end of the desert to the other. By the way, I had a +visit from Swinnerton this afternoon." + +He told of what had passed, and ended, thoughtfully: + +"What do you suppose was his object, Tommy? Just wanted to get a peek +at what we have done?" + +Garton laughed softly. + +"You poor old innocent. Don't you know what the little man was after? +Didn't he make it plain that he wanted you to double cross the old +man? Didn't he make it plain that he was in a position to make it +worth your while? If our scheme fails, don't you see that you can go +to Swinnerton and demand and get a good job working for his scheme? +He has bought many a man, Greek. It is his theory that he can buy any +man he wants to buy." + +"And I let him get away without slapping his little red face," +muttered Conniston, disgustedly. + +He left Garton a few minutes later, promising to return and spend the +night with him, to talk at length with him in the morning, and went +down the street to the Crawford cottage. He knew that since Argyl's +father had left for Denver Mrs. Ridley, the wife of the proprietor of +the lunch-stand, had been staying with her. It was Mrs. Ridley who +answered his knock. + +"Miss Argyl ain't come back yet, Mr. Conniston," she told him. "She +went out this mornin' an' ain't showed up since. I reckon, though, +she'll be back real soon now. It's after supper-time already." + +"Do you know where she went?" + +"No, sir. She didn't say. Won't you come in an' wait for her?" + +"No," he answered, after a moment. "I'd better not. If Miss Crawford +has been all day in the saddle she will be tired. I'll drop in in the +morning." + +"Maybe that would be better," Mrs. Ridley nodded at him. "We're up +early--breakfast at five. You might run in an' eat with us?" + +Conniston promised to do so, and returned to the office, more than a +little disappointed at not having seen Argyl, wondering whither her +long ride could have taken her. Until late that night he and Garton +talked, planned, and prepared for the work of to-morrow. It was barely +five the next morning when he again knocked at the cottage door. Again +Mrs. Ridley answered his knock. + +"Am I too early?" Conniston smiled at her. "I noticed your smoke +going. Is Miss Crawford up yet?" + +"Miss Crawford--" He saw that she hesitated, saw a nervous uneasiness +in her manner as she plucked with quick fingers at the hem of her +apron. "She ain't come in yet!" + +"What!" cried Conniston, sharply. "What do you mean? Where is she?" + +"I--I don't know, sir. She ain't come back yet." + +"You mean that Miss Crawford left yesterday morning and that she has +not returned since that time? That she has been gone twenty-four +hours--all night?" + +"Yes, sir." The old woman was eying him with eyes into which a +positive fear was creeping, her lips trembling as she spoke. "You +don't think anything has happened--" + +"I don't know!" he cried, sternly. "Why didn't you let me know last +night?" + +"I didn't know what to do." The tears had actually sprung into her +eyes. "I thought she must be all right. I thought mebbe she'd gone to +Crawfordsville or to the Half Moon." + +Conniston left her abruptly and hastened to the office. + +"Tommy," he called, from the doorway, "do you know where Miss Crawford +is? Where she went yesterday?" + +"No. Why?" Garton, sensing from the other's tones that something was +wrong, swept up his crutches and hurried forward. + +"She left yesterday morning," Conniston told him, as he went to the +desk and picked up the telephone. "She hasn't come back yet. Mrs. +Ridley doesn't know anything about her." And to the operator: + +"Give me the Crawford house. Quick, please! Yes, in Crawfordsville." + +Upon the face of each man there were lines of uneasiness. Garton +propped himself up against the desk and lighted a cigarette, his eyes +never leaving Conniston's face. + +"Can't you get anybody?" he asked, after a moment. + +"No. What's that, Central? They don't answer? Then get me the +bunk-house at the Half Moon. Yes, please! I'm in a hurry." + +It was Lonesome Pete who answered. + +"No, Con," he answered. "Miss Argyl ain't here. Anything the matter?" + +Conniston clicked up the receiver and swung upon Garton. + +"It is just possible," he said, slowly, "that she is in +Crawfordsville, after all. May have left the house already. I can call +up the store as soon as it opens up and ask if she has been there." + +Billy Jordan had entered at the last words. + +"Who are you talking about?" he asked, quickly. "Not Miss Crawford?" + +"Yes." Conniston whirled upon him abruptly. "Do you know where she +went yesterday?" + +"No, I don't know where she went. But as I was coming to the office I +met her, just getting on her horse in front of her house, and she gave +me a message for you." + +"Well, what was it?" + +"'If you see Mr. Conniston,' she said, 'tell him that I have gone to +investigate the value of the Secret.' I don't know what she meant--" + +"She said that!" cried Conniston, his face going white. + +"But she's all right," Billy Jordan hastened to add. "She's back now." + +"You saw her?" + +"No." He shook his head. "But I saw the horse she was riding. Just +noticed him tied to the back fence as I came in." + +Again Conniston hurried to the cottage. Mrs. Ridley was upon the +porch. + +"Miss Crawford is back?" he called to her from the street. + +She shook her head. + +"Not yet. Ain't you--" + +He did not wait to listen. Running now, he came to the little back +yard, and to a tall bay horse, saddled and bridled, standing quietly +at the fence. At first glance he thought, as Billy Jordan had thought, +that the animal was tied there. And then he saw that the bridle-reins +were upon the ground, that they had been trampled upon and broken, +that the two stirrups were hanging upside down in the stirrup leathers +as stirrups are likely to do when a saddled horse has been running +riderless. + +She had been to investigate the Secret! She had been gone all day, all +night! And now her horse had come home without her! He dared not try +to think what had happened to her; he knew that she must have +dismounted while at the spring to examine the ground; he knew that +there were sections of the desert alive with rattlesnakes. + +The Great Work which had walked and slept with him for weeks, which +had never in a single waking hour been absent from his thoughts, was +forgotten as though it had never been. The Great Work was suddenly a +trifle, a nothing. It did not matter; nothing in the wide world but +one thing mattered. Failure of the Great Work was nothing if only a +slender, gray-eyed, frank-souled girl were safe. Success, unless she +were there to look into his eyes and see that he had done well, was +nothing. + +Unheeding Mrs. Ridley's shrill cries, he swung about and ran back to +the office. + +"Tommy," he cried, hoarsely, "her horse is back--without her! She rode +away into the desert yesterday morning. She is out there yet. Billy, +my horse is in the shed. Don't stop to saddle, but ride like the very +devil out to Brayley's camp. Tell him what has happened. Tell him to +rush fifty men on horseback to me. Tell him to see that each man takes +two canteens full of water. And, for Heaven's sake, Billy, hurry!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Billy Jordan, terror springing up into his own eyes, sped through the +door. And Conniston and Garton turned grave faces upon each other. + +"Have you any idea," Garton was asking, and to Conniston his voice +seemed to come faintly from a great distance, "which way she rode?" + +"North. I don't know how far. Tommy, have you a horse here I can +ride?" + +"You are going to look for her?" + +"Yes." + +He was already at the door, and turned impatiently as Garton called to +him: + +"It's up to you, Greek. But--do you think that you could do any more +to help her than the men you are sending out?" + +"No. But, man, I can't sit here without knowing--" + +"Greek!" There was a note in Tommy's voice, a look in his eyes which +held Conniston. "I know how you feel, old man. And don't you know that +another man might be fool enough to--to love her as much as you do?" + +"Tommy!" + +"Yes," with a hard little smile. "Why not? I'm only half a man, old +fellow, but the head and the heart of me are left. And I've got to sit +here and wait. And," his tone suddenly stern, "that's what you've got +to do! You can't help by going--and you are the only man who has got +to keep his head clear, who has got to stay here and direct the new +forces which our good fortune has given to us." + +For a moment Conniston stood staring incredulously. Then he turned, +and his frowning eyes ran out toward the north, across the +far-stretching solitudes of the desert. Somewhere