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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:46:57 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:46:57 -0700 |
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diff --git a/29131-h/29131-h.htm b/29131-h/29131-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d1536a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/29131-h/29131-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11757 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Out of the Depths, by Robert Ames Bennet</title> +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + a {text-decoration: none;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size:smaller; text-align: center; } + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + hr.p10 {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:10%} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} + h1.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 190%; } + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 110%; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Out of the Depths, by Robert Ames Bennet, +Illustrated by George Brehm</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Out of the Depths</p> +<p> A Romance of Reclamation</p> +<p>Author: Robert Ames Bennet</p> +<p>Release Date: June 15, 2009 [eBook #29131]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE DEPTHS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table summary="transcriber notes" style='margin:1em 1em; width:auto; border:1px solid; color:#778899; padding:5px;'> +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> +The author consistently refers to a handgun +as a “Colt’s.” This is a Colt’s revolver, though the word “revolver” is not used.</p> +</td></tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>OUT OF THE DEPTHS</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-001.jpg' alt='' title='' width='414' height='616' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +It was a wild race [<i>Page 32</i>]<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:25px;font-size:2.2em;margin-top:20px;'>Out of the Depths</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:60px;'>A ROMANCE OF RECLAMATION</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>ROBERT AMES BENNET</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:60px;'>AUTHOR OF “OUT OF THE PRIMITIVE,” “THE SHOGUN’S<br />DAUGHTER,” “WHICH ONE,” ETC.</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>GEORGE BREHM</p> + +<div style='margin:25px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/depths-emb.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' >CHICAGO</p> +<p class='tp' >A. C. McCLURG & CO.</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'>1913</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;font-variant:small-caps;'><span class='smcap'>Copyright</span></p> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;'>A. C. McCLURG & CO.</p> +<p class='tp' >1913</p> +<hr class='p10' /> +<p class='tp' >Published March, 1913</p> +<hr class='p10' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:60px;'>Copyrighted in Great Britain</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'>PRESS OF THE VAIL COMPANY<br />COSHOCTON, U. S. A.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>TO<br /> +<br /> +“THE SONS OF MARTHA”<br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> </td> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Deep Caņon</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_DEEP_CAON'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Yearling Sold</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_A_YEARLING_SOLD'>9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Queen of What?</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_QUEEN_OF_WHAT'>20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Downhill and Up</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_DOWNHILL_AND_UP'>32</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Into the Depths</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_INTO_THE_DEPTHS'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Test of Caliber</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_A_TEST_OF_CALIBER'>52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Chance of Reclamation</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THE_CHANCE_OF_RECLAMATION'>68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Man’s Size Horse</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_A_MANS_SIZE_HORSE'>81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Snake</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_THE_SNAKE'>93</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Coming Events</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_COMING_EVENTS'>110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Self-Defense</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_SELFDEFENSE'>125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Meeting</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_THE_MEETING'>138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Other Lady’s Husband</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_THE_OTHER_LADYS_HUSBAND'>148</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Descent</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_A_DESCENT'>162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Levels and Slants</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_LEVELS_AND_SLANTS'>176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Metal and Mettle</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_METAL_AND_METTLE'>185</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Shot in the Dusk</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_A_SHOT_IN_THE_DUSK'>197</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>On the Brink</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_ON_THE_BRINK'>207</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Plotters</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_THE_PLOTTERS'>218</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Indian Shoes</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_INDIAN_SHOES'>232</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Madonna Dolorosa</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_MADONNA_DOLOROSA'>244</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Real Wolf</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_A_REAL_WOLF'>254</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Temptation</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_TEMPTATION'>268</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Blind Love</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_BLIND_LOVE'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Descent Into Hell</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_THE_DESCENT_INTO_HELL'>291</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>In the Gloom</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVI_IN_THE_GLOOM'>303</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Lower Depths</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVII_LOWER_DEPTHS'>315</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Light in the Darkness</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVIII_LIGHT_IN_THE_DARKNESS'>327</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Climber</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIX_THE_CLIMBER'>339</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Lurking Beasts</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXX_LURKING_BEASTS'>349</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Confessions</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXI_CONFESSIONS'>357</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Over the Brink</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXII_OVER_THE_BRINK'>366</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Friends in Need</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIII_FRIENDS_IN_NEED'>374</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Reclamation</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIV_RECLAMATION'>388</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'></td> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>It was a wild race</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>It sounded its shrill, menacing rattle</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>106</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“You have something to tell me––your voice––your eyes––”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>286</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Another desperate clutch at the rope––still another</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>328</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>OUT OF THE DEPTHS</h2> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_DEEP_CAON' id='CHAPTER_I_DEEP_CAON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>DEEP CAÑON</h3> +</div> +<p>The hunter was riding leisurely up the steep mountain +side above Dry Mesa. On such an ascent +most city men would have preferred to climb afoot. +But there was a month’s layer of tan on the hunter’s +handsome, supercilious face. He balanced himself +lightly on his flat English saddle, and permitted the +wiry little cow pony to pick the best path over the +ledges and up the stiff slopes between the scattered +pines.</p> +<p>In keeping with his saddle, the hunter wore English +riding breeches and leggins. Otherwise he was +dressed as a Texas cowboy of the past generation. +His sombrero was almost Mexican in its size and ornateness. +But his rifle was of the latest American +pattern, and in place of the conventional Colt’s he carried +an automatic pistol. As his horse patiently clambered +with him up towards the top of the escarpment +the man gazed indolently about between half-closed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +eyelids and inhaled the smoke from an unbroken +“chain” of gilt-tipped cigarettes.</p> +<p>The pony scrambled up the last ledges and came to +a halt on the rim of High Mesa. It had been a long, +hard climb. Tough as he was and mountain bred, the +beast’s rough coat was lathered with sweat and his +flanks were heaving. The hunter’s gaze roamed carelessly +over the hilly pine-clad plateau of the upper +mesa, while he took a nip of brandy from a silver-cased +flask and washed it down with a drink of the +tepid water in his canteen.</p> +<p>Having refreshed himself, he touched a patent +lighter to another cigarette, chose a direction at random, +and spurred his pony into a canter. The beast +held to the pace until the ascent of a low but steep +ridge brought him down to a walk. With the change +of gait the hunter paused in the act of lighting a fresh +cigarette, to gaze up at the sapphire sky. The air +was reverberating with a muffled sound like distant +thunder. Yet the crystal-clear dome above him +showed no trace of a cloud all across from the magnificent +snowy ranges on the east and north to the +sparsely wooded mountains and sage-gray mesas to the +south and west.</p> +<p>“Can’t be thunder,” he murmured––“no sign of a +storm. Must be a stream. Ah! cool, fresh water!”</p> +<p>The sharp-roweled spurs goaded the pony up over +the round of the ridge as fast as he could scramble. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +At the top he broke into a lope and raced headlong +down the other side of the ridge through the tall +brush. The reverberating sound of water was clearer +but still muffled and distant.</p> +<p>The rider let his reins hang slack and recklessly dug +in his spurs. The pony leaped ahead with still greater +speed and burst out of the brush on to a narrow open +slope that led down to the brink of a cañon. The +hunter saw first the precipice on the far side of the +yawning chasm––then the near edge, seemingly, to +his startled gaze, right under his horse’s forefeet. He +was dashing straight at the frightful abyss.</p> +<p>A yell of terror burst from his lips, and he sought +to fling himself backwards and sideways out of the +saddle. His instinctive purpose was to fall to the +ground and clutch the grass tufts. But in the same +moment that he tried to throw himself off, the nimble +pony swerved to the left so abruptly that the man’s +effort served only to keep himself balanced on the saddle. +Had he remained erect or flung himself to the +other side he must have been hurled off and down over +the precipice.</p> +<p>Nor was the danger far from past. Carried on +down the slope by the momentum of their headlong +rush, the plunging pony “skidded” to the very brink +of the precipice. Though the man shrank down and +sought to avert his face, he caught a glimpse of the +black depths below them as, snorting with fear, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +pony wrenched himself around on the rim shelf of +the edge.</p> +<p>For an instant––an instant that was an age of sickening +suspense to his rider––the pony toppled. But +before the man could shriek out his horror, the agile +beast had recovered his balance and was scrambling +around, away from the edge. He plunged a few yards +up the slope, and stopped, wheezing and blowing.</p> +<p>The man flung the reins over the pony’s head and +slipped to the ground. For a minute or longer he +lay outstretched, limp and white-faced. When he +looked up, the pony was stolidly cropping a tuft of +grass. Beasts are not often troubled with imagination. +The hunter remembered his brandy flask. +After two long pulls at its contents, the vivid coloring +began to return to his cheeks.</p> +<p>He rose to his feet and walked down to a ledge on +the brink of the precipice with an air of bravado. But +when he looked over into the chasm, he quickly shrank +back and crouched on his hands and knees. Before +again peering over he stretched himself out flat on the +level ledge and grasped an out-jutting point of rock.</p> +<p>Beneath his dizzy eyes the precipitous sides of the +cañon dropped away seemingly into the very bowels +of the earth,––far down in sheer unbroken walls of +black rock for hundreds and thousands of feet. He +flattened closer to the rock on which he lay, and sought +to pierce with his gaze the blue-black shadows of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +stupendous rift. Every nerve in his body tingled; his +ankles ached with the exquisite pain of that overpowering +sight.</p> +<p>The chasm was so narrow and its depth so great +that only in one place did the noonday sun strike down +through its gloomy abyss to the bottom. At that +single spot he could distinguish the foam and flash of +the rushing waters, but elsewhere his only evidence of +the sunken torrent beneath him was the ceaseless reverberations +that came rolling up out of the depths.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he muttered. “To think I came so +near––!... Must be what they call Deep Cañon.”</p> +<p>He crept away from the brink. As he rose to his +feet his trembling fingers automatically placed a cigarette +between his lips and applied the patent lighter. +Soothed by the narcotic, he stood gazing across at the +far side of the cañon while he sucked in and slowly +exhaled the smoke. With the last puff he touched a +fresh cigarette to the butt of the first, thrust it between +his lips, and snipped the cork stub over the edge into +the cañon.</p> +<p>“There you are––take that!” he mocked the abyss.</p> +<p>As he turned away he drew out an extremely thin +gold watch. The position of the hour hand brought +a petulant frown to his white forehead. He hastened +to mount his pony. Short as had been the rest, the +wiry little animal had regained his wind and strength. +Stung by the spurs, he plunged up the side of the ridge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +and loped off along its level top, parallel with the +cañon.</p> +<p>The hunter drew his rifle from its saddle sheath +and began to scrutinize the country before him in +search of game. A pair of weather-beaten antlers so +excited him that he even forgot to maintain his chain +of cigarettes. His dark eyes shone bright and eager +and his full red lips grew tense in resolute lines that +completely altered the previous laxity of his expression.</p> +<p>He had covered nearly a mile when he was rewarded +for his alertness by a glimpse of a large animal +in the chaparral thicket before him. He drew rein to +test the wind in approved book hunter fashion. There +was not a breath of air stirring. The mesa lay basking +in the dry, hot stillness of the July afternoon. He +set the safety catch of his rifle, ready for instant firing, +stretched himself flat on his pony’s neck, and started on.</p> +<p>The animal in the thicket moved slowly to the right, +as if grazing. At frequent intervals the hunter caught +glimpses of its roan side, but could not see its head or +the outline of its body. At seventy-five yards, fearful +that his game might take fright and bolt, he turned +his horse sideways, and slipped down to aim his rifle +across the saddle. It was his first deer. He waited, +twitching and quivering with “buck fever.”</p> +<p>Part of the fore quarters of the animal became visible +to his excited gaze through a small gap in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +screening bushes. The muzzle of his rifle wobbled +all around the mark. Unable to steady it, he caught +the sights as they wavered into line, and pulled the +trigger.</p> +<p>The report of the shot was followed by a loud <i>bawl</i> +and a violent crashing in the thicket. There could be +no doubt that the animal had been hit and was seeking +to escape. It was running across the top of the ridge +towards the cañon. The hunter sprang around the +head of his pony and threw up his rifle, which had +automatically reloaded itself. As it came to his shoulder, +the wounded animal burst out of cover. It was a +yearling calf.</p> +<p>But the sportsman knew that he had shot a deer, +and a deer was all he saw. He was now fairly shaking +with the “fever.” His finger crooked convulsively +on the automatic firing lever. Instantly a +stream of bullets began to pour from the wildly wavering +muzzle, and empty shells whirred up from the +ejector like hornets.</p> +<p>Before the hunter could realize what was happening, +his magazine was exhausted, the last cartridge +fired, and the shell flipped out. But he paid no heed +to this. His eyes were on the fleeing calf. His cartridges +were smokeless. Through the slight haze +above his rifle muzzle he saw the animal pitch forward +and fall heavily upon the round of the ridge. It +did not move. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></p> +<p>Tugging at the bridle to quicken his horse’s pace, he +hastened forward to examine his game. He was still +so excited that he was almost upon the outstretched +carcass before he noticed the odd scar on its side. He +bent down and saw that the mark was a cattle brand +seared on the hide with a hot iron.</p> +<p>His first impulse was to jump on his pony and ride +off. He was about to set his foot in the stirrup when +the apprehensive glance with which he was peering +around shifted down to the cañon. His gaze traveled +back from the near edge of the chasm, up the two +hundred yards of slope, and rested on the yearling as +though estimating its weight.</p> +<p>It was a fat, thoroughbred Hereford. He could +not lift it on his pony, and he had no rope to use as a +drag-line. He shook his head. But the pause had +given him time to recover from his panic. He +shrugged his shoulders, drew a silver-handled hunting +knife, and awkwardly set about dressing his kill.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_A_YEARLING_SOLD' id='CHAPTER_II_A_YEARLING_SOLD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>A YEARLING SOLD</h3> +</div> +<p>Three riders came galloping along the ridge towards +the hunter. At sight of his pony the +grizzled cowman in the lead signed to his companions +and came to a sudden stop behind a clump of service-berry +bushes. The others swerved in beside him, the +bowlegged young puncher on the right with his hand +at his hip.</p> +<p>“Jumping Jehosaphat!” he exulted. “We shore +have got him, Mr. Knowles, the blasted––” His +thin lips closed tight to shut in the oath as he turned +his gaze on the lovely flushed face of the girl beside +him. When his cold gray eyes met hers they lighted +with a glow like that of fire through ice.</p> +<p>“You better stay here, Miss Chuckie,” he advised. +“We’re going to cure that rustler.”</p> +<p>“But, Kid, what if––No, no! wait!” she cried +at sight of his drawn Colt’s. “Daddy, stop him! +The man may not be a rustler.”</p> +<p>“You heard the shooting,” answered the cowman.</p> +<p>“Yes, but he may have been after a deer,” answered +the girl, lifting her lithe figure tiptoe in the stirrups +of her man’s saddle to peer over the bushes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span></p> +<p>“Deer?” rejoined the puncher. “Who’d be deer-hunting +in July?”</p> +<p>“Then a bear. He fired fast enough,” remarked +the girl.</p> +<p>“Not much chance of that round here,” said the +cowman. “Still, it might be. At any rate, Kid, this +time I want you to wait for me to ask questions <i>before</i> +you cut loose.”