out there, a mile +away, ten miles away, twenty miles away, alone, perhaps tortured with +thirst, perhaps famishing, perhaps--He shuddered and groaned aloud as +he tried in vain to shut out the pictures which his leaping +imagination drew for him. And here Garton's quiet voice was telling +him that he had responsibilities, that he had work to do, that he, to +whom she meant more than success or failure, life or death, must hold +back from going to her. + +"I won't--I can't!" he cried, wildly. "She is out there, Tommy, alone. +She needs me--and I am going to her! What do I care about your cursed +work!" + +"There's a horse and saddle in the shed by the lunch-stand." Garton +turned and hobbled back to his stool. + +And Conniston, without a glance over his shoulder, hastened toward the +shed. Before he had gone half the distance he stopped, swung about, +and went slowly back to the office. + +"You were right, Tommy," he said, as he stopped in the doorway. "I was +a fool. Understand," he added, quickly, "that if I thought I could be +of one particle more value than the men I shall send in my place the +work here could go to eternal perdition! But I can tell them all that +I know of the way she has gone--and she would want me to stay here and +push the work as if nothing had happened." + +Mrs. Ridley, hysterically crying that Argyl was dead, that she _knew_ +that she was dead, and that she herself was to blame, came sobbing and +moaning and wringing her hands into the office. + +"Don't do that!" Conniston cried, angrily. "If you want to do any +good, go down to the lunch-counter and help your husband put up fifty +lunches. The men may be gone all day. Put up plenty." + +She hurried away, drying her eyes now that there was something for her +to do; and the two men, never looking at each other, sat and waited +the coming of Brayley's men. + +All that long, endlessly, wretchedly long forenoon, Conniston went +about his work like a man under sentence of death, his face white and +drawn, his step heavy, his voice silent save when necessity drove him +to short, sharp, savage commands. + +Again and again he forgot what it was that he was doing, forgot the +ditches which were branching off from the main canal, right and left, +as his eyes ran out across the sun-blistered sands, as his fancies ran +ahead of them, searching, searching, searching--and half afraid to +find what they sought. He had seen the questing riders push farther +and farther into the desert, had seen them drop out of sight. Now they +were gone; no moving dot told him where their search had taken them, +what they had found. In the middle of an order he found himself +breaking off and turning again to the north, looking for the return of +the party, hoping to see the men waving their hats that all was well, +straining his ears for their reassuring shouts. And the desert, vast, +illimitable, threatening, mysterious, full of dim promise, full of +vague threats, gave no sign. + +At eleven o'clock he saw one of the men returning. Why one man alone? +What would be the word which he was bringing? His heart beat thickly. +His throat was very dry. He felt a quick pain through it as he tried +to swallow. He lifted his head, and his eyes asked the question of the +man who had jerked in his sweating horse at his side. The rider shook +his head. + +"Nothin'--we ain't found nothin' yet. Mundy sent me back. He says to +tell you they're about ten mile out now, an' the hosses is gettin' +done up for water. He says will you send a water-wagon or will you +send out a fresh party?" + +Conniston's heart leaped at the man's first word. He knew then how he +had feared to know what they had found. And then it sank as fear +surged higher into it. They had not found her yet--already she had +been gone a whole day, a whole night, half the second day-- + +"Get a fresh horse and go back," he said, when the man waited for an +answer. "Tell Mundy that I am starting a six-horse wagon, carrying +water, right away. Tell him to keep on looking. You men keep close +enough together for the most part to be able to hear a gun fired from +the man nearest you. I'll send the wagon due north. You can pick it up +by the tracks." + +The man rode away, and Conniston strode to the office. + +"Tommy"--and his voice was steady and determined--"you'll have to get +into a buggy and watch the work this afternoon. I've got the men +started--and now I am going to her." + +"All right, Greek," Garton answered, gently. "I can keep things +going." + +Conniston turned and left him. He saddled his horse with eager +fingers, gave the order for the wagon carrying water to move steadily +northward until it came up with the men who had gone ahead, put a +lunch and a flask of whisky into his pocket, filled his own canteens, +and rode out across the hot sands. + +"I am going to find her," he told himself, with quiet confidence. + +He rode slowly at first, curbing his crying impatience with the +knowledge that restraint now meant the reserve of endurance to his +horse upon which he might be forced to call before he had found her. +He held to a course due north, remembering what Argyl had told him +about the location of the spring. + +When he had gone nearly five miles he began to search to right and +left, still holding to a general northerly direction, but often +turning out of his course to ride to the tops of the knolls which rose +here and there about him. And now he had let his horse out into a +swinging gallop, urged to spare neither animal nor himself, prompted +to make what haste he might by the thought that already noon had +passed, that the day was half gone, that what he was to do must be +done before the night came. + +Once--he thought that Valley City must be at least eight or nine miles +behind him--his heart leaped with sudden hope and fear as he saw, half +a mile to the east, a cluster of little sand-hills like those Argyl +had told him surrounded her spring. + +He did not know that he was cutting his horse's bleeding sides with +his spurs as he galloped up the gradual slopes; long ago he had +forgotten all thought of conserving the beast's strength. He knew only +that the very soul of him cried out aloud that he might at last come +to her, and that his eyes, ever seeking, seeking, seeking, were more +than half afraid to rest upon every shadowy, stirring bunch of scrub +brush, more than half afraid to run ahead of him down the far sides of +the low hills. + +Nothing before him as he jerked in his panting horse, nothing but the +desert, still, hot, thirsty, a great tortured thing under the +merciless sky. Nothing but long level stretches so bleak, so barren, +that a jackrabbit could not have hidden his gaunt, gray body. Nothing +as he looked with narrowing eye far to east and west, north and south, +but a vast, silent monotone of plain that would seem to conceal +nothing, as open under the bright rays of the sun as the palm of a +man's hand, an unsmiling, grave-faced, hypocritical thing which hid +and held from him all that he wanted in the world. + +A frenzy of terrified rage upon him, he stiffened in his stirrups, he +shook his clenched fist at the quiet, jeering face whose very unmoved +stillness was like a deep contempt, and cursed it, his voice springing +harshly through his dry lips, rising almost into a sobbing shriek, +dying away without an echo, leaving the face of the desert quietly +contemptuous. For he grew suddenly as silent, a word cut in two by the +click of his teeth, the sound of his own voice in his ears tricking +him. + +Breathless, a man turned to stone, he listened. + +He had heard something--he _knew_ that he had heard a voice, not his +own, a voice hardly more than a faint whisper, calling to him, calling +again, then lost in the all-engulfing silence. About him the miles +were laid bare in the sunlight. There was nothing. + +Driven from the moment of inactivity into a madness of haste, +tormented afresh at the thought that he had lost one precious minute, +he cut anew with his red-roweled spurs into the torn flanks of his +horse, and rode on, careless of all save that he must hurry, that his +was a great race against the racing day, that he must find her before +the night had sought her out. The very shadow which he and his horse +cast--a distorted, black centaur sort of thing, running silently +across the desert--was one with the desert in its cursed menace. For a +moment ago it had hidden under his horse's belly, and now it ran +beside him, ever lengthening, ever pushing farther to the eastward, a +grim avowal that the day was passing. + +The miles fled behind him like lean greyhounds. The miles before him +reached out in unshortened endlessness. It was one o'clock. He had +been gone two hours--he had done nothing. Now, far ahead, he caught +sight of moving figures, saw a man yonder on horseback, saw another, +hardly more than a drifting dot against the sky-line to the east, +another yet to the west. + +They were still searching for her, still pushing deeper and deeper +into the burning solitudes; they had found nothing. They must be, he +estimated roughly, twenty miles from Valley City. Had she ridden so +far? Why hadn't she told him more about the location of the spring? If +there _was_ a spring, had she clung close to it when her horse had +left her? Then she would not die for want of water! Or had she dug +with breaking nails into the soil which had in it moisture enough to +feed the roots of the yellow willows but which would but mock her as +the desert mocked him, refusing to yield up one single drop of water? + +Gradually, steadily he swung toward the left, riding a little to +westward so as not to be seeking over the same territory across which +the men before him had ridden. And as he rode he saw, a mile away from +him, still farther to the west, a ring of hills, and he prayed that he +might come upon the spring there and upon Argyl. And his moving lips +were not still before he had found her. + +He had swept down into a little hollow, the slightest of depressions +in the sandy level, not to be seen until a man was upon its very rim, +floored with scanty, dry brush. His tired horse threw up its head and +shied. But Conniston had seen her first, a huddled heap, almost at his +feet. + +"Argyl!" he cried, loudly, dropping to his knees beside her, leaving +his horse to stand staring at them. "Argyl!" + +She lay as she had fallen, her right arm stretched straight out in +front of her, her left arm lying close to her side, her face hidden +from him in the sand. She did not move. Had he called to her an hour +ago she would have turned her wide eyes upon him wonderingly. Now, if +he had shouted with the voice of thunder she would not have heard. She +was dead, or death was very close to her. For a moment, a moment +lengthened into an eternity of hell, he did not know whether the +shadowy wings of the stern angel were now rustling over her head or if +already the wings had swept over her and had borne away from him the +soul of the woman he loved. + +"Argyl, Argyl dear!" he whispered. "I have come to save you, Argyl. To +take you home. Oh! don't you hear me, Argyl?" + +He put his arms about her, and as he knelt lifted her and put his face +to hers. She was not cold; thank Heaven, she was not cold! But she +did not move, she was heavy in his arms, the warmth of her body might +have been from the ebbing tide of life or from the sun's fire. He +could not feel her breathe, could not feel the beating of her heart. + +He held her so that he could look into her face, and the cry upon his +lips was frozen into a grief-stricken horror. Her hair unbound, +hanging loose, tangled about her face, dull and soiled with the gray +sand-dust, her lips dry, cracked, unnaturally big, her cheeks pinched +and stamped at the corners of her mouth with the misery through which +she had lived--was this Argyl? + +He laid her back upon the sand, his body bent over her to shut out the +sun, and unslung his canteen. He washed her mouth, let the water +trickle over her brow and cheeks, forced a little of the lukewarm +stuff between her teeth. He bathed her head, bathed her throat, and +again forced a few drops into her mouth. And then, when she did not +move, he would not believe that she was dead. She could not be dead. +It was impossible. She would open her eyes in a minute, those great, +frank, fearless, glorious gray eyes, and she would come back to +him--back from the shadow of the stern angel's wing, back to herself +and to him. + +He unstoppered his flask of whisky and, holding her to him, thrust it +to her lips. And the thing which had been a curse to Bat Truxton, +which had hurled him downward from his leadership of men, which had +threatened to wreck the hopes of the Great Work, brought Argyl back +from the last boundaries of the thing called Life, back from the misty +frontiers of the thing called Death to which she was journeying. + +Her eyes opened, she stared at him, her eyes closed again. + +Again he forced her reluctant throat to swallow the whisky, a few +drops only. And again he bathed her with water--brow and throat and +quiet wrists. Her eyes did not open now, but he saw that she was +breathing. Presently he made her take a little water. He washed her +dusty nostrils that she might breathe better. And that breath might +come into her tired lungs more easily he gently, reverently loosened +the clothing about her breasts. + +Not once did his eyes leave her face. He did not fire the shot which +was to be a signal to the others, because he knew that they could not +hear. Soon he would look for the wagon. It would pass closely enough +for him to see it, near enough for him to make himself seen. Now he +could do alone as much for her as could fifty men, as could any one. + +An hour passed, two hours. He had watched the color of life creep back +into her face faintly, slowly, but steadily. She had again opened her +eyes, had turned them for a puzzled second upon his tense face, had +closed them. + +Now she seemed to be sleeping. + +He had exhausted the contents of one canteen, had gone to his saddle +for the other, when far to the south he saw the wagon. He had waved +his hat high above his head, standing like a circus-rider in the +saddle, and had emptied the cylinder of his revolver into the air. He +had seen that the driver had heard him, that he had fired an answering +volley, that he had turned westward. And then he had gone back to +Argyl. + +She had heard the shots. Her eyes were open and turned curiously upon +him as he came swiftly to where she lay. + +"Will you give me some water?" she whispered. + +He lifted her head, and she drank thirstily, looking with reproachful +surprise at him when he took the canteen from her lips. + +"That is all now, Argyl," he told her, his voice choking. And then, +all power of restraint swept away from him by the joyous, throbbing +love which so long he had silenced, he drew her close, closer to him, +crying, almost harshly: "Oh, Argyl, thank God! For if you hadn't come +back to me--I love you, love you! Don't you know how I love you, +Argyl?" + +Her hand closed weakly upon his. + +"Of course, dear," she answered him, faintly, her poor lips trying to +smile. "Of course we love each other. But can't I have a little water, +dear?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was the twentieth day of September by the calendar--ten days before +the first of October as every man, woman, and child in the Valley +measured time. + +Conniston came and went superintending every part of the work, and, +although he was still the gaunt, tired man he had been two weeks ago, +he was no longer tight-lipped and somber-eyed. He smiled often; he +laughed readily, like a boy. Argyl, her clean, healthy, resilient +young body and spirit having shaken off the effects of the clutch of +the desert, was the same Argyl who had raced for the Overland Limited +that day when Conniston had first seen her; her laugh was as +spontaneous as his, sparkling and free and buoyantly youthful. Mr. +Crawford was quiet, saying few words, but the little lines of care had +gone from the corners of eyes and mouth. Tommy Garton was the +proverbial cricket on the hearth of the Valley's big family. Brayley +looked upon his ditches with the gleam in his eye bespeaking a deep +pride like the pride of ownership and a big, strong love. Jimmie Kent +assured whomever would listen that he was glad that he had stayed, and +that he had a mind to call on his old friend Oliver to see how he was +feeling. Rattlesnake Valley had become the Happy Valley. With the +first of October ten days off there was no shadow of doubt in a single +heart that the Great Work would be a finished, actual, successful +thing before the dawn of the Great Day. + +Upon the twentieth day of September Greek Conniston, being in Valley +City, received a telegram which puzzled him. It was from Edwin +Corliss, private secretary and confidential man of affairs of William +Conniston, Senior, of Wall Street. Conniston replied immediately and +by wire. During the three days following he received and despatched +several telegrams. Since the messages have a certain bearing upon the +Great Work, they are given below in the order in which they were +received in the Valley and despatched from it: + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr., + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Drop everything. Come home immediately. Your father + insists. Particulars when you arrive. + + "CORLISS." + + + "EDW. CORLISS, + + "New York. + + "Can't get away. Under contract. Love to dad. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr." + + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr. + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Smash contract. Will pay damages. Your father wants you in + New York in five days. + + "CORLISS." + + + "EDW. CORLISS, + + "New York. + + "Impossible. Can make hurried trip East after October first. + + "WM. CONNISTON, JR." + + + "WM. CONNISTON, JR., + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Orders imperative from your father. Cables from Paris drop + everything immediately and come home. + + "CORLISS." + + "EDW. CORLISS, + + "New York. + + "I refer you to wire of yesterday. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr." + +Then came a message which puzzled Greek Conniston more deeply than the +others had done--a message _via_ cable and telegraph and telephone +from his father himself: + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr., + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Come home. Leave that work alone. Start minute you get + this. Wiring you thousand dollars Crawfordsville. Corliss + will advance all you want in New York. Do as I command + immediately or I disinherit you. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Sr." + + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr., + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "At your father's orders have wired thousand to you + Crawfordsville. + + "CORLISS." + + + "EDW. CORLISS, + + "New York. + + "Money you wired remains subject your orders. I don't need + it. Inform dad. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr." + +When William Conniston, Junior, received the second message from +William Conniston, Senior, a swift understanding came to him, an +understanding not only of the reason for the attitude Corliss had +taken, but of what Oliver Swinnerton had had in mind when he had +talked slyly of Conniston's intentions, and had expressed his +confidence that the young superintendent was preparing to double cross +his employer. + + "WM. CONNISTON, JR., + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Am starting for New York. Meet me. Drop work. I have a + million dollars at stake in Oliver Swinnerton project. Will + lose all if you don't quit. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Sr." + +And it gave Greek Conniston a great, unbounded joy to answer: + + "WM. CONNISTON, Sr., + + "Paris. + + "Sorry, dad. You lose million. I have reputation at stake. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Jr." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +The days ran on, each twenty-four hours seeming shorter, swifter than +the preceding twenty-four. Although everywhere in the Valley there was +a glad confidence that the reclamation project was an assured thing, +although feverish anxiety had been beaten back and driven out, there +was no slightest slackening of unremitting toil. Upward of seven +hundred men worked as they had never worked before. As the end of the +time drew nearer, as success became ever more assured, they worked +longer hours, they accomplished swifter results. For each man of them, +from Brayley to the ditch-diggers, was laboring not only for the +company, but for himself. Each and every man had been promised a bonus +for every day between the time when water was poured down into the +sunken Valley and the coming of high noon upon October the first. And +Conniston still held to his determination to have everything in +readiness by the twenty-fifth of September. + +Upon the evening of the twenty-fourth of September Conniston called +upon Mr. Crawford at his cottage in Valley City. He found his employer +smoking upon the little porch alone. + +When he was seated and had accepted a cigar, Conniston began abruptly +what he had to say. + +"If you have time, Mr. Crawford, I want to make a partial report to +you to-night. Thank you. To begin with, I have completed the big dam, +Dam Number One. It is all ready for business. The flume is finished, +the cut made across the ridge to Dam Number Two across Indian Creek. +Dam Number Two is ready. From these two dams the main canal runs, +completed entirely, thirty miles and into Valley City. Dam Number +Three, Miss Crawford's Dam, is finished, and the branch canal from it +to the main canal will be completed in two days. I do not believe that +this dam is going to be an absolute necessity to us now. I think that +we are going to have all the water from Deep Creek and Indian Creek +that we need. But Dam Number Three makes us more than confident. And +when later you want to extend your area of irrigated acreage you will +want it. + +"I have examined the country about the spring which Miss Crawford +discovered, and have men working there now boring wells. There is +water there--how much I do not yet know. I have a hope, which Tommy +Garton thinks foolish, that we may strike artesian water out there in +the sand. At any rate, we'll get enough out of it eventually to aid in +the irrigation of that location, to be useful when you get ready to +found your second desert town. About Valley City itself I have all the +cross-ditches required by your contract with Colton Gray of the P. C. +& W." + +He paused, and Mr. Crawford after a moment's thoughtful silence said, +quietly: + +"In other words, Mr. Conniston, you have completed all of the work +which the contract calls for?" + +"Except one thing." Conniston smiled. "I have not put the water on the +land yet. A rather important matter, isn't it?" + +"But you are ready to do that?" + +"I shall be ready to do that to-morrow at noon. And I want you to help +me. Will it be possible for you and Miss Crawford to come out to Dam +Number One in the morning?" + +"You are kind to ask it," Mr. Crawford said, inclining his head. "We +shall be glad to come, Mr. Conniston. Is that the extent of your +report?" + +"Yes. I have something else I want to say to you--but it is not about +reclamation." + +"Shall I make my report to you first? For I feel that after all you +have done for me I should like to report, too. Every one of my +cattle-ranges is mortgaged to the hilt. I do not believe that I could +raise another thousand dollars on the combined ranges. I have been +driven so close to the wall that I could not go another step. I have +been forced to sell during the last two weeks over a thousand of my +young cattle--to sell them at a sacrifice in order to obtain ready +money. I have enough money in the bank to conclude the financing of +our reclamation project. After the first day of October, when the P. +C. & W. begins its road out to us, I can raise whatever more funds I +want, and raise them easily. + +"You have succeeded, Mr. Conniston, and thereby you have saved me from +being absolutely, unqualifiedly ruined. Within six months I shall have +doubled my fortune. And I shall have lived to see the most cherished +dream of my older manhood materialize. I owe very much to you, I am +very grateful to you, and I am very proud to have been associated in +business with a man of your caliber. And there is my hand on it!" + +"I am glad to have been of service," Conniston replied, as the two +men gripped hands. "And I appreciate your confidence. Besides," with a +quick, half-serious smile, "I think that I have profited as greatly as +any one else could possibly do." + +"I know what you mean. And I agree with you. Now, you said that there +was another matter--" + +"Yes. I have had a cable from my father in Paris. Because I could not +agree to do a certain thing which he requested he has seen fit to +disinherit me." + +"I know. Tommy Garton told me about it. And I know what the thing was +which he required of you. I did not thank you for your answer to him, +Conniston, for we both know that you did only your duty. But I know +what it meant, I know what your stand cost you, and I am prouder to +have known you, to feel that outside of our business relations I can +say that William Conniston, Junior, is my friend, than I have ever +been in my life to have known any other man!" + +His voice was deep with sincerity, alive with an intensity of feeling +which drove a warm flush into Conniston's tanned face. + +"As you say, I did only what a man must do were he not a scoundrel. +But, too, as you say, it means a great deal. It means that when you +will have paid me my wages I shall have not another cent in the world. +And being virtually penniless, still my chief purpose in coming to you +this evening has been to tell you that I love Argyl, and that I want +your consent to ask her to marry me." + +For a moment