</p> +<p>“If he don’t try any funny business,” qualified the +puncher.</p> +<p>“Course,” assented Knowles. “Chuckie, you best +stay back here.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Daddy. There’s only one man and between +you and Kid––”</p> +<p>“<i>Sho!</i> Come on, then, if you’re set on it. Kid, +you circle to the right.”</p> +<p>The puncher wheeled his horse and rode off around +the chaparral. The girl and Knowles, after a short +wait, advanced upon the hunter. They were soon +within a few yards of him and in plain view. His +pony stopped browsing and raised its head to look at +them. But the man was stooped over, with his face +the other way, and the incessant, reverberating roar +of the cañon muffled the tread of their horses on the +dusty turf.</p> +<p>The puncher crashed through the corner of the +thicket and pulled up on the top of the slope immediately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +opposite the hunter. The latter sprang to his +feet. The puncher instantly covered him with his +long-barreled revolver and snapped tersely: “Hands +up!”</p> +<p>“My––ante!” gasped the hunter. “A––a road +agent!”</p> +<p>But he did not throw up his hands. With the rash +bravery of inexperience, he dropped his knife and +snatched out his automatic pistol. On the instant the +puncher’s big revolver roared. The pistol went spinning +out of the hunter’s hand. Through the smoke +of the shot the puncher leveled his weapon.</p> +<p>“Put up your hands!––put them up!” screamed +the girl, urging her horse forward.</p> +<p>The hunter obeyed, none too soon. For several +moments he stood rigid, glaring half dazed at the +revolver muzzle and the cool hard face behind it. +Then slowly he twisted about to see who it was had +warned him. The girl had ridden up within a few +feet.</p> +<p>“You––you <i>tenderfoot</i>!” she flung at him. “Are +you locoed? Hadn’t you any more sense than to do +that? Why, if Daddy hadn’t told Mr. Gowan to +wait––”</p> +<p>“You shore would have got yours, you––rustler!” +snapped the puncher. “It was you, though, Miss +Chuckie––your being here.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p> +<p>“But he’s not a rustler, Kid,” protested the girl. +“Where are your eyes? Look at his riding togs. If +they’re not tenderfoot, howling tenderfoot––!”</p> +<p>“Just the same, honey, he’s shot a yearling,” said +Knowles, frowning at the culprit. “Suppose you let +me do the questioning.”</p> +<p>“Ah––pardon me,” remarked the hunter, rebounding +from apprehension to easy assurance at sight of +the girl’s smile. “I would prefer to be third-degreed +by the young lady. Permit me to salute the Queen of +the Outlaws!”</p> +<p>He bent over the fingers of one hand to raise his +silver-banded sombrero by its high peak. It left his +head––and a bullet left the muzzle of the puncher’s +revolver. A hole appeared low down in the side of +the sombrero.</p> +<p>“That’ll do, Kid,” ordered the cowman. “No +more hazing, even if he is a tenderfoot.”</p> +<p>“Tenderfoot?” replied Gowan, his mouth like a +straight gash across his lean jaws. “How about his +drawing on me––and how about your yearling? +That bullet went just where it ought to ’ve gone with +his hat down on his head.”</p> +<p>There was no jesting even of the grimmest quality +in the puncher’s look and tone. He was very cool and +quiet––and his Colt’s was leveled for another shot.</p> +<p>The hunter thrust up his hands as high as he could +reach. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></p> +<p>“You––you surely can’t intend to murder me!” +he stammered, staring from the puncher to the cowman. +“I’ll pay ransom––anything you ask! Don’t +let him shoot me! I’m Lafayette Ashton––I’ll +pay thousands––anything! My father is George +Ashton, the great financier!”</p> +<p>“New York?” queried Knowles.</p> +<p>“No, no, Chicago! He––If only you’ll write +to him!”</p> +<p>The girl burst into a ringing laugh. “Oh!” she +cried, the moment she could speak, “Oh, Daddy! +don’t you see? He really thinks we’re a bunch of +wild and woolly bandits!”</p> +<p>The hunter looked uncertainly from her dimpled +face to Gowan’s ready revolver. Turning sharply +about to the cowman, he caught him in a reluctant grin. +With a sudden spring, he placed the girl between himself +and the scowling puncher. Behind this barrier of +safety he swept off his hat and bowed to the girl with +an exaggerated display of politeness that hinted at +mockery.</p> +<p>“So it’s merely a cowboy joke,” he said. “I bend, +not to the Queen of the Outlaws, but to the Princess +of the Cows!”</p> +<p>Her dimples vanished. She looked over his head +with the barest shade of disdain in her expression.</p> +<p>“The joke came near to being on us,” she said. +“Kid, put up your gun. A tenderfoot who has enough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +nerve and no more sense than to draw when you have +the drop on him, you’ve hazed him enough.”</p> +<p>Gowan sullenly reloaded his Colt’s and replaced it +in its holster.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” said Knowles; but he turned +sharply upon the offender. “Look here, Mr. Ashton, +if that’s your name––there’s still the matter of +this yearling. Shooting stock in a cattle country isn’t +any laughing matter.”</p> +<p>“But, I say,” replied the hunter, “I didn’t know +it was your cow, really I didn’t.”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t make any difference whose brand was on +the calf. Even if it had been a maverick––”</p> +<p>“But that’s it!” interrupted Ashton. “I didn’t +see the brand––only glimpses of the beast in the +chaparral. I thought it a deer until after it fell and +I came up to look.”</p> +<p>“You shore did,” jeered Gowan. “That’s why +you was hurrying to yank off the hide. No chance of +proving a case on you with the brand down in Deep +Cañon.”</p> +<p>“Indeed no,” replied Ashton, drawing a trifle closer +to the girl’s stirrup. “You are quite wrong––quite. +I was dressing the animal to take it to my camp. Because +I had mistaken it for a deer was no reason why +I should leave it to the coyotes.”</p> +<p>“What business you got hunting deer out of season?” +questioned Knowles. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>“Pardon me, but are you the game warden?” asked +Ashton, with a supercilious smile.</p> +<p>“Never you mind about that,” rejoined the cowman. +“Just you answer my question.”</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged, and replied in a bored tone: “I +fail to see that it is any of your affair. But since you +are so urgent to learn––I prefer to enjoy my sport +before the rush of the open season.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know it’s against the law?” exclaimed +the girl.</p> +<p>“Ah––as to that, a trifling fine––” drawled the +hunter, again shrugging.</p> +<p>“Humph!” grunted Knowles. “A fine might get +you off for deer. Shooting stock, though, is a penitentiary +offense––when the criminal is lucky enough +to get into court.”</p> +<p>“Criminal!” repeated Ashton, flushing. “I have +explained who I am. My father could buy out this +entire cattle country, and never know it. I’ll do it +myself, some day, and turn the whole thing into a +game preserve.”</p> +<p>“When you do,” warned Gowan, “you’d better +hunt a healthier climate.”</p> +<p>“What we’re concerned with now,” interposed +Knowles, “is this yearling.”</p> +<p>“The live or the dead one, Daddy?” asked the +girl, her cheeks dimpling.</p> +<p>“What d’you––Aw––<i>haw! haw! haw!</i>––The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +live or the dead one! Catch that, Kid? The live or +the dead one! <i>Haw! haw! haw!</i>”</p> +<p>The cowman fairly roared with laughter. Neither +of the young men joined in his hilarious outburst. +Gowan waited, cold and unsmiling. Ashton stiffened +with offended dignity.</p> +<p>“I told you that the shooting of the animal was +unintentional,” he said. “I shall settle the affair by +paying you the price usually asked for veal.”</p> +<p>“You will?” said the cowman, looking down at the +indignant tenderfoot with a twinkle in his mirth-reddened +eyes. “Well, we don’t usually sell veal on the +range. But I’ll let you have this yearling at cutlet +prices. Fifty dollars is the figure.”</p> +<p>“Why, Daddy,” interrupted the girl, “half that +would be––”</p> +<p>“On the hoof, yes; but he’s buying dressed veal,” +broke in the cowman, and he smiled grimly at the culprit. +“Fifty dollars is cheap for a deer hunter who +goes round shooting up the country out of season. He +can take his choice––pay for his veal or make a trip +to the county seat.”</p> +<p>“That’s talking, Mr. Knowles,” approved Gowan. +“We’ll corral him at Stockchute in that little log calaboose. +He’ll have a peach of a time talking the jury +out of sending him up for rustling.”</p> +<p>“This is an outrage––rank robbery!” complained +Ashton. “Of course you know I will pay rather than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +be inconvenienced by an interruption of my hunting.” +He thrust his slender hand into his pocket, and drew +it out empty.</p> +<p>“Dead broke!” jeered Gowan.</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged disdainfully. “I have money at +my camp. If that is not enough to pay your blackmail, +my valet has gone back to the railway with my +guide for a remittance of a thousand dollars, which +must have come on a week ago.”</p> +<p>“Your camp is at the waterhole on Dry Fork,” +stated Knowles. “Saw a big smoke over there––tenderfoot’s +fire. Well, it’s only five miles, and we +can ride down that way. We’ll go to your camp.”</p> +<p>“Ye-es?” murmured Ashton, his ardent eyes on +the girl. “Miss––er––Chuckie, it is superfluous to +remark that I shall vastly enjoy a cross-country ride +with you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, really!” she replied.</p> +<p>Heedless of her ironical tone, he turned a supercilious +glance on Knowles. “Yes, and at the same +time your papa and his hired man can take advantage +of the opportunity to deliver my veal.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?” growled the cowman, flushing +hotly.</p> +<p>But the girl burst into such a peal of laughter that +his scowl relaxed to an uncertain smile.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s the joke, honey?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” she cried, her blue eyes glistening +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +with mirthful tears. “Don’t you see he’s got you, +Daddy? You didn’t sell him his meat on the hoof. +You’ve got to dress and deliver his cutlets.”</p> +<p>“By––James!” vowed Gowan. “Before I’ll +butcher for such a knock-kneed tenderfoot I’ll see +him, in––”</p> +<p>“Hold your hawsses, Kid,” put in Knowles. “The +joke’s on me. You go on and look for that bunch +of strays, if you want to. But I’m not going to back +up when Chuckie says I’m roped in.”</p> +<p>Gowan looked fixedly at Ashton and the girl, swore +under his breath, and swung to the ground. He came +down beside the calf with the waddling step of one +who has lived in the saddle from early childhood. +Knowles joined him, and they set to work on the calf +without paying any farther heed to the tenderfoot.</p> +<p>Ashton, after fastidiously wiping his hands on a +wisp of grass, placed his hunting knife in his belt and +his rifle in its saddle sheath. He next picked up his +pistol, but after a single glance at the side plate, +smashed in by Gowan’s first shot, he dropped the +ruined weapon and rather hurriedly mounted his pony.</p> +<p>The girl had faced away from the partly butchered +carcass. As Ashton rode around alongside, her pony +started to walk away. Instead of reining in, she +glanced demurely at Ashton, and called over her +shoulder: “Daddy, we’ll be riding on ahead. You +and Kid have the faster hawsses.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>“All right,” acquiesced Knowles, without pausing +in his work.</p> +<p>Gowan said nothing; but he glanced up at the jaunty +back of the tenderfoot with a look of cold enmity.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_QUEEN_OF_WHAT' id='CHAPTER_III_QUEEN_OF_WHAT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>QUEEN OF WHAT?</h3> +</div> +<p>Heedless of the men behind him, Ashton rode +off with his ardent gaze fixed admiringly upon +his companion. The more he looked at her the more +astonished and gratified he was to have found so +charming a girl in this raw wilderness.</p> +<p>As a city man, he might have considered the healthy +color that glowed under the tan of her cheeks a trifle +too pronounced, had it not been offset by the delicate +mold of her features. Her eyes were as blue as alpine +forget-me-nots.</p> +<p>Though she sat astride and the soft coils of her +chestnut hair were covered with a broad-brimmed felt +hat, he was puzzled to find that there really was nothing +of the Wild West cowgirl in her costume and bearing. +Her modest gray riding dress was cut in the +very latest style. If her manner differed from that +of most young ladies of his acquaintance, it was only +in her delightful frankness and total absence of affectation. +Yet she could not be a city girl on a visit, for +she sat her horse with the erect, long-stirruped, graceful, +yielding seat peculiar to riders of the cattle ranges. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></p> +<p>“Do you know,” he gave voice to his curiosity, as +she directed their course slantingly down the ridge +away from Deep Cañon, “I am simply dying to learn, +Miss Chuckie––”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you had better make it ‘Miss Knowles,’” +she suggested, with a quiet smile that checked the familiarity +of his manner.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes––pardon me!––‘Miss Knowles,’ of +course,” he murmured. “But, you know, so unusual +a name––”</p> +<p>“You mean Chuckie?” she asked. “It formerly +was quite common in the West––was often used as +a nickname. My real name is Isobel. I understand +that Chuckie comes from the Spanish Chiquita.”</p> +<p>“Chiquita!” he exclaimed. “But that is not a +regular name. It is only a term of endearment, like +Nina. And you say Chuckie comes from Chiquita? +Chiquita––dear one!”</p> +<p>His large dark eyes glowed at her brilliant with +audacious admiration. Her color deepened, but she +replied with perfect composure: “You see why I +prefer to be addressed as ‘Miss Knowles’––by you.”</p> +<p>“Yet you permitted that common cowpuncher to +call you Miss Chuckie.”</p> +<p>The girl smiled ironically. “For one thing, Mr. +Ashton, I have known Kid Gowan over eight years, +and, for another, he is hardly a <i>common</i> cowpuncher.”</p> +<p>“He looks ordinary enough to me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></p> +<p>“Well, well!” she rallied. “I should have +thought that even to the innocent gaze of a tenderfoot––Let +me hasten to explain that the common +or garden variety of cowshepherd is to be distinguished +in many respects from his predecessor of the +Texas trail.”</p> +<p>“Texas trail?” he rejoined. “Now I know you’re +trying to string me. This Gowan can’t be much older +than I am.”</p> +<p>The girl dropped her bantering tone, and answered +soberly: “He is only twenty-five, and yet he is a full +generation older than you. He was born and raised +in a cow camp. He is one of the few men of the type +that remain to link the range of today with the vanished +world of the cattle frontier.”</p> +<p>“Yet you say that the fellow is only my age?”</p> +<p>“In years, yes. But in type he belongs to the generation +that is past––the generation of longhorns, +long drives, long Colt’s, and short lives; of stampedes, +and hats like yours, badmen, and Injins.”</p> +<p>“Surely you cannot mean that this––You called +him ‘Kid.’”</p> +<p>“Kid Gowan,” she confirmed. “Yes, he holds to +the old traditions even in that. There are six notches +on the hilt of his ‘gun,’ if you count the two little +ones he nicked for his brace of Utes.”</p> +<p>“What! He is a real Indian fighter, like Kit +Carson?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></p> +<p>“Oh, no, it was merely a band of hide hunters that +came over the line from Utah, and Mr. Gowan helped +the game warden run them back to their reservation.”</p> +<p>“He actually killed two of them?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the girl, her gravity deepening to +a concerned frown. “The worst of it is that I’m +not altogether certain it was necessary. Men out +here, as a rule, think much too little of the life of an +Indian.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” murmured Ashton. “Two Indians. But +didn’t you speak of six notches?”</p> +<p>“Six,” confirmed the girl, her brow partly clearing. +“The others were different. Three were rustlers. +The sheriff’s posse overtook them. Both sides were +firing. Kid circled around and shot three. He happened +to have a long-range rifle. Daddy says they +threw up their hands when the first one fell; but Kid +explained to me that he was too far away to see it.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” murmured Ashton the second time, and he +put up his hand to the hole in the front of his sombrero.</p> +<p>“The last was two years ago,” went on the girl. +“There was a dispute over a maverick. Kid was +tried and acquitted on his plea of self-defense. There +were no witnesses. He claimed that the other man +drew first. Two empty shells were found in the +other man’s revolver, and only one in Kid’s. That +cleared him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></p> +<p>Ashton took off his hat and stared at the holes +where the heavy forty-four bullet had gone in and +gone out. He was silent.</p> +<p>“You see, poor Kid has been unfortunate,” remarked +the girl, as she headed her pony down over +the edge of the mesa. “That time with the rustlers, +all the posse were firing, and he just happened to be +the one that got the best aim; and the time with the +Indians, I’m sure he did not shoot to kill. It just +happened that way. He told me so himself.”</p> +<p>Ashton ran his tongue over his lip. “Yes––I suppose +so,” he muttered.</p> +<p>“Kid has all the good qualities and only a few of +the faults of the old-time cowboys,” went on the girl. +“He is almost fiercely loyal to Daddy’s interests. +That’s why he led a raid on a sheep outfit, four years +ago, when almost half of a large flock were run over +into Deep Cañon––poor innocent beasts! Daddy +was furious with Kid; but there was no legal proof as +to who were members of the attacking party, and the +sheep were destroying our range. All of Daddy’s +cattle would have starved.”</p> +<p>“He was not punished?” murmured Ashton.</p> +<p>“Daddy could not be expected to discharge him, +could he, when Kid did it to save our range? You +see, it was just because he was so very loyal. You +must not think from these things that he––It is true +he is suspicious of strangers, but he always has been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +very kind and gentle to me. I am very fond of him.”</p> +<p>“You are?” exclaimed Ashton, stirred from his +uneasy depression. “I should hardly have thought +him the kind to interest a girl like you.”</p> +<p>“Really?” she bantered. “Why not? I have +lived on the range ever since I was fourteen.”</p> +<p>He stared at her incredulously. “Since you were +fourteen?”</p> +<p>“For nine years,” she added, smiling at his astonishment.</p> +<p>“But––it can’t be,” he protested, his eyes on her +stylish costume. “At least, not all the time.”</p> +<p>She nodded at him encouragingly. “So you <i>can</i> +see––a little. Nearly all my winters have been spent +in Denver, except one in Europe.”</p> +<p>“Europe?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“We didn’t cross in a cattle boat,” she flashed back +at him, dimpling mischievously. “Nor did I go as +the Queen of the Rancho, or of the Roundup, or even +of the Wild and Woolly Outlaw Band.”</p> +<p>He flushed with mortification. “I am only too +well aware, Miss Knowles, how you must regard me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I do not regard you at all––as yet,” she +bantered. “But of course I could not expect you to +know that Daddy’s sister is one of the Sacred Thirty-six.”</p> +<p>“Sacred––? Is that one of the orders of nuns?”</p> +<p>“None whatever,” she punned. In the same moment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +she drew a most solemn looking face. “My +deah Mistah Ashton, I will have you to understand +my reference was to that most select coterie which +comprises Denver’s Real Society.”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” he said, with a subtle alteration in his +tone and manner. “You say that your aunt is one +of––”</p> +<p>“My aunt by adoption,” she corrected.</p> +<p>“Adoption?”</p> +<p>“I am not Daddy’s natural daughter. He adopted +me,” explained the girl in her frank way.</p> +<p>“Yes?” asked Ashton, plainly eager to learn more +of her history.</p> +<p>Without seeming to observe this, she adroitly +balked his curiosity––“So, you see, Daddy’s sister is +only my aunt by adoption. Still, she has been very, +very good to me; though I love Daddy and this free +outdoor life so much that I insist on coming back home +every spring.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, I see,” he replied. “Really, Miss +Knowles, you must think me a good deal of a dub.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, allowances should be made for a tenderfoot,” +she bantered.</p> +<p>“At least I recognized your queenliness, even if +at first I did mistake what you were queen of,” he +thrust back.</p> +<p>“So you still insist I’m a queen? Of what, pray?”</p> +<p>“Of Hearts!” he answered with fervor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>His daring was rewarded with a lovely blush. But +she was only momentarily disconcerted.</p> +<p>“I am not so sure of that,” she replied. “Though +it’s not Queen of Spades, because I do not have to +work; and it can’t be Diamonds, because Daddy is no +more than comfortably well to do––only six thousand +head of stock. But as for Hearts––No, I’m sure +it must be Clubs; I do so love to knock around. +Really, if ever they break up this range, it will break +my heart same time.”</p> +<p>“Break up the range? How do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Put it under irrigation and turn it into orchards +and farms, as they have done so many places here on +the Western Slope. You know, Colorado apples and +peaches are fast becoming famous even in Europe.”</p> +<p>“I do not wonder, not in the least––if I am to +judge from a certain sample of the Colorado peach,” +he ventured.</p> +<p>This time she did not blush. “I am quite serious, +Mr. Ashton,” she reproved him. “Daddy owns only +five sections. The rest of his range is public land. +If settlers should come in and homestead it, he would +have to quit the cattle business. You cannot realize +how fearfully we are watching the irrigation projects––all +the Government reclamation work, and the +private dams, too. There seems to be no water that +can be put on Dry Mesa, yet the engineers are doing +such wonderful things these days.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>Ashton straightened on his saddle. “That is quite +true, Miss Knowles. You know, I myself am an engineer.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed in dismay. “You, an engineer? +Have you come here to see if our mesa can be +irrigated?”</p> +<p>“No, indeed, no, I shall not do that,” he replied. +“I have not the slightest thought of such a project. I +am merely out for sport.”</p> +<p>She eyed him uncertainly. “But––We get all +the reports––There is an Ashton connected with +that wonderful Zariba Dam, just being finished in +Arizona.”</p> +<p>“That is my father. He is interested in it with +a Mr. Leslie. They are financing the project. But +I have nothing to do with it, nothing whatever, I assure +you. The engineer is another man, a fellow +named––”</p> +<p>He paused as if unable to remember. The girl +looked at him with a shade of disappointment in her +clear eyes.</p> +<p>“A Mr. Blake––Thomas Blake,” she supplied the +name. “I thought you might have known him.”</p> +<p>“Ah––Blake?” he murmured hesitatingly. +“Why, yes, I did at one time have somewhat of an +acquaintance with him.”</p> +<p>“You did?” she cried, her eyes brilliant with excitement. +“Oh, tell me! I––” She faltered under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +his surprised stare, and went on rather lamely: “You +see, I––we have been immensely interested in the +Zariba Dam. The reports all describe it as an extraordinary +work of engineering. And so we have +been curious to learn something about the engineer.”</p> +<p>“But if you’re so opposed to irrigation projects?” +he thrust.</p> +<p>“That makes no difference,” she parried. “We––Daddy +and I––cannot but admire such a remarkable +engineer.”</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged. “The dam was a big thing. I +fail to see why you should admire Blake just because +he happened to blunder on the idea that solved the +difficulty.”</p> +<p>“You do not like him,” she said with frank directness.</p> +<p>He hesitated and looked away. When he replied +it was with evident reluctance: “No, I do not. He +is––You would hardly admire him personally, even +though he did bully Genevieve Leslie into marrying +him.”</p> +<p>“He is married?” exclaimed the girl.</p> +<p>“No wonder you are surprised,” said Ashton. “It +was the most amazing thing imaginable––she the +daughter of H. V. Leslie, one of our wealthiest financiers, +and he a rough, uncouth drunkard.”</p> +<p>“Drunkard?” almost screamed the girl. “No, +no, not drunkard! I cannot believe it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>“He certainly was one until just before Genevieve +married him,” insisted Ashton. “I hear he has managed +to keep sober since.”</p> +<p>“O-o-oh!” sighed Miss Isobel, making no effort to +conceal her vast relief. She attempted a smile. “I +am so glad to hear that he is all right now. Of course +he must be!... You say he married an heiress?”</p> +<p>“She is worth three millions in her own right, and +Leslie is as daft over him as she is. Leslie and my +father are the ones who backed him on the Zariba +Dam.”</p> +<p>“How interesting! And I suppose Mr. Blake is a +Western man. So many of the best engineers come +from the West.”</p> +<p>Ashton looked at her suspiciously. He could not +make out her interest in Blake. She apparently had +come to regard the engineer as a sort of hero. Yet +why should she continue to inquire about him, now +that she knew he was a married man?</p> +<p>“I’m sure I cannot tell you,” he replied, somewhat +stiffly. “The fellow seems to have come from nowhere. +Had it not been for an accident, he would +never have got within speaking distance of Genevieve, +but they happened to be shipwrecked together +alone––on the coast of Africa.”</p> +<p>“Wrecked?––shipwrecked? How perfectly glorious!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>“I wouldn’t mind it myself––with you!” he +flashed back.</p> +<p>“I might,” she bantered. “This Mr. Blake, I +imagine, was hardly a tenderfoot.”</p> +<p>“No, he was a roughneck,” muttered Ashton.</p> +<p>“You do not like him,” she remarked the second +time.</p> +<p>“Why should I, a low fellow like that? I’ve +heard that he even brags that he started in the Chicago +slums.”</p> +<p>The girl put her hand to her bosom. “In the––the +Chicago slums!” she half whispered.</p> +<p>“No wonder you are surprised,” said Ashton. +“Anyone would presume that he would keep such a +disgrace to himself. It shows what he is––absolutely +devoid of good taste.”</p> +<p>“Is he––What does he look like?” she eagerly +inquired.</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged. “Pardon me. I prefer not to +talk any more about the fellow.”</p> +<p>Miss Isobel checked her curiosity. “Very well, +Mr. Ashton.” She looked around, and suddenly +flourished her leathern quirt. “Look––there are +Kid and Daddy trying to head us. Come on, if you +want a race. I’m going to beat them down to Dry +Fork.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_DOWNHILL_AND_UP' id='CHAPTER_IV_DOWNHILL_AND_UP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>DOWNHILL AND UP</h3> +</div> +<p>The lash of the quirt fell with a swish on the flank +of the girl’s pony. He did not wait for a second +hint, but started down the steep slope “on the +jump.” Before Ashton realized what was happening, +his own horse was following at the same breakneck +pace.</p> +<p>Down plunged the two ponies––down, down, down +the sharply pitched mountain side, leaping logs and +stones, crashing through brush, scrambling or slithering +stiff-legged down rock slides. It was a wild race, +a race that would have been utterly foolhardy with +any other horses than these mountain bred cow ponies. +A single misstep would have sent horse and rider rolling +for yards, unless sooner brought up against tree +or rock.</p> +<p>Most of the color had left Ashton’s cheeks, but his +full lips were set in resolute lines. His gaze alertly +took in the ground before his horse and at the same +time the girl’s graceful, swaying figure. Fortunately +he knew enough to let his horse pick his own way. +But such a way as it was! Had not the two animals +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +been as surefooted as goats and as quick as cats, both +must have pitched head over heels, not once, but a +score of times.</p> +<p>They had leaped down over numbers of rocks and +logs and ledges, and the girl had not cast back a single +glance to see if Ashton was following. But as they +plunged down an open slope she suddenly twisted +about and flung up a warning hand.</p> +<p>“Here’s a jump!” she cried––as though they had +not been jumping every few yards since the beginning +of that mad descent.</p> +<p>Hardly had she faced about again when her pony +leaped and dropped with her clear out of sight. Ashton +gasped and started to draw rein. He was too +late. Three strides brought his horse to a ledge fully +six feet high. The beast leaped over the edge without +making the slightest effort to check himself.</p> +<p>Ashton uttered a startled cry, but poised himself +for the shock with the cleverness of a skillful rider. +His pony landed squarely, and at once started on again +as if nothing unusual had happened.</p> +<p>The girl was already racing down the lower slope, +which was more moderate, or rather, less immoderate +than that above the ledge. She looked around and +waved her hand gayly when she saw that Ashton had +kept his seat.</p> +<p>The salute so fired him that he gave his pony the +spur and dashed recklessly down to overtake her. At +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +last he raced alongside and a little past her. She +looked at his overridden pony and drew rein.</p> +<p>“Hold on,” she said. “Better pull up a bit. +You don’t want to blow your hawss. ’Tisn’t everyone +can take that jump as neatly as he did.”</p> +<p>“But the others?” he panted––“they’ll beat us!”</p> +<p>“They cut down to the right. It’s nothing to +worry about if they do head us. They’ve got the +best hawsses. We’ll jog the rest of the way.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” he hastened to agree, “if you prefer.”</p> +<p>“I’d prefer to lope uphill and down, but––” she +nodded towards his pony’s heaving flanks––“no use +riding a willing hawss to death.”</p> +<p>“No danger of that with this old nag. He’s tough +as a mule,” Ashton assured her, though he followed +her example by pulling his mount in to a walk.</p> +<p>“A mule knows enough to balk when he’s got +enough,” she informed him.</p> +<p>He did not reply. With the lessening of his excitement +habit sent his hand to his open packet of cigarettes. +He had not smoked since before shooting the +calf. As they came down into the shallow valley between +the foot of the mesa and a parallel line of low +rocky hills he could wait no longer. His lighter was +already half raised to the gilt-tipped cigarette when +it was checked by etiquette. He bowed to the girl as +a matter of form. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p> +<p>“Ah, pardon me––if you have no objections,” he +said.</p> +<p>“I have,” was her unexpected reply.</p> +<p>“Er––what?” he asked, his finger on the spring +of the lighter.</p> +<p>“You inquired if I have any objections,” she answered. +“I told you the truth. I dislike cigarettes +most intensely.”</p> +<p>“But––but––” he stammered, completely taken +aback, “don’t your cowboys all smoke?”</p> +<p>“Not cigarettes––where I ever see them,” she +said.</p> +<p>“And cigars or pipes?” he queried.</p> +<p>“One has to concede something to masculine weakness,” +she sighed.</p> +<p>“Unfortunately I have no cigars with me, not even +at my camp, and a pipe is so slow,” he complained.</p> +<p>“Oh, pray, do not deprive yourself on my account,” +she said. “You’ll find the cut between those two hills +about as short a way to your camp as this one, if you +prefer your cigarettes to my company.”</p> +<p>“Crool maid!” he reproached, not altogether jestingly. +He even looked across at the gap through the +hills to which she was pointing. Then he saw the +disdain in her blue eyes. He took the cigarette from +his lips, eyed it regretfully, and flung it away with a +petulant fillip.</p> +<p>“There!” he said. Meeting her amused smile, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +added in the injured tone of a spoiled child. “You +don’t realize what a compliment that is.”</p> +<p>“What?––abstaining for a half hour or so? If +I asked you to break off entirely, and you did it, I +would consider that a real compliment.”</p> +<p>“I should say so!”</p> +<p>“But I am by no means sure that I would care to +ask you,” she bantered.</p> +<p>“You’re not? Why, may I inquire?”</p> +<p>“I do not like to make useless requests.”</p> +<p>“Useless!” he exclaimed, his self-esteem stung by +her raillery. “Do you think I cannot quit smoking +them?”</p> +<p>“I think you do not care to try.”</p> +<p>Impulsively he snatched out a package of his expensive +cigarettes and tossed it over his shoulder. +Another and another and still others followed in rapid +succession, until he had exhausted his supply.</p> +<p>“How’s that?” he demanded her approval.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s not so bad for a start-off,” she answered +with an absence of enthusiasm that dashed him from +his pose of self-abnegation.</p> +<p>“You don’t realize what that means,” he complained.</p> +<p>“It means, jilt Miss Nicotine in haste, and repent +at leisure.”</p> +<p>“You’re ragging me! You ought to be particularly +nice to me. I did it for you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p>“Thanks awfully. But I didn’t ask you to do it, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, now, that’s hardly––when I did it because +of what you said.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I promise to be nice to you until events +do us part. That will be in about five minutes. Over +there is Dry Fork Gulch. The waterhole is just down +around this hill.”</p> +<p>Ashton took his ardent gaze off the girl’s face long +enough to glance to his left. He recognized the tremendous +gorge in the face of the mountain side that +he had tried to ascend the previous day. It ran in +with a moderately inclined bottom for nearly a mile, +and then scaled up to the top of High Mesa in steep +slopes and sheer ledges.</p> +<p>His eyes followed the dry gravelly creek bed +around to the right, and he nodded: “Yes, my camp +is just over the corner of those crags. But surely, +Miss Knowles, you will not end our acquaintance +there.”</p> +<p>She met his appealing look with a level glance. +“Seriously, Mr. Ashton, don’t you think you had better +move camp to another section? It seems to me +you have done quite enough unseasonable deer hunting.”</p> +<p>Without waiting for him to reply, she urged her +horse into a lope. His own mount was too jaded for +a quick start. When he overtook the girl she had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +rounded the craggy hill on their right and was in sight +of a scattered grove of boxelders below a dike of dark +colored trap rock that outcropped across the bed of +the creek.</p> +<p>Above the natural dam made by this dike the valley +was bedded up with sand and large gravel washed +down by the torrential rush of spring freshets. Below +it the same wild floods, leaping down in a twenty-foot +fall, had gouged out a pothole so wide and deep that +it was never empty of water even in the driest seasons.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_INTO_THE_DEPTHS' id='CHAPTER_V_INTO_THE_DEPTHS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>INTO THE DEPTHS</h3> +</div> +<p>At the top of the bank made by the dike the girl +pointed with her quirt down to the rock-rimmed +pool edge where a pair of riders were just swinging +out of their saddles.</p> +<p>“Hello, Daddy! We’re coming, Kid,” she called, +and she turned to explain to Ashton. “They came +around the other end of the hills; a longer way but +better going. How’s this? Thought you said you +were camped here.”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course. Don’t you see the tent? It’s +right there among the––Why, what––where is +it?” cried Ashton, gaping in blank amazement.</p> +<p>“We’ll soon see,” replied the girl.</p> +<p>Their horses were scrambling down the short steep +slope to the pool, where the other horses were drinking +their fill of the cool water. The two men watched +Ashton’s approach, Knowles with an impassive gaze, +Gowan with cold suspicion in his narrowed eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, honey,” asked the cowman, “did you have +him pulling leather?”</p> +<p>“No, and I didn’t lose him, either,” she replied, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +with a mischievous glance at Gowan. “I took that +jump-off where the white-cheeked steer broke its neck. +He took it after me without pulling leather.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” grunted the puncher. “Mr. Tenderfoot +shore is some rider. We’re waiting for him now to +ride around and find that camp where we were to +deliver his veal.”</p> +<p>Ashton stared with a puzzled, half-dazed expression +from the tentless trees beside him to the fore and +hind quarters of veal wrapped in slicker raincoats and +fastened on back of the men’s saddles.</p> +<p>“Well?” demanded Knowles. “Thought you +said you were camped here.”</p> +<p>“I am––that is, I––My tent was right there +between those two trees,” said Ashton. “You see, +there are the twigs and leaves I had my valet collect +for my bed.”</p> +<p>“Shore––valleys are great on collecting beds of +leaves and sand and bowlders,” observed Gowan.</p> +<p>“There’s his fireplace,” said the girl, wheeling her +horse through a clump of wild rosebushes. “Yes, +and he’s right about the tent, too. It is a bed. +Here’s a dozen cigarette boxes and––What’s this, +Mr. Ashton! Looks as if someone had left a note +for you.”</p> +<p>“A note?” he muttered, slipping to the ground.</p> +<p>He ran over to the spot to which she was pointing. +On a little pile of stones, in front of where his tent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +had been pitched, a piece of coarse wrapping paper +covered with writing was fluttering in the light breeze. +He snatched it up and read the note with fast-growing +bewilderment.</p> +<p>“What is it?” sympathetically questioned the girl, +quick to see that he was in real trouble.</p> +<p>He did not answer. He did not even realize that +she had spoken. With feverish haste he caught up an +opened envelope that had lain under the paper. +Drawn by his odd manner, Knowles and Gowan came +over to stare at him. He had torn a letter from the +envelope. It was in typewriting and covered less than +a page, yet he gaped at it, reading and re-reading the +lines as if too dazed to be able to comprehend their +meaning.</p> +<p>Slowly the involved sentences burned their way into +his consciousness. As his bewilderment cleared, his +concern deepened to dismay, and from dismay to consternation. +His jaw dropped slack, his face whitened, +the pupils of his eyes dilated.</p> +<p>“What is it? What’s the matter?” exclaimed the +girl.</p> +<p>“Matter?”––His voice was hoarse and strained. +He crumpled the letter in a convulsive grasp––“Matter? +I’m ruined!––ruined! God!”</p> +<p>Knowles and the girl were both silent before the +despair in the young man’s face. Gowan was more +obtuse or else less considerate. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“Shore, you’re plumb busted, partner,” he ironically +condoled. “Your whole outfit has flown away on +the wings of the morning. Hope you won’t tell us the +pay for your veal has vamoosed with the rest.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Kid, for shame!” reproved the girl. “Of +course Daddy won’t ask for any pay––now.”</p> +<p>Ashton burst into a jangling high-pitched laugh.</p> +<p>“No, no! there’s still my pony and saddle and rifle +and watch!” he cried, half hysterically. “Take them! +strip me! Here’s my hat, too! I paid forty-five +dollars for it––silver band.” He flung it on the +ground. “There’s a hole in it––I wish the hole +were through my head!”</p> +<p>“Now, now, look here, son. Keep a stiff upper lip,” +said Knowles. “Don’t act like you’re locoed. It’s +all right about that veal, as Chuckie says, and you +oughtn’t to make such a fuss over the loss of a camp +outfit.”</p> +<p>“Camp outfit?” shrilled Ashton. “If that were +all! if that were all! What shall I do? Lost––all +lost!––father––all! Ruined! Oh, my God! What +shall I do? Oh, my God! Oh––” Anguish and +despair choked the cry in his throat. He collapsed in +a huddled, quivering heap.</p> +<p>“<i>Sho!</i> It can’t be as bad as that, can it?” condoled +the cowman.</p> +<p>“Go away!” sobbed the prostrated man. “Go +away! Take my pony––all! Only leave me!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>“If ever I saw a fellow plumb locoed!” muttered +Gowan, half awe-struck.</p> +<p>“Maybe he’ll come to his senses if we leave him,” +suggested Knowles. He took a step towards Ashton. +“All right, son, we’ll go. But we’ll leave you half +that veal, and we won’t take your hawss. D’you want +help in looking for your outfit?”</p> +<p>Ashton shook his downbent head.</p> +<p>“Well, if you want to let the thieves get away with +it, that’s your own lookout. You’d better strike back +to the railroad.”</p> +<p>“Go away! Leave me!” moaned Ashton.</p> +<p>“Gone to smash––clean busted!” commented +Gowan, as he turned about to go to his horse, his spurs +jingling gayly.