the older man made no reply. For a little he drew +thoughtfully at his cigar, and as in its glow his grave face was +thrown into relief Conniston saw that there was a sad droop at the +corners of the firm mouth. + +"You have told Argyl?" he finally said. + +"Yes. I told her that day in the desert. I had meant to wait until the +work was done, until she could have seen that I was honestly trying to +live down my utter uselessness. But--I told her then." + +"And she?" + +"She said that I might speak to you." + +"I am selfish, Conniston--selfish. Argyl has been daughter to me and +son, and the best friend I have ever had. I shall miss her. But if she +loves you--Well," with a gentle smile, "she is too true a woman to +hold back from your side, no matter what I might say. And since she +must leave me some day, I am very glad that you came into her life. I +congratulate you, my boy." + +While the two men were talking and waiting for Argyl to come in, Tommy +Garton, his new legs discarded for the day, was lying on his cot in +the back room of the general office, blowing idle puffs of +cigarette-smoke at the lamp-chimney, watching the smoke as the hot +draft from the flame sent it ceilingward. He was thinking of the talk +he had had with Conniston, how Conniston had gone to Argyl's father. + +"After all," he grunted to himself, as he pinched out his cigarette +and lighted another, "they were made for each other. And I lose my one +chief bet this incarnation. Hello! Come in!" For there had come a +sudden sharp knocking at the outer door. + +The door was pushed open and a big man, dusty from riding, came slowly +into the front room, cast a quick glance about him, and came on into +Garton's room. Garton started as he saw who the man was. + +"Hello, Wallace!" he said, sitting up and putting out his hand. "What +in the world brings you here?" + +Wallace laughed, returned the greeting, and sat down upon the cot +across the room. And as he came into the circle of light thrown out by +the lamp a nickeled star shone for a moment from under his coat, which +was carelessly flung back. + +"Jest rampsin' around, Tommy," he answered, quietly, making himself a +cigarette. "Jest seein' what I could see. You fellers keepin' pretty +busy, ain't you?" + +"Yes. Too busy to get into trouble, Bill." He lay back and sent a new +cloud of smoke to soar aloft over the lamp-chimney. "We haven't had a +visit from a sheriff for six months." + +"Oh, I know you been bein' good, all right. If everybody was like you +fellers I'd have one lovely, smooth job. Goin' to make a go of this +thing, ain't you, Tommy?" + +"You bet we are!" cried Garton, enthusiastically. "There's nothing can +stop us now. I expect," with a sharp look at the sheriff, "Swinnerton +is feeling a bit shaky of late?" + +"Couldn't say," replied Wallace, slowly. "Ain't seen Oliver for a +coon's age." + +They talked casually of many things, and Tommy Garton, to whom the +sheriff's explanation of the reason for his visit to the Valley was no +explanation whatever, sat back against the wall, his head lost in the +shadow cast by a coat hanging at the side of the window and between +him and the lamp, a frown in his eyes. + +"Any time big Bill Wallace drifts this far from his stamping-ground +just to look at a ditch I'm dreaming the whole thing," he told +himself, as his eyes never left the sheriff's face. "And as for not +having seen Swinnerton, that's a lie." + +Tommy Garton was already scenting something very near the actual truth +when the telephone in the front room jangled noisily. + +"Want me to answer it?" Wallace was already on his feet. + +"Thanks," Garton told him. "But I've got it fixed so that I can handle +it from here." + +He picked up the telephone which was attached to the office instrument +and which he kept on the floor at his bedside. And as he caught the +first word he pressed the receiver close to his ear so that no sound +from it might escape and reach his alert visitor. + +It was the Lark's voice, tense, earnest, trembling with the import of +the Lark's message. + +"That you, Con? Garton? Conniston there? No? Tell him for me to keep +under cover. Lonesome Pete has jest rode into camp, an' he's seen that +canary of his, an' she's been blowin' off to him. Hapgood's thicker'n +thieves with Swinnerton. He's put him up to this. Swinnerton has sent +the sheriff after Con. He's to jug him for killin' that Chink! Get me? +Jest to hold him in the can so's he can't work until after October +first. Get me, 'bo? You'll put Con wise? Wallace ought to be there any +minute--" + +Garton answered as quietly as he could: + +"All right. I'll attend to everything. Good-by." And then, setting the +telephone back upon the floor, he took a fresh cigarette from his +case, lighted it over the lamp, his face showing calm and unconcerned, +and, leaning back, began to think swiftly. + +Conniston was now with the Crawfords. Presently he would leave them +and return to the office to spend the night with Garton. Bill Wallace +evidently knew this, and was content to wait quietly until his man +came. Lonesome Pete had done his part, had ridden with all possible +speed to Deep Creek, where he had supposed Conniston was. The Lark had +done his part. The rest was up to Tommy Garton. For he knew that with +Conniston left to continue his work the work would be done. He knew +that Conniston had every detail now at his fingers' ends. He knew that +if Swinnerton could succeed in this coup he might be able to put some +further unexpected, some fatal obstacle in the way of the Great Work. +And that then, with Conniston out of it, it again would be "anybody's +game." + +Wallace was talking again about unimportant nothings, Garton was +answering him in monosyllables and striving to see the way, to find +out the thing which he must do. It was plain that Conniston must be +prevented from coming to the office to-night. And when he saw the way +before him he asked, carelessly: + +"You'll stay with me to-night, Bill?" + +"If you got the room, Tommy." He glanced about the little room. "This +bed ain't workin'?" + +"Conniston, our superintendent, will sleep there to-night. He'll be in +in an hour or so. But I've got blankets, and if you care to make a bed +on the floor, there's lots of room." + +"I'll do it," laughed the sheriff, stretching his great legs far out +in front of him. "It'll do me good. I been sleepin' in a bed so many +nights runnin' lately I'll be gettin' soft." + +"All right. And if you'll pardon me a minute I want to telephone my +assistant. I've just got word of some work which must be ready by +morning. Not much rest on this job, Bill." + +He picked up the telephone again and called Billy Jordan. + +"I wish you'd run around for a minute, Billy," he said, his tone +evincing none of the tremor which he felt in his heart. "Bring the +fifth and seventh sheets of those computations you took home with you. +Yes, the figures for the work we are to do at the spring. Yes, you'd +better hurry with them, as I want to look 'em over before morning. +There's a ball-up somewhere. So long, Billy." + +He had seen that Bill Wallace, whose business it was to be suspicious +at all times and of all men, had regarded him with narrowed, shrewd +eyes. + +When Billy Jordan came in, ten minutes later, in no way surprised at +the summons, since he had been called on similar errands many times, +he found Bill Wallace telling a story and Tommy Garton chuckling +appreciatively. + +"You know each other?" Garton asked. "Wallace says he's just over here +to look around at the beauties of nature, Billy. I've an idea," with a +wink at Wallace, "that he's looking for somebody. You haven't been +passing any bad money, have you, Billy? Much obliged for the papers." +He glanced at them and pushed them under the pillows of his cot. +"That's all now, Billy. Except that on your way home I want you to +drop in and see Mr. Crawford. Tell him that if he sees Conniston I +want him to tell him to be sure and come right around. There's a +ball-up in the work out at the spring. Wait a second." He scribbled a +note upon the leaf of the note-book which lay upon the window-sill. +"Give that to Mr. Crawford. It's an order to Mundy to cut the main +ditch out there down to four feet, and to stop work on the well that +is causing trouble, until further orders. Mundy will be going out +again to-night, and will stop at Crawford's first. Good night, Billy. +And come in early in the morning." + +Mundy's name did not appear in the note. Mundy was at the time twenty +miles from Valley City. But Mr. Crawford's name was there, and after +it was "_Urgent_," underlined. The note itself ran: + + "_Wallace is here to arrest Conniston for murder of Chinaman + shot in whisky