</p> +<p>Knowles followed him, shaking his head. The girl +had been gazing at Ashton with an expression that +varied from sympathetic commiseration to contemptuous +pity. As her adopted father and Gowan mounted, +she rode over to them.</p> +<p>“Go on,” she said. “I’ll overtake you as soon as +I’ve watered my hawss.”</p> +<p>“You’re not going to speak to that kettle of mush +again, Miss Chuckie,” remonstrated Gowan.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am, Kid, and you know you wouldn’t stop +me if you could. He needs it. I’m glad you smashed +his pistol. A rifle is not so handy.”</p> +<p>Knowles stared over the bushes at the huddled figure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +on the ground. “Look here, Chuckie, you can’t mean +that?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she insisted. “He is ready to do it right +now, unless someone throws him a rope and hauls him +out of the slough.”</p> +<p>“Lot of fuss over a tenderfoot you never saw +before today,” grumbled Gowan.</p> +<p>“That’s not like you, Kid,” she reproached. “Besides, +you don’t want the trouble of digging a grave. +It would have to be deep, to keep out the coyotes. +Daddy, you’re forgetting the veal.”</p> +<p>“So I am,” agreed the cowman. “Ride on, Kid. +You’ll be carrying most weight.”</p> +<p>The puncher reluctantly wheeled his horse and +started down the bank of the dry stream. Knowles +unfastened the hind quarters of veal from behind the +cantle of his saddle, lifted them into a fork of one of +the low trees, and rode off after Gowan, folding up +his blood-stained slicker.</p> +<p>The girl at once slipped from her pony and walked +quietly around to the drooping, despairing man.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ashton,” she softly began, “they have gone. +I have stayed to find out if there is anything I can do.”</p> +<p>She paused for him to reply. His shoulders quivered, +but he remained silent. She went on soothingly: +“You are all unstrung. The shock was too sudden. +It must have been a terrible one! Won’t you tell me +about it? Perhaps that will make you feel better.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“As if anything could when I am ruined, utterly +ruined!” he moaned.</p> +<p>“But how? Please tell me,” she urged.</p> +<p>Slowly he raised his haggard face and looked up at +her. There could be no question but that she was full +of sincere sympathy and concern for him. Her eyes +shone upon him with all the motherly tenderness that +any good woman, however young, has in her heart for +those who suffer.</p> +<p>“It’s all in this––this letter,” he muttered +brokenly. “Expected my remittance in it––Got +ruin! ruin!”</p> +<p>“It had been opened,” suggested the girl. “Perhaps +those who took your outfit also took your remittance +money.”</p> +<p>“No, there wasn’t any––not a cent! My valet +had my written instructions to open it and cash the +money orders––that weren’t there! He and the +guide––they came back. The letter had told them all, +all! I was not here. They took the outfit––the +money––divided it. Left that note––they had no +more use for me.... Ruined! utterly ruined!”</p> +<p>“But if you wish us to run them down?”</p> +<p>“No––good riddance! What they took is less +than what I owed them. Ungrateful scoundrels!”</p> +<p>“That’s it!” approved the girl. “Get up your +spunk. Cuss, if you like. Rip loose, good and hard. +It will ease you off.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>“It’s no use,” he groaned, slumping back into his +posture of abject dejection.</p> +<p>“Oh, come, now!” she encouraged. “You’re a +young, healthy man. What if you have been bucked +off this time? There are lots other hawsses in Life’s +corral.”</p> +<p>He hung his head lower.</p> +<p>She went on, in an altered tone: “Mr. Ashton, +it is evident you have been bred as a gentleman. I +wish you to give me your word that you will not put +an end to yourself.”</p> +<p>There was a prolonged pause. At last he stirred as +if uneasy under her steady gaze. He could not see +her eyes, yet he seemed to feel them. Twice he +started to speak, but checked himself and hesitated. +The third time he muttered a reluctant, “I––will +not.”</p> +<p>“Good! I have your word,” she replied. “I +must go now. When you’ve shaken yourself together +a bit, come down to the ranch. You ride down Dry +Fork to the junction, and then three miles up Plum +Creek. Daddy’ll be glad to put you up a few days +until you can think of what to do to get a new start. +Good-by!”</p> +<p>She went back to her horse as lightfooted and graceful +as an antelope. But he did not look up after her, +nor did he respond to her cordial parting. For a long +time after she rode away he continued to crouch as she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +had left him, motionless, almost torpid with the immensity +of his loss.</p> +<p>The sun sank lower and lower. It touched the skyline +of High Mesa and dipped below. The shadow +of twilight fell upon Dry Fork and the waterhole. +The man shivered and, as if afraid that the darkness +would rush upon him, hastily opened his clenched hand +and smoothed out the crumpled letter.</p> +<p>To his bloodshot eyes, the accusing words seemed to +glare up at him in letters of fire:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '><i>Sir</i>:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>We have been instructed by our client, Mr. George +Ashton, to inform you that he has at last learned the +full particulars of the manner in which you obtained +possession of the plans of Mr. Thomas Blake, C.E., +drawn by him for the competition on the then projected +Michamac bridge; how you copied said plans and destroyed +the originals, and was awarded the construction +of said bridge on said copied plans presented by +you as of your own device and invention; that you +were awarded and did enjoy the office of Resident Engineer +of said bridge during a period covering the +greater part of the construction thereof, and received +the full salary of said office, to and until said Blake +took charge of said bridge, which had been imperilled +by your incompetence; and said Blake, against your +strenuous objections and opposition and at great personal +risk, saved said bridge from destruction.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>Wherefore, because of the disgrace which you have, +by reason of the aforesaid actions and conduct, brought +upon his name, and because of various and sundry acts +of disobedience, as well as your life of frivolity and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +dissipation,––our client has instructed us to inform +you, that he has cut you off from him absolutely; that +he has drawn a new will wherein the amount of your +legacy is fixed at the sum of one ($1.00) dollar; that +he will no longer make you an allowance in any sum +whatever; that he no longer regards you as his son; +that any communication addressed to him by you, +either directly or indirectly, will not be received or +read by him; and that he absolutely refuses to see you +or to grant you a personal interview.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'>Respectfully, etc.<br /></p> +<p>The signature was that of his father’s confidential +lawyers, and below, to the left, lest there be no possibility +of misunderstanding, were his name and address +in full: “Mr. Lafayette Ashton, Stockchute, Colorado.”</p> +<p>Again he bent over with his head on his breast and +the letter clutched convulsively in his slender palm.</p> +<p>A bloodcurdling yell brought him to his feet with a +sudden leap. He still did not know the difference +between the cry of a coyote and the deeper note of a +timber wolf. He hastily started a fire, and ran to +fetch his rifle from the saddle sheath. The pony was +quietly munching a wisp of grass as best he could with +the bit in his mouth. The unconcern of the beast +reassured his master, who, however, filled the magazine +of his rifle before offsaddling.</p> +<p>Having hobbled the pony for the night, Ashton laid +the rifle on the rim of the pool, stripped, and dived in. +He went down like a plummet, reckless of the danger +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +of striking some upjutting ledge. He may have forgotten +for the moment his word to the girl, or he may +have considered that it did not prevent him from courting +death by accident.</p> +<p>But, deeply as he dived, he failed to reach bottom. +He came up, puffing and blowing, and swam swiftly +around the pool before scrambling out to dress. The +combined effect of the vigorous exercise, the grateful +coolness of the water, and the riddance of the day’s +dust and sweat brought him ashore in a far less morbid +frame of mind. Going up the bank, he pulled the +hind quarters of veal from the tree and sliced off three +or four ragged strips with his knife. After washing +them, he put them to broil over his smoky fire of green +twigs. The “cutlets” came off, one half raw and the +other half burned to a crisp. But he had not eaten +since the early forenoon. He devoured the mess without +salt, ravenously. He topped off with the scant +swallow of brandy left in his flask.</p> +<p>Stimulated by the food and drink, he set about +gathering a large heap of wood. Three or four coyotes +had approached his camp, attracted by the scent of +the calf meat. With the fading of twilight into night +they came in closer, making such a racket with their +yelping and wailing that he thought himself surrounded +by a pack of ravenous wolves.</p> +<p>He could not see how his pony was unconcernedly +grazing within a few yards of one of the cowardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +beasts. Had the wistful singers been timber wolves, +the animal soon would have come hobbling in near the +fire; but Ashton did not know that. He flung on +brush and crouched down near the blaze, rifle in hand, +peering out into the blackness. Every moment he +expected to hear that terrible cry of which he had read, +the death-scream of a horse, and then to hear the +crunching of bones between the jaws of the ferocious +wolves.</p> +<p>He had spent the previous night alone in camp, +peacefully sleeping. But then the yells of the beasts +of darkness had been far away, and the walls of his +tent had shut him in from the wild. Tonight his +nerves had been shattered by the terrible blow of +his father’s repudiation. Worst of all, he had no +tobacco with which to soothe them.</p> +<p>His dread of the supposed wolf pack in a way eased +the anguish of his ruin by diverting his mind. But +the lack of cigarettes served only to put a more frightful +strain on his overwrought nerves. He felt it first +in a vague discomfort that set his hands to groping +automatically through his pockets. The absence of +the usual box roused his consciousness, with a dismayed +start, to the realization that he was absolutely +without his soothing drug. The absconding guide +and valet had taken the large store he had in camp, +and, to please Miss Knowles, he had flung away all +that were left in his pockets. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>From vague fumbling he instantly concentrated his +mind on an eager search for a packet that might have +been overlooked, either in his pockets or around the +camp. He could find none, nor even a single cigarette. +His nerves were now clamoring wildly for +their soothing poison. So great was the strain that it +began to affect his mind. He fancied that the wolf +pack was closing in to attack him. Twice he fired his +rifle at imaginary eyes out in the darkness.</p> +<p>All the time the craving for nicotine increased in +intensity, until he was half frantic. Midnight found +him, torch in hand, crawling around on the ground +where his tent had been pitched, hunting for cigarette +stubs. He had only to look close in order to find any +number. Most were no more than cork tips, but some +had at least one puff left in them, and a few had been +only half smoked.</p> +<p>Beside the bed he came upon almost a handful, close +together. By this time his jangled nerves were “toning +down.” He became conscious of great weariness. +He stretched out on his leafy bed, and with his head +pillowed on his arm, luxuriously sucked in the drugging +smoke.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_A_TEST_OF_CALIBER' id='CHAPTER_VI_A_TEST_OF_CALIBER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>A TEST OF CALIBER</h3> +</div> +<p>When he opened his eyes the sun was beating +down into his face. He had slept far into the +morning. He stood up to stare around. His horse +was cropping the grass near the lower side of the +grove. There was no sign of any wolves. He +walked over to his fireplace. The fire had burned to +ashes hours ago. He started a fresh one with his +patent lighter, and turned to where he had left the +veal. It was gone.</p> +<p>He went a few steps farther, and found a bone +gnawed clean of every shred of meat and gristle. A +fox is a far less cunning thief than a coyote. The +quantity of calf meat had alone saved his saddle and +bridle, and even at that, one of the bridle reins was +slashed and the stirrup leathers were gnawed. He +looked from the white bone to the saddle, and ripped +out a half dozen vigorous Anglo-Saxon oaths. It was +not nice, but the explosion argued a far healthier +frame of mind than either his morbid hysteria of the +previous afternoon or his frenzy of the night.</p> +<p>After the outburst of anger had spent itself, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +realized that he was hungry. The feeling became +acute when he remembered that he had absolutely +nothing on hand to eat. He hastened to saddle up. +As he was about to mount he paused to look uncertainly +up the trail on which he had thrown away the +cigarettes. While he stood vacillating, his hand went +to his hip pocket and drew out the silver-cased brandy +flask. He looked at it, and its emptiness reminded +him that he was thirsty. He went down to the pool +for a drink. Having filled his flask, he returned up +the bank and sprang into the saddle.</p> +<p>His horse, in fine fettle after the night’s rest and +grazing, started off on the jump, cow pony fashion. +Ashton gave him his head, and the horse bore him at +a steady lope down along the stream, crossing over to +the other bank of the dry bed, of his own volition, +when the going became too rough on the near side. +The direction of the railway was now off across the +sagebrush flats to Ashton’s right, but he allowed his +horse to continue on down the creek. About four +miles from the waterhole he approached a bunch of +grazing cattle. He drew rein and walked his horse +past them, looking for a herder. There was none in +sight. The animals were on their home range. He +rode on down the creek at a canter.</p> +<p>A mile farther on, as he neared another scattered +bunch of cattle, something thwacked the dry ground +a little in front and to the left of him, throwing up a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +splash of sand and dust. His pony snorted and +leaped ahead at a quickened pace.</p> +<p>Ashton turned to look back at the spot––and instinctively +ducked as a bullet pinged past his ear so +close that he felt the windage on his cheek. He did +not lack quickness of perception. He glanced up the +open slope to his left, and grasped the fact that someone +was shooting at him with a rifle from the crest of +the ridge half a mile distant.</p> +<p>Instantly he flung himself flat on his pony’s neck +and dug in his spurs. The pony bounded forward +with a suddenness that spoiled the aim of the third +bullet. It whined past over the beast’s haunches. +The fourth shot, best aimed of all, smashed the silver +brandy flask in Ashton’s hip pocket. Had he been +upright in the saddle, the steel-jacketed bullet must +have pierced him through the waist.</p> +<p>With a yell of terror, he flattened himself still +closer to his pony’s neck and dug in his spurs at every +jump. The beast was already going at a pace that +would have won most quarter-mile sprints. Just after +the fourth shot he swept in among the scattered bunch +of cattle, running at his highest speed. Still Ashton +swung his sharp-roweled spurs. He knew that the +range of a high-power rifle is well over a mile.</p> +<p>To his vast surprise, the shooting ceased the moment +he raced into line with the first steer. The short +respite gave him time to recover his wits. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>As the pony sprinted clear of the last steer in the +bunch, a fifth bullet ranged close down over Ashton’s +head. He pulled hard on the right rein and leaned +the same way. The sixth shot burned the skin on +the pony’s hip as he swerved suddenly towards the +edge of the creek channel. He made a wild leap out +over the edge of the cut bank and came plunging down +on a gravel bar. At once he started to race along the +dry stream bed. But instead of spurring, Ashton now +tugged at the bridle.</p> +<p>The pony swung to the left and came to a halt close +in under the bank. Ashton cautiously straightened +from his crouch. When erect he was just high enough +to see over the edge of the bank. Looking back and +up the ridge, he saw the figure of a man clearly outlined +against the sky. His lips closed in resolute +lines; his dark eyes flashed. Jerking out his rifle, he +set the sight for fifteen hundred yards, and began +firing at the would-be murderer as coolly and steadily +as a marksman.</p> +<p>Before he had pulled the trigger the third time the +man leaped sideways and knelt to return his fire. At +once Ashton gripped his rifle still more firmly and +drew back the automatic lever. The crackling discharge +was like the fire of a miniature Maxim gun. +Puffs of dust spouted up all around the man on the +ridge crest. He sprang to his feet and ran back out +of sight, jumping from side to side like an Indian. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></p> +<p>“Ho!” shouted Ashton. “He’s running! I +made him run!”</p> +<p>He sat up very erect in his saddle, staring defiantly +at the place where the murderer had disappeared.</p> +<p>“The coward! I made him run!” he exulted.</p> +<p>He shifted his grip on his rifle, and the heat of the +barrel reminded him that he had emptied the magazine. +He reloaded the weapon to its fullest capacity, +and stood up in his stirrups to stare at the ridge crest. +The murderer did not reappear. Ashton’s exultance +gave place to disappointment. He was more than +ready to continue the duel.</p> +<p>He rode down the creek, searching for a place to +ascend the cut bank. But by the time he came to a +slope he had cooled sufficiently to realize the foolishness +of bravado. Not unlikely the murderer was +lying back out of sight, ready to shoot him when he +came up out of the creek. He reflected, and decided +that the going was quite good enough in the bottom +of the creek bed. He rode on down the channel, +over the gravel bars, at an easy canter.</p> +<p>After a half mile the bank became so low and the +creek bed so sandy that he turned up on to the dry +sod. As he did so he kept his eye warily on the now +distant ridge. But no bullet came pinging down after +him.</p> +<p>Instead, he heard the thud of galloping hoofs, and +twisted about just in time to see a rider top a rise a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +short distance in front of him. He snapped down his +breech sight and faced the supposed assailant with the +rifle ready at his shoulder. Almost as quickly he +lowered the weapon and snatched off his sombrero in +joyful salute. The rider was Miss Knowles.</p> +<p>She waved back gayly and cantered up to him, her +lovely face aglow with cordial greeting.</p> +<p>“Good noon!” she called. “So you have come at +last? But better late than never.”</p> +<p>“How could I help coming?” he gallantly exclaimed.</p> +<p>“I see. The coyotes stole your cutlets, and you +were hungry,” she bantered, as she came alongside +and whirled her horse around to ride with him down +the creek.</p> +<p>“How did you guess?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I know coyotes,” she replied. “They’re the +worst––” She stopped short, gazing at the bleeding +flanks of his pony. “Oh, Mr. Ashton! how could +you? I did not think you so cruel!”</p> +<p>“Cruel?” he repeated, twisting about to see what +she meant. “Ah, you refer to the spurring. But I +simply couldn’t help it, you know. There was a +bandit taking pot shots at me as I passed the ridge +back there.”</p> +<p>“A bandit––on Dry Mesa?” she incredulously +exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Yes; he pegged at me eight or nine times.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>The girl smiled. “You probably heard one of the +punchers shooting at a coyote.”</p> +<p>“No,” he insisted, flushing under her look. “The +ruffian was shooting at me. See here.”</p> +<p>He put his hand to his left hip pocket, one side of +which had been torn out. From it he drew his +brandy flask.</p> +<p>“That was done by the third or fourth shot,” he +explained. “Do you wonder I was flat on my pony’s +neck and spurring as hard as I could?”</p> +<p>The girl took the flask from his outstretched hand +and looked it over with keen interest. In one side of +the silver case was a small, neat hole. Opposite it +half of the other side had been burst out as if by an +explosion within. She took off the silver cap, shook +out the shattered glass of the inner flask, and looked +again at the small hole.</p> +<p>“A thirty-eight,” she observed.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” he replied. “I fail to––Ah, yes; +thirty-eight caliber, you mean.”</p> +<p>“It is I who must ask pardon,” she said in frank +apology. “Your rifle is a thirty-two. I heard a +number of shots, ending with the rattle of an automatic. +Thought you were after another deer.”</p> +<p>He could afford to smile at the merry thrust and the +flash of dimples that accompanied it.</p> +<p>“At least it wasn’t a calf this time,” he replied. +“Nor was it a doe. But it may have been a buck.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>“Indian?” she queried, with instant perception of +his play on the word.</p> +<p>“I didn’t see any war plumes,” he admitted.</p> +<p>“War plumes? Oh, that <i>is</i> a joke!” she exclaimed. +She chanced to look down at the shattered +flask, and her merriment vanished. “But this isn’t +any joke. Didn’t you see the man who was shooting +at you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, after I jumped my pony down into the creek. +Perhaps the bandit thought he had tumbled us both. +He stood up on top the ridge, until I cut loose and +made him run.”</p> +<p>“He ran?”</p> +<p>Ashton’s eyes sparkled at the remembrance, and his +chest began to expand. Then he met the girl’s clear, +direct gaze, and answered modestly: “Well, you +see, when I had got down behind the bank our positions +were reversed. He was the one in full view. +It’s curious, though, Miss Knowles––shooting at +that poor calf, under the impression it was a deer, I +simply couldn’t hold my rifle steady, while––”</p> +<p>“No wonder, if it was your first deer,” put in the +girl. “We call it buck fever.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but wouldn’t you have thought my first +bandit––Why, I couldn’t have aimed at him more +steadily if I had been made of cast iron.”</p> +<p>“Guess he had made you fighting mad,” she bantered; +but under her seeming levity he perceived a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +change in her manner towards him immensely gratifying +to his humbled self-esteem.</p> +<p>“At first I was just a trifle apprehensive––” He +hesitated, and suddenly burst out with a candid confession––“No, +not a trifle! Really, I was horribly +frightened!”</p> +<p>This was more than the girl had hoped from him. +She nodded and smiled in open approval. “You had +a good right to be frightened. I don’t blame you for +spurring that way. Look. It wasn’t only one shot +that came close. There’s a neat hair brand on your +hawss’s hip that wasn’t there yesterday.”</p> +<p>“Must have been the shot just before we took the +bank,” said Ashton, twisting about to look at the +streak cut by the bullet. “The first was the only +other one that didn’t go higher.”</p> +<p>“But what did the man look like?” questioned Miss +Isobel. “I can’t imagine who––Can it be that +your guide has a grudge against you on account of his +pay?”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have thought it possible before yesterday, +though he was a surly fellow and inclined to be +insolent.”</p> +<p>“All such men are apt to be with tenderfeet,” she +remarked, permitting herself a half twinkle of her +sweet eyes. “But I should have thought yours would +have kept on going. Whatever you may have owed +him, he had no right to steal your outfit. He must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +be a real badman, if it’s true he is the party who did +this shooting.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” agreed Ashton. +In her concern over him she looked so charming that +he would have agreed if she had told him the moon +was made of green cheese.</p> +<p>She shook her head thoughtfully, and went on: +“I can’t imagine even one of our badmen trying to +murder you that way. Their usual course would be +to come up to you, face to face, pick a quarrel, and +beat you to it on the draw. But whoever the cowardly +scoundrel is, we’ll turn out the boys, and either +run him down or out of the country.”</p> +<p>“If it’s my guide, he probably is running already.”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” replied the girl.</p> +<p>“You do! Don’t you want him punished?” exclaimed +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Of course, but you see I don’t want Kid to––to +cut another notch on his Colt’s.”</p> +<p>“I must say, I cannot see how that––”</p> +<p>“You could if you realized how kind and good he +has been to me all these years. Do you know, when I +first came West, I couldn’t tell a jackrabbit from a +burro. Daddy had told me that each had big ears, +and I got them mixed. And actually I didn’t know +the off from the nigh side of a hawss!”</p> +<p>“But we––er––have horses and riding-schools in +the East,” put in Ashton. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>She parried the indirect question without seeming +to notice it. “You proved that yesterday, coming +down from High Mesa. I felt sure I would have you +pulling leather.”</p> +<p>“Pulling leather?” he asked. “You see, I own to +my tenderfootness.”</p> +<p>“Grabbing your saddle to hold yourself on,” she +explained. Before he could reply, she rose in her +stirrups and pointed ahead with her quirt. “Look, +that’s the top of the biggest haystack, up by the feed-sheds. +You’ll see the buildings in half a minute.”</p> +<p>Unheeded by Ashton, she had guided him off to the +left, away from Dry Fork, across the angle above its +junction with Plum Creek. They were now coming +up over the divide between the two streams. Ashton +failed to locate the haystack until its two mates and +the long, half-open shelter-sheds came into view.</p> +<p>A moment later he was looking at the horse corral +and the group of log ranch houses. Below and +beyond them the scattered groves of Plum Creek +stretched away up across the mesa––green bouquets +on the slender silver ribbon of the creek’s midsummer +rill.</p> +<p>“Well?” she asked. “What do you think of my +home?”</p> +<p>“Your summer home,” he suggested.</p> +<p>“No, my real home,” she insisted. “Auntie +couldn’t be nicer or fonder than she is; but her house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +is a residence, not a home, even to her. Anyway, +here, where I have Daddy and Kid––I do so hope +you and Kid will become friends.”</p> +<p>“Since you wish it, I shall try to do my part. But +it is a matter that might take time, and––” he +smiled ruefully and concluded with seeming irrelevance––“I +have no home.”</p> +<p>She gazed at him with the look of tender motherly +sympathy that he had been too distraught to really +feel the previous day. “Do not say that, Mr. Ashton! +Though a ranch house is hardly the kind of +home to which you are accustomed, you will find that +we range folks retain the old-fashioned Western ideas +of hospitality.”</p> +<p>“My dear Miss Knowles!” he exclaimed with +ardent gallantry, “the mere thought of being under +the same sky with you––”</p> +<p>“Don’t, please,” she begged. “This <i>is</i> the blue +sky we are under, not a stuccoed ceiling.”</p> +<p>“Well, I really meant it,” he protested, greatly +dashed.</p> +<p>“Kid often says nice things to me. But he speaks +with his hands,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“Deaf and dumb alphabet?” he queried wonderingly.</p> +<p>“Hardly,” she answered, dimpling under his +puzzled gaze. “Actions speak louder than words, +you know.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>“Ah!” he murmured, and his look indicated that +she had given him food for thought.</p> +<p>They were now cantering down the long easy slope +towards the ranch buildings. The girl’s quick eye +perceived a horseman riding towards the ranch from +one of the groves up Plum Creek.</p> +<p>“There’s Kid coming in,” she remarked. “He +went out early this morning after a big wolf that had +killed a calf. He reported last evening that he found +the carcass over near the head of Plum Creek. A +wolf that gets to killing calves this time of year is a +pretty costly neighbor. Daddy told Kid to go out +and try to get him.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you didn’t let him get <i>this</i> calf-killer,” +observed Ashton.</p> +<p>“Oh, as soon as we saw your tenderfoot riding +togs––!” she rejoined. “Seriously, though, you +must not mind if the men poke a little fun at you. +Most of them are more farmhands than cowboys, but +Kid will be apt to lead off. I do so want you to be +agreeable to Kid. He is almost a member of the +family, not a hired man.”</p> +<p>“I shall try to be agreeable to him,” replied Ashton, +a trifle stiffly.</p> +<p>The puncher had seen them probably before they +saw him. He was riding at a pace that brought him +to the horse corral a few moments ahead of them. +When they came up he nodded carelessly in response +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +to Ashton’s studiously polite greeting, “Good day, +Mr. Gowan,” and turned to loosen the cinch of his +saddle.</p> +<p>“You’ve been riding some,” remarked the girl, +looking at the puncher’s heaving, lathered horse.</p> +<p>“Jumped that wolf––ran him,” replied Gowan, +as he lifted off his saddle and deftly tossed it up on +the top rail of the corral.</p> +<p>“You’re in luck,” congratulated Miss Isobel. She +explained to Ashton: “The cattlemen in this county +pay fifteen dollars for wolf scalps. That’s in addition +to the state bounty.”</p> +<p>Ashton sprang off to offer her his hand. But she +was on the ground as soon as he. Gowan stared at +him between narrowed lids, and replied to the girl +somewhat shortly: “I didn’t get him this time, +Miss Chuckie.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t? That’s too bad! You don’t often +miss. I wish you had been with me, to run down the +scoundrel who tried to murder Mr. Ashton.”</p> +<p>Gowan burst into the harsh, strained laughter of +one who seldom gives way to mirth. He checked +himself abruptly and cast a hostile look at Ashton. +“By––James, Miss Chuckie, you don’t mean to say +you let a tenderfoot string you?”</p> +<p>“How about this?” asked the girl. She held out +the silver flask, which she had not returned to Ashton.</p> +<p>Gowan gave it a casual glance, and answered almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +jeeringly: “Easy enough for him to set it up and +plug it––if he didn’t get too far away.”</p> +<p>“His rifle is a thirty-two. This was done by a +thirty-eight,” she replied.</p> +<p>“Thirty-eight?” he repeated. “Let’s see.” He +took the flask from her, drew a rifle cartridge from +his belt, and fitted the steel-jacketed bullet into the +clean, small hole. “You’re right, Miss Chuckie. +It shore was a thirty-eight.” He turned sharply on +Ashton. “Where’d it happen? Who was it?”</p> +<p>“Over on that dry stream,” answered Ashton. +“Unfortunately the fellow was too far away for me +to be able to describe him.”</p> +<p>“But we think it may have been his guide,” explained +the girl.</p> +<p>“Guide?” muttered Gowan, staring intently at +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes. You see, if he was mean enough to help +steal Mr. Ashton’s outfit, he––”</p> +<p>“Shore, I savvy!” exclaimed the puncher. “I’ll +rope a couple of fresh hawsses, and go out with Mr. +Ashton after the two-legged wolf.”</p> +<p>“That’s like you, Kid! But you must wait at least +until you’ve both had dinner. Mr. Ashton, I’m sure, +is half starved.”</p> +<p>“Me, too, Miss Chuckie. But you know I’d +rather eat a wolf or a rustler or even a daring desperado +than sinkers and beans, any day.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></p> +<p>“You’ll come in with us and see what Daddy has +to say about it,” the girl insisted.</p> +<p>She started to loosen her saddle-cinch. Gowan +handed back the silver flask, and stripping off saddle +and bridle from her horse, placed them on the rail +beside his own. Ashton waited, as if expecting a like +service. The puncher started off beside Miss Isobel +without looking at him. Ashton flushed hotly, and +hastened to do his own unsaddling.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_THE_CHANCE_OF_RECLAMATION' id='CHAPTER_VII_THE_CHANCE_OF_RECLAMATION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>THE CHANCE OF RECLAMATION</h3> +</div> +<p>Beyond the bunkhouse, which was the nearest +building to the corral, stood the low but roomy +log structure of the main ranch house. As Ashton +came around the front corner, close behind Gowan +and the girl, Knowles rose from his comfortable chair +in the rustic porch, knocked out the half burned contents +of his pipe and extended a freckled, corded hand +to the stranger.</p> +<p>“Howdy, Mr. Ashton! Glad to see you!” he +said with hearty hospitality. “Hope you’ve come to +ease up our lonesomeness by a month or two’s visit.”</p> +<p>“Why, I––You’re too kind, really!” replied +Ashton, his voice quavering and breaking at the unexpected +cordiality of the welcome. “If you––I shall +take advantage of your generous offer. You see, I’m +rather in a box, owing to my––” He caught himself +up, and tightened his slackening lip. “But you’ll +pardon me if I ask you to let me do something in return +for your hospitality.”</p> +<p>“We don’t sell our hospitality on the range,” +brusquely replied the cowman. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></p> +<p>“Oh, no, no, I did not mean––I could not pay a +penny. I’m utterly destitute––a––a pauper!” A +spasm of bitter despair contorted his handsome face.</p> +<p>Knowles and the girl hastily looked away from him, +that they might not see him in his weakness. But he +rallied and forced a rather unsteady laugh at himself. +“You see, I haven’t quite got used to it yet. +I’ve always had money. I never really had to work. +Now I must learn to earn a living. It’s very good of +you, Mr. Knowles, but––there’s that veal. If only +you’ll let me work out what I owe you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t owe me a cent for the yearling,” gruffly +replied the cowman. “Don’t know what I could put +you at, anyway.”</p> +<p>“Might use him to shoo off the rattlers and jackrabbits +from in front the mowing machine,” suggested +Gowan.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ashton can ride,” interposed the girl, with a +friendliness of tone that brought Gowan to a thin-lipped +silence.</p> +<p>“That’s something,” said Knowles, gazing speculatively +at the slim aristocratic figure of the tenderfoot. +“You’re not built for pitching hay, but like +as not you have the makings of a puncher. Ever +throw a rope?”</p> +<p>“Never. I shall start practicing the art––at +once.”</p> +<p>“No, not until you and Kid have had dinner,” gayly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +contradicted the girl. “We’ve had ours. But Yuki +always has something ready. Kid, if you’ll show Mr. +Ashton where to wash, I’ll tell Yuki.”</p> +<p>She darted through the open doorway into the +house. At a curt nod from Gowan, Ashton followed +him around to the far side of the house, leaving +Knowles in the act of hastily reloading his pipe. Under +a lean-to that covered a door in the side of the +house was a barrel of water and a bench with two +basins. On a row of pegs above hung a number of +towels, all rumpled but none dirty.</p> +<p>Gowan pointed to a box of unused towels, and proceeded +to lather and wash himself. Ashton took a +towel, and after rinsing out the second washbasin, +made as fastidious a toilet as the scant conveniences +of the place would permit. There were combs and a +fairly good mirror above the soap shelf. Gowan +went in by the side door, without waiting for his companion. +Ashton presently followed him, having +looked in vain for a razor to rid himself of his two +days’ growth of beard.</p> +<p>The long table told him that he had entered the +ranch mess-hall, or rather, dining-room. Though the +table was covered with oilcloth and the rough-hewn +logs of the outer walls were lime-plastered only in +the chinks, the seats were chairs instead of benches, +and between the gay Mexican <i>serape</i> drapes of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +clean windows hung several well-done water color +landscapes, appropriately framed in unbarked pine. +On the oiled deal floor were scattered half a dozen +Navajo rugs.</p> +<p>Gowan had taken a seat at one end of the table. +As Ashton sat down at the neatly laid place opposite +him, a silent, smiling, deft-handed Jap came in from +the kitchen with a heaping trayful of dishes. For the +most part, the food was ordinary ranch fare, but +cooked with the skill of a <i>chef</i>. The exceptions were +the fresh milk and delicious unsalted butter. On most +cattle ranches, the milk comes from “tin cows” and +the butter from oleomargarine tubs.</p> +<p>The two diners were well along in their meal, eating +as earnestly and as taciturnly as the Jap served, +when Miss Isobel came in with her father. The girl +had dressed for the afternoon in a gown of the latest +style, whose quiet color and simple lines harmonized +perfectly with her surroundings. She smiled impartially +at puncher, tenderfoot, and Jap.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Yuki. I see you did not keep our +hungry hunters waiting.––Mr. Ashton, I have told +Daddy about that shooting.”</p> +<p>“It’s a mighty strange happening. You might +tell us the full particulars,” said Knowles.</p> +<p>Ashton at once gave a fairly accurate account of the +affair. He could hardly exaggerate the peril he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +incurred, and the touch of exultance with which he +described his defeat of the murderer was quite pardonable +in a tenderfoot.</p> +<p>“Strange––mighty strange. Can’t understand +it,” commented the cowman when Ashton had finished +his account.</p> +<p>“It shore is, Mr. Knowles,” added Gowan. “The +only thirty-eight on the ranch is mine. That seems to +clear our people.”</p> +<p>“Of course! It could not possibly be any of our +people!” exclaimed the girl.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ashton thinks it might have been his guide,” +went on Gowan.</p> +<p>“His guide? What caliber was his rifle?” +shrewdly queried the cowman.</p> +<p>“Why, I––really I cannot remember,” answered +Ashton. “I know it was of a larger bore than mine, +but that is all.”</p> +<p>“Um-m,” considered Knowles. “Looks rather like +he’s the man. Can’t think of anyone else. Trouble +is, if he was laying in wait for you, his horse would be +fresh. Must have covered a right smart bit of territory +by now.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go out and take a look at his tracks,” said +Gowan, rising with a readiness that brought a nod of +approval from his employer.</p> +<p>“You’ll be careful, Kid,” cautioned the girl, with +a shade of concern in her tone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></p> +<p>“He’ll keep his eye open, Chuckie,” reassured her +father. “It’s the other fellow wants to be careful, +if he hasn’t already vamoosed. Hey, Kid?”</p> +<p>“I’ll get him, if I get the chance,” laconically replied +Gowan, looking from the girl to Ashton with the +characteristic straightening of his lips that marked the +tensing of his emotions.</p> +<p>As he left the room Miss Isobel smiled and nodded +to Ashton. “You see how friendly he is, in spite of +his cold manner to strangers. I thought he had taken +a dislike to you, yet you saw how readily he offered to +go out after your assailant.”</p> +<p>“More likely it’s because he thinks it would discredit +us to let such a scoundrel get away,” differed +her father. “However, he’ll leave you alone, Mr. +Ashton, if you stay with us as a guest, and will only +haze you a bit, if you insist upon joining our force.”</p> +<p>“You mean, working for you? I must insist on +that,” said Ashton, with an eager look at the girl. +“If only I can do well enough to be employed right +along!”</p> +<p>The cowman grunted, and winked solemnly at his +daughter. “Yes, I can understand your feeling that +way. How about the winter, though? You mayn’t +like it over here so well then.”</p> +<p>Ashton flushed and laughed at the older man’s +shrewdness; hesitated, and confessed candidly: “No, +I should prefer Denver in winter.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>Miss Isobel blushed in adorable payment of his compliment, +but thrust back at him: “We bar cowboys +in the Sacred Thirty-six.”</p> +<p>He winced. Her stroke had pierced into his raw +wound.</p> +<p>“Oh!––oh!” she breathlessly exclaimed. “I +didn’t mean to––Oh, I’m so sorry!”</p> +<p>He dashed the tears from his eyes. “No, you––don’t +apologize! It’s only that I’m––Please +don’t fancy I’m a baby! You see, when a fellow has +always lived high––on top, you know––and then to +have everything go out from under him without warning!”</p> +<p>“Keep a stiff upper lip, son,” advised Knowles. +“You’ll pull through all right. It isn’t everyone in +your fix that would be asking for work.”</p> +<p>Ashton laughed a trifle unsteadily. “It’s very kind +of you to say that, Mr. Knowles. I––I wish a +steady position, winter as well as summer.”</p> +<p>“How about Denver?” asked Knowles.</p> +<p>“That can wait,” replied Ashton. He met the +girl’s smile of approval, and rallied fully. “Yes, that +can wait––and so can I.”