rebellion! A put-up game with Swinnerton to + stop his work. Tell Conniston to go back to Deep Creek + to-night. Send Brayley to me immediately. Let no one else + come. I'll entertain the sheriff to-night._ + + "GARTON." + +Billy loitered a minute, yawned two or three times, and finally said +good night and strolled leisurely away. + +"I think," said Wallace, rising as the door closed behind Billy +Jordan, "I'll go out an' unsaddle my cayuse. Got a handful of hay in +the shed, Tommy?" + +"Sure thing, Bill. Help yourself." + +Wallace picked up his hat and turned to the door. Garton rolled over +suddenly, thrust his hand again under his pillow, and sat up. + +"Say, Bill!" he called, softly. + +Wallace turned, and as he did so he looked square into the muzzle of a +heavy-caliber Colt revolver upon which the lamplight shone dully. + +"Stop that!" cried Garton, sternly, as the sheriff's hand started +automatically to his hip. "I've got the drop on you, Bill. And, +sheriff or no sheriff, I'll drop you if you make a move. Put 'em up, +Bill." + +Snarling, his face going a sudden angry red, the sheriff lifted his +two big hands high above his head. + +"What do you mean by this?" he snapped. + +"I mean business! Now you do what I tell you. Walk this way, and walk +slowly." + +"D----n you, you little sawed-off--" roared the big man, only to be +cut short with an incisive: + +"Never mind about calling names. And remember that no matter if only +half a man is behind this gun it 'll shoot just the same. Keep those +hands up, Bill! Now turn around. Back up to me. And let me tell you +something: you can whirl about and bring your hands down on my head, +but that won't stop a bullet in your belly. The same place," he said, +coolly, "that Conniston shot the Chinaman!" + +Bill Wallace had got his position as sheriff for two very good +reasons. For one thing, he belonged to Oliver Swinnerton. For another, +he was a brave man. But he was not a fool, and he did what Garton +commanded him to do. And Tommy Garton, with the muzzle of his revolver +jammed tight against the small of Wallace's back, reached out with his +left hand and drew the sheriff's two revolvers from their holsters, +dropping them to the floor behind his cot. + +"And now, Bill, you can go and sit down. And you can take your hands +down, too." + +"I'd like to know," sputtered Wallace, as he sat glaring across the +little room at the strange half-figure propped up against the wall and +covering him unwaveringly with a revolver, "what all this means!" + +"Would you? Then I'll tell you. It means that no little man like +Oliver Swinnerton, and no smooth tool belonging to Oliver Swinnerton, +is going to keep us from living up to our contract with the P. C. & +W. Not if they resort to all of the dirty work their maggot-infested +brains can concoct!" + +When Brayley came in he found two men smoking cigarettes and sitting +in watchful silence. And when Brayley understood conditions fully he +took a chair in the doorway, moved his revolver so that it hung from +his belt across his lap, and joined them in quiet smoking. + + * * * * * + +"To-morrow," Conniston was saying to Argyl, just as Tommy Garton +called to Wallace to put his hands up, "we are going to open the gates +at Dam Number One, and the water will run down into the main canal and +find its way to Valley City. I think we have won, Argyl!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Conniston instantly saw the need of haste, the urgent necessity of +acting speedily upon the advice tendered by Tommy Garton in his note. + +"Arrest you!" Argyl had cried, indignantly. "Arrest you for being a +man and doing your duty!" + +"No, Argyl," he told her, a bit anxiously. "Their reasons for causing +my arrest now are simply that that man Swinnerton, not knowing when he +is beaten, wants me out of the way for a few days. He is ready to +spring another bit of his villainy, I suppose. But I do not think that +Wallace is going to serve his warrant in a hurry." + +They laid their plans swiftly, Mr. Crawford agreeing silently as +Conniston outlined the thing to be done. When the horses were ready +Conniston walked cautiously to Tommy Garten's window and peered in. +And he was grinning contentedly when he returned to Mr. Crawford and +his daughter. + +"Tommy is the serenest law-breaker you ever saw," he told them, as he +swung to his horse after having helped Argyl to a place at her +father's side in the buckboard. "It's a cure for the blues to see him +sitting there on his cot covering his tame sheriff with a young +cannon. There'll be a fine, I suppose, for interfering with an officer +in the pursuit of his duty." + +"I think," Mr. Crawford said, quietly, as he sent his horses racing +into the night, "that Oliver Swinnerton won't be looking for any more +trouble from now on." + +Where the road forked, one branch running straight on to +Crawfordsville, the other turning off toward Deep Creek, Mr. Crawford +took Conniston's horse, and Conniston got into the buckboard. Mr. +Crawford was to ride alone to Crawfordsville, see Colton Gray, of the +P. C. & W., tell him that the Crawford Reclamation Company had made +good its part of the contract, invite him out to Dam Number One to see +what was done, and to insist that the P. C. & W. keep to its part of +the contract, beginning work immediately upon the railroad into the +Valley. Conniston and Argyl were to drive on to the dam, and to open +the gates controlling the current to be poured into the big flume. + +The darkness had not yet gone, but was lifting, turning a dull gray, +when Argyl and Conniston came to the dam. And now the engineer told +her of two things which until now he had mentioned to no one save the +men whom he had been obliged to call in to do the work for him. From +Dam Number One for thirty miles, reaching to Valley City, there were +small groups of his men stationed a mile apart. Each group had piled +high the dry limbs of trees, scrub brush, and green foliage brought +from the mountains. Each group was instructed to watch for the water +which was to be turned at last into the ditch and to set fire to its +pile of brushwood when the precious stuff came abreast of them. And +so, by day or night, there was to be thirty miles of signal fires to +proclaim with flame and smoke that the Great Work was no longer a +man's dream, but an accomplished, vital thing. + +The second thing he explained as Argyl walked with him to the dam +across Deep Creek. He showed her the accomplished work, showed her the +deep, wide flume, and as they stood upon the dam itself pointed out an +intricate set of levers controlling the great gates. + +"Argyl," he told her, speaking quietly, but knowing that there was a +tremor in his voice which he could not drive from it--"Argyl, do you +know how much to-day means to me? Do you know that it is the most +gloriously wonderful day I have ever known? Do you know that I have +fought hard for this day, and that the hardest fighting I had before +me was the fight against Greek Conniston the snob? Do you know that at +least I have tried to make a man of myself, even as I have tried to +build ditches and dams? You do know it, Argyl? You do know that as +hard as I have worked for reclamation I have worked for regeneration! +And I have not failed altogether." + +His tone was suddenly firm, suddenly stern. He was a man weighing +himself and his work, and he was speaking with a voice which rang with +simple frankness and deep sincerity. + +"There is the work to say that I have not failed utterly. There it is, +ditch and dam, to say that I have done a part of the thing I have set +my hand to. I am not boasting of it, for what many men could have done +I should have been able to do. But I am proud of it. And, Argyl, while +I am not a man yet as I would be, not a man full grown as your father +is, while I can never hope to be the man your father is, yet I have +done what I could to be less of a fop, less of a drone in the world. +Do you understand me, Argyl?" + +"Yes, Greek." She answered him softly, her face turned up to his, her +eyes frankly filled with love and pride for what he had done, what he +was. "I understand." + +"Then, Argyl Crawford, just so sure as I have done a little thing or a +big thing in working the reclamation of this desert, just so certainly +have you done a big thing or a little thing in making less barren the +waste places in my own soul. Don't you see what you have done, Argyl? +It is not I who have done anything; it is you who have done +everything. If I am in any way responsible for success to our work, +then are you responsible for every bit of it. That dam, that ditch, +everything, all of it belongs to you! The success belongs to