</p> +<p>Again the girl blushed, but she found a bantering +rejoinder: “With you and Kid and Daddy all waiting +for me to come home, I suppose I’ll have to cut +the season short.”</p> +<p>“The winters here are like those you read about up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +at the North Pole,” the cowman informed Ashton. +“But we get our sunshine back along in the spring.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Daddy! you’re a poet!” cried his daughter, +flinging her arm around his sunburnt neck.</p> +<p>“Wish I were one!” enviously sighed Ashton. +The cowman gave him a look that brought him to his +feet. “Mr. Knowles,” he hastened to ask, “if you’ll +kindly tell me what my work is to be this afternoon.”</p> +<p>The older man’s frown relaxed. “Did you come +out here from Stockchute?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Think you could find your way back?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes; though we wandered all around––But +surely, Mr. Knowles, you’ll not require me––”</p> +<p>“I want a man to ride over with some letters and +fetch the mail. I’ll need Gowan for work you can’t +do. Chuckie was to have gone; but I can’t let her +now, until we’re more sure about that man who shot +at you.”</p> +<p>“I see.”</p> +<p>“Well, have you got the nerve, in case the man is +loose over that way?”</p> +<p>Ashton’s eyes flashed. “I’ll go! Perhaps I’ll +get another crack at the scoundrel.”</p> +<p>“Keep cool. It’s ninety-nine chances in the hundred +he’s on the run and’ll keep going all week.”</p> +<p>“Shall I start now? As we came by a very roundabout +way––We went first in the opposite direction, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +and then skirted High Mesa down from the mountains. +So, you see, I may have a little difficulty––”</p> +<p>“No you won’t. There’s our wagon trail. Even +if you got off that, all you’d have to do would be to +keep headed for Split Peak. That’s right in line +with Stockchute. But you’ll not start till morning. I +haven’t got all my letters written. That’ll give you +all day to go and come. It’s only twenty-five miles +over there. Chuckie, you show this new puncher of +ours over the place, while I write those letters.”</p> +<p>“I’ll start teaching him how to throw a rope,” +volunteered the girl.</p> +<p>She led the way out through a daintily furnished +front room, in which Ashton observed an upright piano +and other articles of culture that he would never have +expected to come upon in this remote section. In +passing, the girl picked up a wide-brimmed lacy hat.</p> +<p>Once outside, she first took Ashton for a walk up +Plum Creek to where half a dozen men were at work +with a mowing machine and horse rakes making hay +of the rich bunch-grass.</p> +<p>“Daddy feeds all he can in winter,” she explained. +“The spring when I first came back from Denver I +cried so over the starving cattle that he promised to +always afterwards cut and stack all the hay he could. +And he has found it pays to feed well. We would put +a lot of land into oats, but, as you see, there’s not +enough water in the creek.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>“That’s where an irrigation system would come +in,” remarked Ashton.</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope you don’t think it possible to water +our mesa!” she cried. “I told you how it would +break up our range.”</p> +<p>“I assure you, I don’t think at all,” he replied. +“I’m not a reclamation engineer––never specialized +on hydraulics.”</p> +<p>She flashed an odd look at him. “You never? +But Mr. Blake––that wonderful engineer of the +Zariba Dam––he would know, wouldn’t he?”</p> +<p>“I––suppose he would––that is, if he––” Ashton +hesitated, and exclaimed, “But that’s just it!”</p> +<p>“What?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Why, to––to have him come here. He’s the +luckiest for blundering on ways to do things,” muttered +Ashton. He added with growing bitterness: +“Yes, if there’s any way at all to do it, you’d have +him flooding your whole range––deluging it. He’s +got all those millions to back him.”</p> +<p>“You do not like him,” said the girl. She looked +off towards High Mesa, her face glowing with suppressed +excitement. “No doubt you are right––as +to his ability. But––don’t you see?––if it can be +done, it is bound to be done sooner or later. All the +time Daddy and I––and Kid, too––are living under +this constant dread that it may be possible. But if +such an engineer as––as Mr. Blake came and looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +over the situation and told us we needn’t fear––don’t +you see how––?”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean that you––?” Ashton, in turn, +left his question unfinished and averted his face.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “I’m sure it will be best to +put an end to this uncertainty. So I believe I shall +send for––for Mr. Blake.”</p> +<p>“But––why for––for him––in particular?” he +stammered.</p> +<p>“I am sorry you dislike him,” she said, regaining +her composure when she saw that he too was agitated.</p> +<p>He did not reply. She tactfully changed the subject. +By the time they had circled around, back to the half +open feed-sheds, he was gayly chatting with her on +music and the drama. When they came down to the +horse corral she proceeded to lecture him on the duties +of a cowboy and showed him how to hold and throw +a rope. Under her skillful tuition, he at last learned +the knack of casting an open noose.</p> +<p>Evening was near when they returned to the house. +As before, they caught Knowles in the front porch contentedly +puffing at his pipe. He dropped it down out +of sight. The girl shook her finger at him, nodded to +Ashton, and went indoors. Immediately the cowman +put his pipe back into his mouth and drew another from +his pocket, together with an unopened sack of tobacco.</p> +<p>“Smoke?” he asked.</p> +<p>Ashton’s eyes gleamed. In the girl’s presence he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +had been able to restrain the fierce craving that had +tortured him since dinner. Now it so overmastered +him that he almost snatched the pipe and tobacco out +of the cowman’s hand. The latter gravely shook his +head.</p> +<p>“Got it that bad, have you?” he deplored.</p> +<p>Ashton could not answer until his pipe was well under +way.</p> +<p>“I’m––I’m breaking off,” he replied. “Haven’t +had a cigarette all day––nor anything else. A-ah!”</p> +<p>“Glad you like it,” said Knowles. “A pipe is all +right with this kind of tobacco. You can’t inhale it +like you can cigarettes, unless you want to strangle.”</p> +<p>“I shall break off entirely as soon as I can,” asserted +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Well,” considered Knowles, “I’m not saying you +can’t or won’t. It’s mighty curious what a young fellow +can do to please a pretty girl. Just the same, I’d +say from the color of Kid’s fingers that he hasn’t forgotten +how to roll a fat Mexican <i>cigaretto</i>.––Hello! +‘Talk of the devil––’ Here he comes now.”</p> +<p>Gowan came around the corner of the house, his +spurs jingling. His eyes were as cold and his face as +emotionless as usual.</p> +<p>“Well?” asked Knowles. “Have a seat.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t get him,” reported Gowan, dropping into +a chair. “Near as I could make out, he cut straight +across for the railroad, on the jump.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>“Then it must have been that guide!” exclaimed +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Looks that way,” added Knowles. “Glad of it. +We won’t see him again, unless you want to notify the +sheriff, when you ride over tomorrow.”</p> +<p>“No, oh, no. I am satisfied to be rid of him.”</p> +<p>“If he don’t come back,” remarked Gowan.</p> +<p>“He won’t,” predicted Knowles.</p> +<p>“Well, not for a time maybe,” agreed Gowan.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_A_MANS_SIZE_HORSE' id='CHAPTER_VIII_A_MANS_SIZE_HORSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>A MAN’S SIZE HORSE</h3> +</div> +<p>At dusk the sonorous boom of a Japanese gong +gave warning of the approach of the supper hour. +A few minutes later a second booming summoned all +in to the meal. Miss Isobel sat at one end of the +table; her father at the other. Along the sides were +the employés, Ashton and Gowan at the corners nearest +the girl. A large coal oil lamp with an artistic +shade cast a pink light on the clean white oilcloth of +the table and the simple tasteful table service.</p> +<p>Yuki, the silent Jap, served all with strict impartiality, +starting with the mistress of the house and going +around the table in regular succession, either one way +or the other. The six rough-appearing haymakers +used their knives with a freedom to which Ashton was +unaccustomed, but their faces were clean, their behavior +quiet, and their occasional remarks by no means +inapt.</p> +<p>After the meal they wished Miss Knowles a pleasant +“Good-night,” and left for the bunkhouse. But Ashton +and Gowan, at the smiling invitation of the girl, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +followed her into the front room. Knowles came in +a few minutes later and, with scarcely a glance at the +young people, settled down beside a tableful of periodicals +and magazines to study the latest Government report +on the reclamation service.</p> +<p>Ashton had entered the “parlor” under the impression +that here he would have Gowan at a disadvantage. +To his surprise, the puncher proved to be quite at +ease; his manners were correct and his conversation by +no means provincial. A moment’s reflection showed +Ashton that this could not well be otherwise, in view +of the young fellow’s intimacy with Miss Chuckie Isobel.</p> +<p>Another surprise was the discovery that Gowan had +a remarkably good ear for music and knew even more +than the girl about the masters and their works. +There was a player attachment to the piano, and the +girl and Gowan had a contest, playing the same selections +in turn, to see which could get the most expression +by means of the mechanical apparatus. If anything, +the girl came out second best. At least she said so; but +Ashton would not admit it.</p> +<p>Between times the three chatted on a thousand and +one topics, the girl always ready to bubble over with +animation and merriment. She bestowed her dimpled +smiles on both her admirers with strict impartiality and +as impartially stimulated each to his best with her +tact and gay wit. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></p> +<p>At nine o’clock sharp Knowles closed his report and +rose from his comfortable seat.</p> +<p>“Time to turn in, boys. Coal oil costs more than +sunlight,” he announced, in the flat tone of a standing +joke. “We’ll take a jog down creek to the Bar-Lazy-J +ranch, first thing tomorrow, Kid.––Ashton, +you’d better start off in the cool, before sunup. +Here’s my bunch of letters, case I might forget them.”</p> +<p>He handed over half a dozen thinly padded envelopes. +Gowan was already at the door, hat in hand.</p> +<p>“Good night, Mr. Knowles. Good night, Miss +Chuckie. Pleasant dreams!” he said.</p> +<p>“Same to you, Kid!” replied the girl.</p> +<p>“May I give and receive the same?” asked Ashton.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she answered. “But wait a moment, +please. I’ve some letters to go, myself, if you’ll +kindly take them with Daddy’s.”</p> +<p>As she darted into a side room, Knowles stepped +out after Gowan. When the girl returned, Ashton +took the letters that she held out to him and deliberately +started to tie them in a packet with those +of her father. His sole purpose was to prolong his +stay to the last possible moment. But inadvertently +his eye caught the name “Blake” on one of the envelopes. +His smile vanished; his jaw dropped.</p> +<p>“Why, Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?” said +the girl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p> +<p>“I––I beg your pardon,” he replied. “I did not +realize that––But it’s too absurd––it can’t be! +You did not mean what you said this afternoon. It +can’t be you’re writing to that man to come here.”</p> +<p>“I am,” she replied.</p> +<p>“But you can’t––you must not. He’s the very +devil for doing impossible things. He’ll be sure to +turn loose a flood on you––drown you out––destroy +your range!”</p> +<p>“If it can be done, the sooner we know it the better,” +she argued. “Daddy says little, but it is becoming +a monomania with him––the dread. I wish +to put an end to his suspense. Besides, if––if this +Mr. Blake is as remarkable as you and the reports say +he is, it will be interesting to meet him. My only +fear is that so great an engineer will not think it worth +while to come to this out-of-the-way section.”</p> +<p>“The big four-flusher!” muttered Ashton.</p> +<p>“How you must dislike him! It makes me all the +more curious to see him.”</p> +<p>“Does your father know about this letter?” queried +Ashton.</p> +<p>“You forget yourself, sir,” she said.</p> +<p>Meeting her level gaze, he flushed crimson with +mortification. He stood biting his lip, unable to +speak.</p> +<p>She went on coldly: “I do not ask you to tell me +the cause of your hatred for Mr. Blake. I assume +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +that you are a gentleman and will not destroy my letter. +But even if you should do so, it would mean only +a short delay. I shall write him again if I receive no +reply to this.”</p> +<p>Ashton’s flush deepened. “I did not think you could +be so hard. But––I presume I deserved it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you did,” she agreed, with no lessening of +her coldness.</p> +<p>“I see you will not accept an apology, Miss +Knowles. However, I give you my word that I will +deliver your letter to the postmaster at Stockchute.”</p> +<p>He started out, very stiff and erect. As he passed +through the doorway she suddenly relented and called +after him: “Good night, Mr. Ashton! Pleasant +dreams!”</p> +<p>He wheeled and would have stepped back to reply +had not Knowles spoken to him from the darkness at +the end of the porch: “This way, Ashton. Kid is +waiting to show you to the bunkhouse. You’ll find +a clean bunk and new blankets. I’ve also issued you +corduroy pants and a pair of leather chaps from the +commissary. Those city riding togs aren’t hardly the +thing on the range. There’s a spare saddle, if you +want to change off from yours.”</p> +<p>“Thank you for the other things; but I prefer my +own saddle,” replied Ashton.</p> +<p>He now perceived the dim form of Gowan starting +off in the starlight, and followed him to the bunkhouse. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +The other men were already in their beds, +fast asleep and half of them snoring. Gowan silently +lit a lantern and showed the tenderfoot to an unoccupied +bunk in the far corner of the rough but clean +building. After a curt request for Ashton to blow out +the lantern when through with the light, he withdrew, +to tumble into a bunk near the door.</p> +<p>Ashton removed twice as many garments as had the +puncher, and slipped in between his fresh new blankets, +after several minutes spent in finding out how to +extinguish the lantern. For some time he lay listening. +He had often read of the practical jokes that +cowboys are supposed always to play on tenderfeet. +But the steady concert of the snoring sleepers was unbroken +by any horseplay. Presently he, too, fell +asleep.</p> +<p>He was wakened by a general stir in the bunkhouse. +Day had not yet come, but by the light of a lantern +near the door he could see his fellow employés passing +out. He dressed as hastily as he could in his +gloomy corner, putting on his new trousers and the +stiff leather chapareras in place of his breeches and +leggings. Gowan came in, glanced at him with a +trace of surprise, and went out with the lantern.</p> +<p>Ashton followed to the house and around into the +side porch. The other men were making their morning +toilets by lantern light, each drying face and hands +on his own towel. Ashton and Gowan waited their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +turn at the basins, and together went into the lamplit +dining-room, where the Jap cook was serving bacon, +coffee, and hot bread. Ashton lingered over his meal, +hoping to see Miss Isobel. But neither she nor her +father appeared.</p> +<p>Gowan had gone out with the other men. Presently +he came back to the side door and remarked in +almost a friendly tone: “Your hawss is ready whenever +you are, Ashton.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said Ashton, rising. “The poor old +brute must be rather stiff after the spurring I gave him +yesterday.”</p> +<p>Gowan did not reply. He had gone out again. +Somewhat nettled, Ashton hastened after him. +Dawn had come. The gray light in the east was +brightening to an exquisite pink. The clear twilight +showed the puncher waiting at the front of the house +beside a saddled horse. A glance showed Ashton that +the saddle and bridle were his own, but that the horse +was a big, rawboned beast.</p> +<p>“That’s not my pony,” he said.</p> +<p>“This here Rocket hawss ain’t <i>any</i> pony,” agreed +Gowan. “He’s a man’s size hawss. Ain’t afraid +you’ll drop too far when you fall off, are you?”</p> +<p>“You’re trying to get me on a bucking bronco!” +said Ashton, suspiciously eying the bony, wild-eyed +brute.</p> +<p>“He’s no outlaw,” reassured Gowan. “Most all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +our hawsses are liable to prance some when they’ve +et too many rattlers. But Miss Chuckie said you can +ride.”</p> +<p>“I can,” said Ashton, tightening the thong of his +sombrero down across the back of his head and buttoning +his coat.</p> +<p>“Roped this Rocket hawss for you because Mr. +Knowles wants his mail by sundown,” remarked +Gowan. “He shore can travel some when he feels +like it. Don’t know as you’ll need your spurs. +Here’s a five-spot Mr. Knowles said to hand you by +way of advance. Thought you might want to refresh +yourself over at Stockchute. Wouldn’t rather have +another saddle and bridle, would you?”</p> +<p>“Kindly thank Mr. Knowles for me,” said Ashton, +pocketing the five dollar bill. “No––the horse is +hard-mouthed, but I prefer my own saddle and bridle.”</p> +<p>He drew his rifle from its sheath, wiped the dew +from the butt, and tested the mechanism. The horse +cocked his ears, but stood motionless while the rifle +was taken out and replaced. Ashton picked up the +reins from the ground and threw them over the horse’s +head. The beast did not swing around, but his ewe +neck straightened and his entire body stiffened to a +peculiar rigidity.</p> +<p>Ashton tested the tightness of his saddle girth, and +paused to gaze at the closed front door of the house. +Aside from his saddle and burlesque sombrero, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +looked every inch a puncher, both in dress and in bearing. +But Miss Isobel missed the effect of his new +<i>ensemble</i>. She missed also the interesting spectacle +of his mounting.</p> +<p>If he had never ridden a cow pony he would have +been thrown and dragged the instant he put his foot in +the narrow metal stirrup. The horse was watching +him alertly, every muscle tense. Ashton smiled confidently, +spoke to the beast in a quiet tone, and pulled +on the off rein. The horse bent his head to the pull, +for the moment off his guard. In a twinkling Ashton +had his foot in the stirrup and was up in the saddle. +His toe slipped into the other stirrup as the horse +jumped sideways.</p> +<p>The leap was tremendous, but it failed to unseat +Ashton. It was instantly followed by other wild +jumps––whirling forward and sidelong leaps, interspersed +with frantic plunging and rearing. Gowan +looked on, agape with amazement. The tenderfoot +stuck fast on his flat little saddle and only once pulled +leather. Rocket was not a star bucker, but he had +thrown more than one half-baked cowboy.</p> +<p>Finding that he could not unseat his rider, the beast +suddenly gave over his plunging, and bolted at furious +speed down the smooth slope towards Plum Creek. +Before they had gone half a furlong Ashton realized +that he was on a blooded horse of unusual speed and +a runaway. He could not hope to pull down so tough-mouthed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +a beast with his ordinary curb. The best he +could do was to throw all his weight on the right rein. +Unable altogether to resist the steady tug at his head, +the racing horse gradually swerved until he was +headed across the mesa towards the jagged, snow-streaked +twin crests of Split Peak.</p> +<p>Horse and rider were still in the curve of their swift +flight when Isobel Knowles came out into the porch, +yawning behind her plump, sunbrowned hand. A +glance at Gowan cut the yawn short. She looked +alertly afield and at once caught sight of the runaway.</p> +<p>“Kid!––O-oh!” she cried. “Mr. Ashton!––on +Rocket!”</p> +<p>Gowan spun about to her with a guilty start, but +answered almost glibly: “You said he could ride, +Miss Chuckie.”</p> +<p>“He’ll––he’ll be killed!––Daddy!”</p> +<p>Knowles stepped out through the doorway, cocking +his big blue-barreled Colt’s. Gowan hastily +pointed towards the runaway. Knowles looked, and +dropped the revolver to his side. “What’s up?” he +growled.