you!" + +"Greek"--she smiled at him through a sudden gathering of tears--"you +mustn't say such things--" + +"And so," he went on, quietly, "since the whole work has been your +work, I want the completion of the work to be yours. Look here, +Argyl." + +He touched a long, slender lever reaching from the flume to the bank +where they stood. + +"When the sun comes up it is going to bring a new day for all of us," +he continued, slowly. "A new day which, for me, you have made +possible. And just as the sun comes up will you put your hand to this +lever and press it down?" + +She looked up at him quickly. "Oh," she cried, her hand clutching at +his arm, her voice quivering, "you mean--" + +He laughed happily. "I mean that when you press that lever it will +throw open the water-gates. I mean that it will be your hand which +turns the first mad current down into the flume. I mean that it will +be you, Argyl, who actually sends the first water to reclaim +Rattlesnake Valley. Are you glad, Argyl?" + +If Argyl was glad, she did not say so. For a moment she stood with her +face in her two hands, sobbing. And then, laughing softly, the tears +upon her cheeks catching fire from the first rays of the rising sun, +she lifted her face to Greek Conniston's, and, drawing his face down, +kissed him. + +The new day had leaped out at them, whipping the last shreds of misty +darkness from the face of the earth. Down yonder, below them upon the +slope of the hills, they saw the Lark and his hundred men preparing +for breakfast. Only in the bed of Deep Creek alone, below the dam +where a trickle of water ran thread-like, was there any shadow. And +suddenly something moving within the breaking darkness there caught +Conniston's eye. + +It was a man running, running swiftly downstream, running as though +pursued by no less terrible a thing than death, stumbling, rising, +running again. Something in the man's carriage struck Conniston as +familiar, while he could not make out who it was. Then the light grew +stronger, rosier, and he cried out in surprise. + +"Hapgood!" he exclaimed. "Roger Hapgood!" + +And almost before the words had left his lips he cried out in a new +tone, a tone of horror, and, seizing Argyl's hand in his, ran with +her, crying for her to hurry, urging her to run with him, away from +the dam. For his eyes had seen another thing in the creek-bed, a +something just at the base of the dam at its lowest side. It was a +little sputtering flame, such a flame as is made by a burning bit of +fuse. + +Hapgood, still running, had climbed up the steep right bank, had run +almost into the men's camp, had turned suddenly and dashed back down +the bank, to run across the creek and climb the farther side. +Conniston and Argyl as they fled from the threatened dam could see him +as he clambered upward, could see the loose stones and dirt set +sliding, rattling from under his hurrying feet and clawing hands. + +Then came the thundering roar of the explosion. The great dam, the +citadel of all hopes of success, tottered like a stone wall smitten +with a thousand battering-rams, tottered and shook to its foundations. +And then, as a dozen explosions merged into one, the whole thing +leaped skyward, as though hurled aloft from some Titan's sling, and, +leaping, burst asunder, flying in a thousand directions, raining rock +and mortar far and wide along the slopes of the mountains. And +Conniston, dragging Argyl after him, cried out brokenly. Upon the dam +he had toiled for weeks, and now there was no one stone left of it! +And the first day of October was but five days off. + +"Look!" Argyl was clinging to him wildly, her arm trembling as it +pointed. "Look! Oh, God!" + +She did not point toward the dam. Her quivering finger found out a +moving figure far below it in the creek-bed. It was Hapgood. The +explosion which had demolished the work of weary weeks had shaken the +ground under his flying feet so that the loose soil no longer held +him. He had cried out aloud, had fought and clawed, had even bit with +blackened teeth into the steep bank. And it mocked him and slipped +away from him and hurled him, bruised and cut, to the bottom of the +caņon. + +Even as Conniston looked the freed waters which had chafed in the +great dam leaped forward, a monster river of churning white water and +whirling debris, and like a live thing, wrathful, vengeful, was +charging downward through the steep ravine. Hapgood had heard. They +had seen his white face turned for an instant over his shoulder. And +then his shriek rose high above the thunder of waters as he ran from +the merciless thing which his own hands had unchained. + +They saw his one hope; saw that he, too, had seen it. With the water +hurling itself almost upon him, he gained the bank ten feet farther +downstream, where the sides were more gently sloping. They saw him +climb to a little shelf of rock a yard above the bottom of the creek. +They saw his hands thrust out above his head, grasping at the root of +a stunted tree. One more second-- + +But the fates did not grant the one single second. The churning, +frothing, angry maelstrom had caught at his legs, whipping them from +under him. They heard his shriek again, throbbing with terror, vibrant +with a fear which was worse than despair. They saw his face, white and +horrible, as he glanced again for a moment at the thing behind him. +And then the swirling water leaped up at him, snarling like some +mighty beast, and clutched at his throat, at his hands, and flung him +like a thing of no weight far down into its own tumultuous bosom. For +a moment they saw his arms, then they saw his hands clutching at the +foam-flecked face of the water--and then even the hands disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +"Who was it?" + +It was Mr. Crawford's voice, calm, expressionless. Conniston and Argyl +swung about, the horror of the thing which they had seen still +widening their eyes, and saw Mr. Crawford, Jimmie Kent, and a man whom +Conniston took to be Colton Gray. + +"Hapgood," he answered, his eyes going back to the tumult of water +sweeping away the hopes of many men. + +Mr. Crawford stepped forward and put his hand on Conniston's arm. + +"We lose, my boy." His voice was as steady as it had been before, but +Conniston saw that his lips quivered despite the iron will set to keep +them steady. "And it could not be helped. And Conniston, my boy, my +son," his tones ringing out so that all there could hear, "I am proud +of you, and proud that I may call you my son!" + +"Greek! Poor Greek!" Argyl was clinging to him, everything lost to her +but a great pity for him. "Is it to be only defeat, after all?" + +"Defeat!" + +He whirled about, his clenched fist raised high above his head, his +body rigid, his haggard face dead white. "Defeat!" He laughed, and +Argyl shivered at the strange tone in his laughter. "Defeat!" he cried +a third time. "We have five days!" + +He was upon a boulder, standing where all men might see him, might +hear him. And his voice as it rang out through the roar of the leaping +water was sharp, clear, decisive, confident. + +"Here you, Lark! Rush fifty men with crowbars to the Jaws! Make the +rest of your men hitch up to their plows and scrapers and rush them to +the Jaws as fast as their horses can run! Send me five good men. +Pete," as Lonesome Pete's red head surged forward through the crowd of +working-men, "come here!" + +Pete came, and came running. + +"Get on your horse. Kill him getting to Miss Argyl's Dam. Open the +gates there and turn the water into the canal. And for God's sake +hurry!" + +And Lonesome Pete, with one wild yell of understanding, fled. The Lark +had swung about, calling upon his men by name, and as he called fifty +big, quick-eyed men leaped forward to fall quickly into the sections +bossed by the men whose names the Lark was shouting. The dirt and +stones had not ceased rolling and rattling down the rocky walls of the +caņon when fifty men with picks and crowbars were rushing along its +banks to the Jaws. And as Greek Conniston hurled his orders at the +Lark and the Lark snatched them up, shouting to the men about him, +horses were hitched to plows and scrapers and driven, galloping, to +the Jaws. + +The five men for whom Conniston had called and whom the Lark had +selected came to him quickly. + +"Get into Mr. Crawford's buckboard," he called, sharply, to two of +them. "Drive to Dam Number Two and open the gates there, turning every +bit of water you can into the canal! You three men get saddle-horses. +You," to one of them, "rush to Crawfordsville and telephone to Tommy +Garton. Tell him what has happened. Tell him to send me two hundred +men on the run. _On the run_, do you hear? Tell him to