</p> +<p>“Kid––he––he put Mr. Ashton on Rocket!” +breathlessly answered his daughter.</p> +<p>“Sorry to contradict you, Miss Chuckie,” said +Gowan. “He put himself on.”</p> +<p>“He’s on yet,” dryly commented the cowman. +“May be something to that boy, after all.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>“But, Daddy!––”</p> +<p>“Now, just stop fussing yourself, honey. He and +Rocket are going smooth as axlegrease and bee-lining +for Stockchute. How did the hawss start off?––skittish?”</p> +<p>“Enough to make the tenderfoot pull leather,” +said Gowan.</p> +<p>“If he stuck at all, with that fool saddle––!” rejoined +Knowles. “Don’t you worry, honey. He sure +can fork a hawss––that tenderfoot.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” the girl sighed with relief. “If Rocket +started off bucking, and he kept his seat, of course it’s +all right. See him take that gully!”</p> +<p>“You sure gave me a start, honey, calling out that +way.––Well, Kid, it’s about time we were off. I’ll +get my hat.”</p> +<p>Gowan stepped nearer the girl as her father went +inside. “I’ll leave it to the tenderfoot to tell you, +Miss Chuckie. He’ll have to own up I gave him fair +warning. Told him he wouldn’t need his spurs, and +asked if he’d have another bit and saddle; but it +wasn’t any use. He’s the kind that won’t take advice.”</p> +<p>“I know you meant it as a joke, Kid. You did not +realize the danger of his narrow stirrups. Had he +been caught in mounting or had he been thrown, he +would almost certainly have been dragged. And for +you to give him our one ugly hawss!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>“You said he could ride,” the puncher defended +himself.</p> +<p>“I’ll forgive you for your joke––if he comes back +safe,” she qualified, without turning her gaze from the +now distant horse and rider.</p> +<p>Gowan started for the corral, the slight waddle of +his bowlegged gait rather more pronounced than +usual. When Knowles came out with his hat, the runaway +was well up on the divide towards Dry Fork. +Rocket was justifying his name.</p> +<p>In a few seconds the flying horse and rider had +disappeared down the far slope. The girl followed +her father and Gowan to the corral, and after they had +ridden off, she roped and saddled one of the three +horses in the corral. She mounted and was off on the +jump, riding straight for the nearest point on the +summit of the divide.</p> +<p>As, presently, she came up towards the top of the +rise, she gazed anxiously ahead towards Dry Fork. +Before she could see over the bend down to the creek +channel, she caught sight of a cloud of dust far out on +the mesa beyond the stream. She smiled with relief +and wheeled about to return. The tenderfoot had +safely crossed the stream bed. He would have Rocket +well in hand before they came to rough country.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_THE_SNAKE' id='CHAPTER_IX_THE_SNAKE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>THE SNAKE</h3> +</div> +<p>Early in the afternoon, having nothing else to do, +Isobel again saddled up and started off towards +Dry Fork. Her intention was to ride out on the road +to Stockchute and meet Ashton, if he was not too +late.</p> +<p>As she rode up one side of the divide, a hat appeared +over the bend of the other side. She could +not mistake the high peak of that comic opera sombrero. +Ashton was almost back to the ranch. Her +first thought was that he had gone part way, and +given up the trip. The big sombrero bobbed up and +down in an odd manner. She guessed the cause even +before Ashton’s head and body appeared, rising and +falling rhythmically. She stared as Rocket swept up +into view, covering the ground with a long-strided +trot.</p> +<p>Ashton waved to her. She waved back. A few +moments later they were close together. As she spun +her pony around, he pulled in his horse to a walk, patting +the beast’s neck and speaking to him caressingly.</p> +<p>“Back already?” she asked. “Surely, you’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +not been to Stockchute––Yes, you have!” Her +experienced eye was taking in every indication of his +horse’s condition. “He’s been traveling; but you’ve +handled him well.”</p> +<p>“He’s grand!” said Ashton. “Been putting him +through his paces. I suppose he is your father’s best +mount.”</p> +<p>“Daddy and Kid ride him when they’re in a hurry +or there’s no other horse handy.”</p> +<p>“You can’t mean––? Then perhaps I can have +him again occasionally.”</p> +<p>“You like him, really?”</p> +<p>“All he needs is a little management,” replied Ashton, +again patting the horse’s lean neck.</p> +<p>“If you wish to take him in hand, I’ll assign him to +you. No one else wants him.”</p> +<p>“As your rural deliveryman’s mount––” began +Ashton. He stopped to show the bulging bag slung +under his arm. “Here’s the mail. Do you wish +your letters now?”</p> +<p>“Thank you, no.”</p> +<p>“Here is this, however,” he said, handing her a +folded slip of paper.</p> +<p>She opened it and looked at the writing inside. It +was a receipt from the postmaster at Stockchute to +Lafayette Ashton for certain letters delivered for +mailing. The address of the letter to Thomas Blake +was given in full. The girl colored, bit her lip, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +murmured contritely: “You have turned the tables +on me. I deserved it!”</p> +<p>“Please don’t take it that way!” he begged. “My +purpose was merely to assure you the letter was +mailed. After all, I am a stranger, Miss Knowles.”</p> +<p>“No, not now,” she differed.</p> +<p>“It’s very kind of you to say it! Yet it’s just as +well for me to start off with no doubts in your mind, +in view of the fact that in two or three weeks––”</p> +<p>“Yes?” she asked, as he hesitated.</p> +<p>“I––Your father will hardly keep me more than +two weeks, unless––unless I make good,” he answered.</p> +<p>“I guess you needn’t worry about that,” she replied, +somewhat ambiguously.</p> +<p>He shrugged. “It is very good of you to say it, +Miss Knowles. I know I shall fail. Can you expect +anyone who has always lived within touch of millions, +one who has spent more in four years at college +than all this range is worth––He cut my allowance +repeatedly, until it was only a beggarly twenty-five +thousand.”</p> +<p>“Twenty-five thousand dollars!” exclaimed Isobel. +“You had all that to––to throw away in a single +year?”</p> +<p>“He cut me down to it the last year––a mere +bagatelle to what I had all the time I was at college +and Tech.,” replied Ashton, his eyes sparkling at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +recollection. “He wished me to get in thick with +the New Yorkers, the sons of the Wall Street leaders. +He gave me leave to draw on him without limit. I +did what he wished me to do,––I got in with the +most exclusive set. Ah-h!––the way I made the +dollars fly! Before I graduated I was the acknowledged +leader. What’s more, I led my class, too––when +I chose.”</p> +<p>“When you chose!” she echoed. “And now what +are you going to do?”</p> +<p>The question punctured his reminiscent elation. +He sagged down in his saddle. “I don’t know,” he +answered despondently. “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> To come +down to this––a common laborer for wages––after +<i>that</i>! When I think of it––when I think of it!”</p> +<p>“You are not to think of it again!” she commanded +with kindly severity. “What you are to remember +all the time is that you are now a man and honestly +earning your own living, and no longer a––a leech +battening on the sustenance produced by others.”</p> +<p>He winced. “Was that my fault?”</p> +<p>“No, it was your father’s. I marvel that he did +not utterly ruin you.”</p> +<p>“He has! In his last will he cuts me off with only +a dollar.”</p> +<p>“So that was it?––And you think that ruined you? +I say it saved you!” she went on with the same kindly +severity. “You were a parasite. Now the chance is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +yours to prove that you have the makings of a man. +You have started to prove it. You shall not stop +proving it. You are not going to be a quitter.”</p> +<p>“No!” he declared, straightening under her bright +gaze. “I will not quit. I will try my best to make +good as long as the chance is given me.”</p> +<p>“Now you’re talking!” she commended him +breezily.</p> +<p>“How could I do otherwise when you asked me?” +he replied with a grave sincerity far more complimentary +than mere gallantry.</p> +<p>She colored with pleasure and began to tell him of +the cattle and their ways.</p> +<p>When they reached the corral she complimented him +in turn by allowing him to offsaddle her horse. They +walked on down to the house and seated themselves +in the porch. As he opened the bag of mail for her +she noticed that her hand was empty and turned to +look back towards the corral.</p> +<p>“Your receipt from the postmaster,” she remarked; +“I must have dropped it.”</p> +<p>He sprang up. “If you wish to keep it, I shall +go back and find it for you.”</p> +<p>“No, oh, no; unless you want it yourself,” she replied.</p> +<p>“Not I. The matter is closed, thanks to your kindness,” +he declared, again seating himself.</p> +<p>He was right, in so far as they were concerned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +Yet the matter was not closed. That evening, when +Knowles and Gowan returned from their day of range +riding, the younger man noticed a crumpled slip of +paper lying against the foot of the corral post below +the place where he tossed up his saddle. He picked +it up and looked to see if it was of any value. An +oath burst from his thin-drawn lips.</p> +<p>“Shut up, Kid!” remonstrated Knowles. “I’m no +more squeamish than most, but you know I don’t like +any cussing so near Chuckie.”</p> +<p>“Look at this!” cried Gowan––“Enough to make +anybody cuss!”</p> +<p>He thrust out the slip of paper close before his employer’s +eyes. Knowles took it and read it through +with deliberate care.</p> +<p>“Well?” he said. “It’s a receipt from the postmaster +to Ashton for those letters I sent over by him. +What of it?”</p> +<p>“<i>Your</i> letters?” asked Gowan, taken aback. +“Did you write that one what is most particularly +mentioned, the one to that big engineer Blake?”</p> +<p>“No. What would I be doing, writing to him or +any engineer? They’re just the people I don’t want +to have any doings with.”</p> +<p>“Then if you didn’t write him, who did?” questioned +Gowan, his mouth again tightening.</p> +<p>“Why, I reckon you’ll have to do your own guessing, +Kid––unless it might be Ashton did it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>“That’s one leg roped,” said Gowan. “Can you +guess why he’d be writing to that engineer?”</p> +<p>“Lord, no. He may have the luck to know him. +Mr. Blake is a mighty big man, judging from all accounts; +but money stands for a lot in the cities and +back East, and Ashton’s father is one of the richest +men in Chicago. I looked it up in the magazine that +told about his helping to back the Zariba Dam project.”</p> +<p>“That’s another leg noosed––on the second +throw,” said Gowan. “Another try or two, and we’ll +have the skunk ready for hog-tying.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” exclaimed the cowman. “You’ve +got something up your sleeve.”</p> +<p>“No, it’s that striped skunk that’s doing the +crooked playing,” snapped Gowan. “Can’t you +savvy his game? It’s all a frame-up––his sending +off his guide and outfit, so’s to let on to you he’d been +busted up and kicked out by his dad. You take him in +to keep his pretty carcass from the coyotes––which +has saved them from being poisoned.”</p> +<p>“Now, look here, Kid, only trouble about you +you’re too apt to go off at half-cock. This young fellow +may not be––”</p> +<p>“He shore is a snake, Mr. Knowles, and this receipt +proves it on him,” broke in the puncher. “Ain’t +you taken him into your employ?––ain’t you treated +him like he was a man?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></p> +<p>“Well, ’tisn’t every busted millionaire would have +asked for work, and he seems to mean it.”</p> +<p>“Just a bluff! You don’t savvy the game yet. +Busted millionaire––<i>bah!</i> He’s the coyote of that +bunch of reclamation wolves. He comes out here to +sneak around and get the lay of things. We happen +to catch him rustling. To save his cussed carcass, he +lets out about who his dad is. Course he couldn’t +know we’d got all the reports on that Zariba Dam +and who backed the engineer, nor that we’d know all +about Blake.”</p> +<p>“Well?” asked Knowles, frowning.</p> +<p>“So he works us for suckers,––worms in here with +us where he can learn all about you and your holdings; +ropes a job with you, and gets off his report to +that engineer Blake, first time he rides over to town.”</p> +<p>“Is that all your argument?” asked Knowles.</p> +<p>“Ain’t it enough?” rejoined Gowan. “Ain’t he +and that bunch all in cahoots together? Ain’t this +sneaking cuss’s dad either the partner or the boss of +Blake? Ain’t Blake engaged in reclamation projects? +You shore see all that. What follows?––It’s all a +frame-up, I tell you. Young Ashton comes out here +as a sort of forerider for his concern; finds out what +his people want to know, and now he’s sent in his report +to Blake. Next thing happens, Blake’ll be +turning up with a surveying outfit.”</p> +<p>Knowles scratched his head. “Hum-m-m––You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +sure put up a mighty stiff argument, Kid. I’m not so +sure, though.... Um-m-m––Strikes me some of +your knots might be tighter. First place, there wasn’t +any play-acting about the way the boy went plumb to +pieces there at the waterhole. Next place, a man like +his father, that’s piled up a mint of money, isn’t +going to send out his son as forerider in a hostile +country. Lastly, I’ve read a lot more about that +engineer Blake than you have, and I’ve sized him up +as a man who won’t do anything that isn’t square and +open.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he ain’t in on the dirty side of the deal,” +admitted Gowan. “How about this letter, though?”</p> +<p>“Just a friendly writing, like as not,” answered the +cowman. “No, Kid––only trouble with you is +you’re too anxious over the interests of Dry Mesa +range. I appreciate it, boy, and so does Chuckie. +But that’s no reason for you to take every newcomer +for a wolf ’til he proves he’s only a dog.”</p> +<p>“You won’t do anything?” asked the puncher.</p> +<p>“What d’you want me to do?”</p> +<p>“Fire him––run him off Dry Mesa,” snapped +Gowan.</p> +<p>“Sorry I can’t oblige you, Kid,” replied Knowles. +“You mean well, but you’ll have to make a better +showing before I’ll turn adrift any man that seems to +be trying to make good.”</p> +<p>Gowan looked down. After a brief pause he replied +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +with unexpected submissiveness: “All right, +Mr. Knowles. You’re the boss. Reckon you know +best. I don’t savvy these city folks.”</p> +<p>“Glad you admit it,” said Knowles. “You’re all +wrong in sizing him up that way. I’ve a notion he’s +got a lot of good in him, spite of his city rearing. I +wouldn’t object, though, if you wanted to test him out +with a little harmless hazing, long as you didn’t go +too far.”</p> +<p>“No,” declined Gowan. “I’ve got my own notion +of what he is. There’s just one way to deal +with skunks, and that is, don’t fool with them.”</p> +<p>The cowman accepted this as conclusive. But +when, a little later, Ashton met Gowan at the supper +table he was rendered uneasy by the cold glint in the +puncher’s gray eyes. As nothing was said about the +postmaster’s receipt, he could conjecture no reason for +the look other than that Gowan was planning to render +him ridiculous with some cowboy trick.</p> +<p>Isobel had assured him with utmost confidence that +the testing of his horsemanship by means of Rocket +had been intended only as a practical joke, and that +Gowan would never have permitted him to mount the +horse had he considered it at all dangerous. Yet the +fellow might next undertake jokes containing no element +of physical peril and consequently all the more +humiliating unless evaded.</p> +<p>In apprehension of this, the tenderfoot lay awake +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +most of that night and fully half of the next. His +watch was fruitless. Each night Gowan and the other +men left him strictly alone in his far dark corner of +the bunkhouse. In the daytime the puncher was +studiously polite to him during the few hours that he +was not off on the range.</p> +<p>The third evening, after supper, Gowan handed +Isobel the horny, half-flattened rattles of an unusually +large rattlesnake.</p> +<p>“What is it? Do you wish me to guess his +length?” she asked, evidently surprised that he should +fetch her so commonplace an object. “I make it four +feet.”</p> +<p>“You’re three inches short,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Well, what about it?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“Nothing––only I just happened to get him up +near the bunkhouse, Miss Chuckie. Thought I’d tell +you, in case he has a mate around.”</p> +<p>“We must all look sharp. You, too, Mr. Ashton. +They are more apt to strike without warning, this time +of year.”</p> +<p>“I know,” remarked Ashton. “It’s before they +cast their old skin, and it makes them blind.”</p> +<p>“Too early for that,” corrected Knowles. “I +figure it’s the long spell of the summer’s heat. Gets +on their nerves, same as with us.”</p> +<p>“They shore are mighty like some humans,” observed +Gowan. “Look at the way they like to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +snuggle up in your blankets on a cool night. Remember +how I used to carry a hair rope on spring round-up?”</p> +<p>“I remember that they used to crawl into the bunkhouse +before the floor was laid,” said Isobel. She +smiled at Ashton. “That was the Dry Mesa reptilian +age. I first learned to handle a ‘gun’ shooting +at rattlers. There were so many we had to make it +a rule to kill everyone we could. But there hasn’t +been one killed so near the house for years.”</p> +<p>“They often go in pairs. This one, though, may +have been a lone stray,” added Gowan. He looked +at his employer. “Talking about strays, guess I’d +best go out in the morning and head back that Bar-Lazy-J +bunch. I can take an iron along and brand +those two calves, same trip.”</p> +<p>Knowles nodded and returned to his Government +report. The two young men and Isobel began an +evening’s entertainment at the piano. Ashton enjoyed +himself immensely. Though so frank and unconstrained +in manner, the girl was as truly refined as +the most fastidiously reared ladies of the East.</p> +<p>At the end of the delightful evening he withdrew +with Gowan to the bunkhouse, reluctant to leave, yet +aglow with pleasure. Isobel had so charmed him +that he lay in his bunk forgetful of all else than her +limpid blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. But after his +two nights of broken rest he could not long resist the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +heaviness that pressed together his eyelids. He fell +asleep, smiling at the recollection of the girl’s gracious, +“Good-night and pleasant dreams!”</p> +<p>With such a kindly wish from her, his dreams certainly +should have been heavenly. Yet he began the +night by sinking into so profound a sleep that he had +no dreams whatever. When at last he did rouse to +the dream-state of consciousness, it was not to enjoy +any pleasant fantasy of music and flowers.</p> +<p>He was lying in Deep Cañon, down at the very bottom +of those gloomy depths. About him was an +awful stillness. The river of the abyss was no longer +roaring. It had risen up, up, up to the very rim of +the precipices––and all the tremendous weight of its +waters was above him, bearing down upon him, +smothering him, crushing in his chest! He sought to +shriek, and found himself dumb.</p> +<p>Suddenly an Indian stood over him, a gigantic Indian +with feet set upon his breast. The red giant was +a medicine man, for he clashed and rattled an enormous +gourd full of bowlders.</p> +<p>The rattle sounded sharper, shriller, more vibrant +in the ears of the rousing sleeper. His eyelids fluttered, +rose a little way, and snapped wide apart. His +eyes, bared of their covers, glared in utter horror of +that which they saw. Their pupils dilated, their balls +bulged as if about to burst from the sockets.</p> +<p>The weight was still on his chest,––a weight far +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +more to be dreaded than a cañon full of water or the +foot of an Indian Titan. It was a weight of living, +quivering coils. Above those coils, clearly illuminated +in the full daylight that streamed through the +open door of the bunkhouse, there upreared a hideous +gaping maw, set with four slender curved fangs of +dazzling whiteness.</p> +<p>The snake’s eyes, green as emeralds, glared down +into the face of the man with such intense malignancy +that they seemed to stream forth a cold evil light. +Fortunately he was paralyzed with fright. The +slightest movement would have caused that fanged +maw to lash down into his face.