tie Bill +Wallace up and put two men to watch out for him. Now go! And you two +fellows get your horses saddled and bring them here and wait for +orders." + +He got down from the boulder, and as he did so Mr. Crawford came to +his side. + +"Do you mean, Greek," he said, anxiously, "that there is a chance +yet?" + +"A chance? Yes! There is more than a chance! We are going to make a go +of it. Listen: Truxton put in his foundations here, and I went ahead +with the superstructure for the simple reason that here is a perfect +dam-site, here are solid rock walls and creek-bed that would hold any +concrete structure in the world. And up there at the Jaws you have to +contend with shale, full of seams, in places lined with clay. And +right there I am going to make a rock-filled dam, and make it fast! +It's going to be a temporary job and a makeshift, but it's going to +sling the water into a flume that will carry it back into the old cut +and down into the Valley. And it will do until Mr. Colton Gray and his +people are satisfied." + +The man who had accompanied Mr. Crawford and Jimmie Kent from +Crawfordsville came forward and put out his hand. + +"Mr. Conniston," he said, quickly, "I am Colton Gray. And I am already +satisfied. If my influence is worth anything the P. C. & W. is going +to stand by its old contract. And I believe that when I tell the P. C. +& W. what I know they will complete what you have done and inform Mr. +Oliver Swinnerton that they can have no further dealings whatever +with a criminal of his type." + +Conniston shook hands with him warmly. + +"Thank you. But you are going to have no points to strain. We are +going to have water, plenty of water, in Rattlesnake Valley before the +first day of October." + +Conniston left them and ran to join his men at the Jaws. Never had he +heard of a dam to match the one he saw growing under his eyes. There +was no time for scientific perfection of work; here and now was only a +crying need for an obstruction, any kind of an obstruction which would +withstand the great and growing pressure of water, which would drive +it up to the banks, which would turn it into the flume which was being +made for it even as the dam grew. Trees were lopped down, great, tall +pines, their branches shorn off with flashing ax-blades, the trunks +cut into logs upon which many men laid hold. + +In the bed of the creek between the Jaws the logs were laid as one +lays logs to build him a log house. Sand and gravel and rock went +rattling and hissing into the log-surrounded spaces, piled high and +higher, with the water backing angrily up against it. Boulders were +rolled down from the mountain-side, hurled into the bottom of the +caņon by blasts of giant powder and dynamite, gripped with rapidly +adjusted log-chains, and dragged to their places by straining horses. + +Steadily the dam rose, and steadily the muddy water crept up with it. +Men toiled in the bed of the stream with the foaming, coffee-colored +water washing about their hips, seething as it climbed up to their +great, hairy, panting chests. With no thought of finishing the +breakfast which they had barely begun, they worked upon the banks +with sweaty, hot bodies and calm, cool minds. Stripped to their +waists, almost naked many of them, black with dirt and running sweat, +they strained and strove against the rising stream. The morning died, +noon came, and Conniston had a dozen men distribute sandwiches and hot +coffee. The afternoon wore on and brought with it the men whom Tommy +Garton had sent. + +Then Conniston called to every man of the hundred who had toiled for +him since sunrise to drop his tools. In their places he put a hundred +new men. And again the work went on in great strides, and the strange +dam rose swiftly. The other men whom Garton had sent, Brayley with +them, he put to work to begin the restoration of the broken dam, that +the thing which the hapless Hapgood had torn down might be ready +against the time of need after the first of October. For he could find +no place for more than a hundred men working between the Jaws and upon +the banks above them. + + * * * * * + +Night had come down upon the mountain-slopes. Argyl and Conniston were +standing by a sinking camp-fire talking quietly. Lonesome Pete, +returned from his errand, had gone into the grove at the edge of which +their fire burned for fresh fuel. There came to them through the +silence the clatter of hoofs; the vague, shadowy form of horse and +rider rose against the sky-line, and Jocelyn Truxton threw herself to +the ground. Moaning hysterically, she ran to Argyl! + +"Argyl, Argyl," she cried, stopping abruptly, her two hands pressed to +her breast, "I am so wretched! I don't deserve to live! I have been +so mean, so little--" She broke off into passionate weeping. + +Argyl went swiftly to her, putting her arms about the girl's shaking +shoulders. + +"Jocelyn, dear," she said, softly. "Don't!" + +"I have been wicked, wicked!" Jocelyn was sobbing. "They told me what +has happened--about the dam--about Roger Hapgood!" She broke off, +shuddering. + +"But," Argyl was saying, trying to soothe her, "that is not your +fault, Jocelyn." + +"Oh!" cried Jocelyn, wildly. "You don't know. It was I, I who +suggested the horrible thing to Roger Hapgood. It is I who am to blame +for everything." + +"Hush, child! You have been a naughty little girl, that is all. You +didn't know what it was that you were doing--and you are not a bit to +blame!" + +"And--and--and I have been such a little fool! I have just been a +vain, conceited little fool. And I hated you--because I knew all the +time that you were prettier than I am. And--and I was ashamed of Pete, +and I made fun of him--and now he has gone away and--and I love him. I +don't care if he has got red hair and can't read! I love him--so +there!" + +Lonesome Pete, coming back with his armful of firewood, dropped it, +and for a moment stood staring from one to another, his mouth wide +open. And then, forgetful of Conniston, pushing Argyl away as he came +forward, he took Jocelyn's quivering form into his arms and drew her +close to him. + +"Miss Jocelyn," he cried, suddenly, "I ain't goin' away! Don't you +think it. An' you ain't to blame for nothin' whatever! You're jest a +little girl as has made a slip or two--who in hell ain't, huh?"--with +belligerent, flashing eyes--"an' I'll dye my hair any color you say as +you like better 'n red!" + + * * * * * + +"I am going East to-morrow, Mr. Conniston." Jimmie Kent was speaking, +his eyes very keen. "Before I go I'd like to make you a proposition. +First, do you know what firm it is I represent? Maybe you have heard +of the W. I. R.? That means the Western Improvement and Reclamation +Company. The board of directors met the other day in Denver, and +against his protest made Mr. Crawford its first vice-president. The +company plans on the reclamation of many thousands of square miles of +sand and sage-brush in Colorado and Nevada. The company wants a +competent engineer to act as general superintendent of all of its +operations. Do you want the job? Who am I to offer it to you?" He +laughed softly. "Oh, I'm just its president." + + * * * * * + +Filled to bursting with hopeful toil, the days ran by. Again it was +night, the night before the first day of October. With the desert +about them, with the stars low flung in the wide arch of heaven, Argyl +and Greek Conniston stood at the edge of a deep canal which ran with +water to its level banks. And as they spoke to each other, looking +down into the future which belongs to them, contented, confident, +eager for the coming of the Great Day, a boy rode up to them upon a +shaggy pony and called: + +"Mr. Conniston?" + +"Yes," Greek answered. "What is it?" + +It was a telegram. He read it by the light of the match he had swept +across his thigh. Argyl, bending forward, read it with him. It was +from New York. + + "Mr. WILLIAM CONNISTON, Jr., + + "Superintendent Crawford Reclamation, + + "Rattlesnake Valley. + + "Good boy! Congratulations. They tell me you win. + + "WM. CONNISTON, Sr." + +Conniston, the bit of yellow paper crumpled between his fingers, +turned to Argyl. + +"In the only thing which counts--to the uttermost--do I win, Argyl +dear?" + +And Argyl, lifting her eyes to him frankly, proudly, held out her +hands. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under Handicap, by Jackson Gregory + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER HANDICAP *** + +***** This file should be named 17981-8.txt or 17981-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/9/8/17981/ + +Produced by David Garcia, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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