</p> +<p>Something partly obscured the light in the doorway. +Ashton was too terrified to heed. But the snake was +more sensitive to the change in the light. Without +altering the deadly poise of its head, it again sounded +its shrill, menacing rattle. The shadow passed and +the light streamed in as before. The rattling ceased. +There followed a pause of a few seconds’ duration––To +the man every second was an age-long period of +horror.</p> +<p>A faint metallic click came from across the room. +Slight as was the sound, the irritated snake again set +its rattle to quivering. The triangular head flattened +back for the delayed stroke at the ashen face of the +man. The billowing coils stiffened––the stroke +started. In the same instant came a report that to the +strained ears of the man sounded like the crashing +roar of a cannon.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-002.jpg' alt='' title='' width='411' height='610' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +It sounded its shrill, menacing rattle<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p>The head and forepart of the snake’s body shot +alongside his face, writhing in swift convulsions. The +first touch of its cold scales against his cheek broke the +spell of horror that had bound him. He jerked his +head aside, and flung out his left hand to push the +hideous thing from him. As his fingers thrust away +the nearest coil, the head flipped around on its half-severed +neck, and the deadly jaws automatically gaped +and snapped together. Two of the dripping poison +fangs struck in the cushion of flesh on the outer edge +of Ashton’s hand. With a shriek, he flung the dying +snake on the floor and put the wounded hand to his +mouth.</p> +<p>“He struck you!” cried the voice of Isobel, “but +only on the hand, thank goodness! Wait, I’ll fix it. +Lie still.”</p> +<p>She came swiftly across the room, thrusting a long-barreled +automatic pistol into its holster under a fold +of her skirt. Her other hand drew out a locket that +was suspended in her bosom.</p> +<p>“Whiskey! I’m bitten!” panted Ashton, sucking +frantically at his wounds. “Quick! I’m bitten. +Give me whiskey!”</p> +<p>“Steady, steady,” she reassured. “It’s not bad––only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +on your hand. Give it to me. Here’s something +a thousand times better than whiskey––permanganate.”</p> +<p>While speaking, she caught up his neckerchief from +the head of the bunk and knotted it about the wrist +of the wounded hand tightly enough to check the circulation.</p> +<p>“Now hold it steady,” she directed. “Won’t +have to use a knife. You tore open the holes when +you jerked off the horrid thing.”</p> +<p>Obedient but still sweating with fear, he held up +the bleeding hand. She had opened her locket, in +which were a number of small, dark-purple crystals. +Two of the larger ones she thrust lengthwise as +deeply as she could into the little slits gashed by the +fangs. Another large and two small crystals were +all that she could force into the openings.</p> +<p>“There!” she cheerily exclaimed. “That will kill +the poison in short order, and will not hurt you a particle. +It’s the best thing there is to cheat rattlers,––just +cheap, ordinary permanganate of potash. If +people only had sense enough always to carry a few +crystals, no one would ever die of rattlesnake bites.”</p> +<p>“I’ve––I’ve heard that whiskey––” began Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes, and far more victims die from the whiskey +than from the bites,” rejoined Isobel.</p> +<p>“But a stimulant––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></p> +<p>“Stimulant, then heart depressant––first up, then +down––that’s alcohol. No, you’ll get only one +poison, the snake’s, this time. So don’t worry. +You’ll soon be all right. Even had you been struck +in the face, quick action with permanganate would +have saved you.”</p> +<p>He shuddered. “Ah!... But if you had not +come!”</p> +<p>“It was fortunate, wasn’t it?” she remarked. “I +did not know you were in here. I was going up to +the corral and heard the rattle as I came past. It was +so faint that I might not have noticed it, had not Kid +told of killing the rattler yesterday.”</p> +<p>Ashton stared fearfully at his blackening hand. +Isobel smiled and began to unknot the neckerchief.</p> +<p>“There is nothing to fear,” she insisted. “That +is due only to lack of circulation. You’ll soon be +all right. Come up to the house as soon as you can +and get two or three cups of coffee. I’ll tell Yuki.”</p> +<p>She hastened out. When he had made sure that +the still writhing snake was far over on the floor, he +slipped from his bunk and dressed as quickly as was +possible without the use of his numbed hand. Shirt, +trousers, boots––he stopped for no more, but hurried +after Isobel. Whether because of the effects of the +poison or merely as the reaction of the shock, he felt +faint and dizzy. Several cups of hot strong coffee, +however, went far towards restoring him.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_COMING_EVENTS' id='CHAPTER_X_COMING_EVENTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>COMING EVENTS</h3> +</div> +<p>Knowles had gone with Gowan to cut out and +drive back the stray cattle belonging to the adjoining +range. They returned during the regular +supper hour. The cowman washed quickly and hastened +in to the table. Gowan, however, loitered just +outside the door, fastening and refastening his neckerchief. +He entered the dining-room while Isobel +was in the midst of telling her father about the snake.</p> +<p>“Did you hear, Kid?” she asked, when she finished +her vivid account.</p> +<p>“Yes, Miss Chuckie. I was slicking-up close +’longside the door. I heard all you told,” he replied +as he took his seat at the corner next to the animated +girl. “We shore have got one mighty lucky +tenderfoot on this range.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, yes!” exclaimed Ashton. “Had not +Miss Chuckie chanced to be passing as the monster +rattled––You know, she says that she might not +have heeded it but for your killing the other snake +yesterday. That put her on the alert.”</p> +<p>The puncher stared across the table at the city man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +with a coldly speculative gaze. “You shore are a +lucky tenderfoot,” he repeated. “’Tain’t every fellow +gets that close to a rattler this time of year and +comes out of it as easy as you have. All I can see +is you’re kind of pale yet around the gills.”</p> +<p>Ashton held up his bandaged left hand. “Ah, but +I have also this memento of the occasion. It is far +from a pleasant one, I assure you.”</p> +<p>“Feels ’most as bad as a bee sting, don’t it?” +ironically condoled the puncher.</p> +<p>“What I can’t make out,” interposed Knowles, “is +how that rattler got up into Mr. Ashton’s bunk.”</p> +<p>Gowan again stared across at the tenderfoot, this +time with unblinking solemnity. “Can’t say, Mr. +Knowles,” he replied. “Except it might be that desperado +guide of his came around in the night and +brought him Mr. Rattler for bedfellow.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Kid!” remonstrated Isobel. “It’s not a +joking matter!”</p> +<p>“No, you’re dead right, Miss Chuckie,” he agreed. +“There shore ain’t any joke about it.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but perhaps I can make one,” gayly dissented +Ashton. “Had you not interfered, Miss Chuckie, the +poor snake would have taken one bite, and then curled +up and died. I’m so charged with nicotine, you +know.”</p> +<p>Neither Isobel nor the puncher smiled at this ancient +witticism. But Knowles burst into a hearty laugh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +which was caught up and reënforced by the hitherto +silent haymakers.</p> +<p>“By––James! Ashton, you’ll do!” declared the +cowman, wiping his eyes. “When a tenderfoot can +let off a joke like that on himself it’s a sure sign he’s +getting acclimated. Yes, you’ll make a puncher, +some day.”</p> +<p>Ashton smiled with gratification, and looked at Isobel +in eager-eyed appeal for the confirmation of the +statement. She smiled and nodded.</p> +<p>Upon his return from his remarkable ride to town +she had assured him that he need not worry. Her +present kindly look and the words of her father might +have been expected to remove his last doubts. Such +in fact was the result for the remainder of the evening.</p> +<p>But that night the new employé must have given +much anxious thought to the question of his future and +his great need to “make good.” The liveliness of +his concern was shown by his behavior during the next +two weeks. His zeal for work astonished Knowles +quite as much as his efforts to be agreeable to his +fellow employés gratified Miss Isobel. He charmed +the Japanese cook with his praise of the cooking, he +flattered the haymakers with his interest in their opinions. +Towards the girl and her father he was impeccably +respectful.</p> +<p>Within ten days he was “Lafe” to everybody except +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +Gowan and the Jap. The latter addressed him +as “Mistah Lafe”; Gowan kept to the noncommittal +“Ashton.” The puncher had become more taciturn +than ever, but missed none of the home evenings in +the parlor. He watched Ashton with catlike closeness +when Isobel was present, and seemed puzzled that +the interloper refrained from courting her.</p> +<p>“Don’t savvy that tenderfoot,” he remarked one +day to Knowles. “All his talk about his dad being +a multimillionaire––Acted like it at the start-off. +Came down to this candidate-for-office way of comporting +himself. It ain’t natural.”</p> +<p>“Not when he’s on the same range with Chuckie?” +queried the cowman, his eyes twinkling. “Why don’t +you ever go into Stockchute and paint the town red?”</p> +<p>“That’s another thing,” insisted Gowan. “He +started in with Miss Chuckie brash as all hell. Now +he acts towards her like I feel.”</p> +<p>“That’s natural. He soon found out she’s a +lady.”</p> +<p>“No, it ain’t natural, Mr. Knowles––not in him, +it ain’t. Nor it ain’t natural for him to be so all-fired +polite to everybody, nor his pestering you to find +work for him.”</p> +<p>“And it’s not natural for a tenderfoot to gentle a +hawss like Rocket the way he’s done already,” rallied +Knowles. “That crazy hawss follows him about like +a dog.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>“Yes; Ashton feeds him sugar, like he does the +rest of you,” rejoined the puncher. “It ain’t natural +in his brand of tenderfoot––Bound to ride out, if +there’s any riding to do; bound to fuss and stew +around the corral; bound to help with the haying; +bound to help haul the water; bound to practice with +his rope every moment he ain’t doing something else. +Can’t tell me there ain’t a nigger in that woodpile.”</p> +<p>“Now, don’t go to hunting out any more mares’ +nests, Kid,” admonished Knowles. “He’s just a +busted millionaire, that’s all; and he’s proving he +realizes it. Guess the smash scared him. He’s +afraid he can’t make good. Chuckie says he thinks +I’ll turn him adrift if he doesn’t hustle enough to earn +his salt.”</p> +<p>“Why not fire him anyway? You don’t need him, +and you won’t need him,” argued the puncher.</p> +<p>“Well, he helps keep Chuckie entertained. With +you and him both on the place, she might conclude to +stay over the winter, this year.”</p> +<p>Gowan’s mouth straightened to a thin slit. “Better +send her to Denver right off.”</p> +<p>“Look here, Kid,” reproved the cowman. +“You’ve had your chance, and you’ve got it yet. +I’ve never interfered with you, and I’m not going +to with him. It’s for Chuckie to pick the winner. +Like as not it’ll be some man in town, for all I know. +She has the say. Whether he wears a derby or a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +sombrero, she’s to have her own choice. I don’t care +if he’s a millionaire or a busted millionaire or a +bronco buster, provided he’s a man, and provided +I’m sure he’ll treat her right.”</p> +<p>Gowan lapsed into a sullen silence.</p> +<p>Mounted as before on Rocket, Ashton had already +made a second trip to Stockchute for mail, returning +almost as quickly as on his wild first ride. Monday +of his third week at the ranch he was sent on his third +trip. As before, he started at dawn. But this time +he did not come racing back early enough for a belated +noon meal as he had on each of the previous occasions.</p> +<p>By mid-afternoon Isobel began to grow uneasy. +Remarkable as had been the efforts of his new rider’s +training, there was the not improbable chance that +Rocket had reverted to his ugly tricks. She shuddered +as she pictured the battered corpse of the city +man dragging over the rocks and through the brush, +with a foot twisted fast in one of the narrow iron +stirrups.</p> +<p>Her father and Gowan were off on their usual work +of inspecting the bunches of cattle scattered about the +range. The other men were as busy as ever mowing +more hay and hauling in that which was cured. She +was alone at the ranch with the Jap. At four o’clock +she saddled her best horse and rode out towards Dry +Fork. She hoped to sight Ashton from the divide. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +But there was no sign of any horseman out on the +wide stretch of sagebrush flats.</p> +<p>She rode down to Dry Fork, crossed over the sandy +channel, and started on at a gallop along the half-beaten +road that wound away through the sagebrush +towards the distant Split Peak. An hour found her +nearing the piñon clad hills on the far side of Dry +Mesa, with still no sign of Ashton.</p> +<p>By this time she had worked herself into a fever +of excitement and dread. Her relief was correspondingly +great when at last she saw him coming towards +her around the bend of the nearest hill. But his +horse was walking and he was bent over in the saddle +as if injured or greatly fatigued. Puzzled and again +apprehensive, she urged her pony to sprinting speed.</p> +<p>When he heard the approaching hoofs Ashton +looked up as if startled. But he did not wave to her +or raise his sombrero. As she came racing up she +scrutinized his dejected figure for wounds or bruises. +There was nothing to indicate that he had been either +shot or thrown. His sullen look when she drew up +beside him not unnaturally changed her anxiety to +vexation.</p> +<p>“What made you so slow?” she queried. “You +know how eager I am for the mail each time. You +might as well have ridden your own hawss.”</p> +<p>“It––has come,” he muttered.</p> +<p>“What?” she demanded. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></p> +<p>“The letter from him.”</p> +<p>“Him?” echoed the girl, trying hard to cover her +confusion with a look of surprise.</p> +<p>His dejection deepened as he observed her heightened +color and the light in her eyes. “Yes, from +him,” he mumbled.</p> +<p>“Oh, you mean Mr. Blake, I suppose,” she replied. +Lightly as she spoke, she could not suppress the quiver +of eagerness in her voice. “If you will kindly give it +to me now.”</p> +<p>He drew out a letter, not from among the other +mail in his pouch, but from his pocket. Her look of +surprise showed that she was struck with the oddness +of this. She was too excited, however, to consider +what might be its meaning. She tore open the letter +and read it swiftly. Her sparkling eyes and glowing +cheeks when she looked up served only to increase +Ashton’s gloom.</p> +<p>“So the fellow is coming,” he groaned. “What +else could I have expected?”</p> +<p>The girl held out the open letter to him. It was in +typewriting, addressed from Chicago, and read:––</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '><i>Dear Madam</i>:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>In reply to your letter of inquiry regarding an inspection +to determine the feasibility of irrigating certain +lands in your vicinity––my fee for personal +inspection and opinion would be $50. per day and +expenses, if I came as consulting engineer. However, +I am about to make a trip to Colorado. If you can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +furnish good ranch fare for my wife, son, and self as +guests, will look over your situation without charge. +Wife wishes to rough-it, but must have milk and eggs. +Will leave servants in car at Stockchute, where we +shall expect a conveyance to meet us Thursday, the +25th inst., if terms agreeable.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>Respectfully yours,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'><span class='smcap'>Thomas Blake</span>.</span><br /></p> +<p>Ashton crumpled the letter in his clenched hand as +he had crumpled the letter from his father’s lawyers.</p> +<p>“He is coming! he really is coming!” he gasped. +“Thursday––only three days! Genevieve too!”</p> +<p>“And his son!” cried Isobel, too excited to heed the +dismay in her companion’s look and tone. “He and +his family, too, as my guests!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ashton bitterly. “And what of it +when he floods you off your cattle range? By another +year or two, the irrigation farmers will be settling all +over this mesa, thick as flies.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; it is probable that Mr. Blake will find +there is no chance to water Dry Mesa,” she replied, +in a tone strangely nonchalant considering her former +expressions of apprehension. She drew the crumpled +letter from his relaxing fingers, and smoothed it out +for a second reading.</p> +<p>“‘Wife, son, and self,’” she quoted. “Son? How +old is he?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. They’ve been married nearly two +years,” muttered Ashton. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>“Then it’s a baby!––oh! oh! how lovely!” +shrieked the girl. “And its mamma wants to rough +it! She shall have every egg and chicken on the place––and +gallons of cream! We shall take the skim +milk.”</p> +<p>Still Ashton failed to enthuse. “To them that +have, shall be given, and from him who has lost millions +shall be taken all that’s left!” he gibed.</p> +<p>“No, we’ll still have the skim milk,” she bantered, +refusing to notice his cynical bitterness.</p> +<p>“I’m a day laborer!” he went on, still more bitterly. +“I’m afraid of losing even my skim milk––And +two weeks ago I thought myself certain of three +times the millions that he will get when her father +dies!”</p> +<p>“No use crying over spilt milk, or spilt cream, +either!” she replied.</p> +<p>The note of sympathetic concern under her raillery +brought a glimmer of hopefulness into his moody eyes.</p> +<p>“If I did not think your father will drive me +away!” he murmured.</p> +<p>“Why should he?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Because when Blake comes––” Ashton paused +and shifted to a question. “Will you tell your father +about their coming?”</p> +<p>“Of course. I did not tell him about writing, because +it would only have increased his suspense. But +now––Let’s hurry back!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>A cut of her quirt set her pony into a lope. Rocket +needed no urging. He followed and maintained a +position close behind the galloping pony without +breaking out of his rangy trot. Occasionally Isobel +flung back a gay remark over her shoulder. Ashton +did not respond. He rode after her, silent and depressed, +his eyes fixed longingly on her graceful form, +ever fleeing forward before him as he advanced.</p> +<p>Once clear of the sagebrush, she drew rein for him +to come up. They rode side by side across Dry Fork +and over the divide. When they stopped at the corral +she would have unsaddled her pony had he not +begged leave to do her the service. As reward, she +waited until he could accompany her to the house.</p> +<p>They found her father and Gowan resting in the +cool porch after a particularly hard day’s ride. The +puncher was strumming soft melodies on a guitar. +Knowles was peering at his report of the Reclamation +Service, held to windward of a belching cloud of pipe +smoke. His daughter darted to him regardless of +the offending incense.</p> +<p>“Oh, Daddy!” she cried. “What do you think! +Mr. Blake is coming to visit us!”</p> +<p>“Blake?” repeated the cowman, staring blankly +over his pipe.</p> +<p>“Yes, Mr. Blake, the engineer––the great +Thomas Blake of the Zariba Dam.”</p> +<p>“By––James!” swore Gowan, dropping his guitar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +and springing up to confront Ashton with deadly +menace in his cold eyes. “This is what comes of +nursing scotched rattlers! This here tenderfoot +skunk has been foreriding for that engineer! I +warned you, Mr. Knowles! I told you he had sent +for him to come out here and cut up our range with +his damned irrigation schemes!”</p> +<p>“I send for Blake––I?” protested Ashton. He +burst into a discordant laugh.</p> +<p>“Laugh, will you?” said Gowan, dropping his hand +to his hip.</p> +<p>The girl flung herself before him. “Stop! stop, +Kid! Are you locoed? He had nothing to do with +it. I myself sent for Mr. Blake.”</p> +<p>“<i>You!</i>” cried Gowan.</p> +<p>The cowman slowly stood up, his eyes fixed on the +girl in an incredulous stare. “Chuckie,” he half +whispered, “you couldn’t ha’ done it. You’re––you’re +dreaming, honey!”</p> +<p>“No. Listen, Daddy! It’s been growing on you +so––your fear that we’ll lose our range. I thought +if Mr. Blake came and told you it can’t be done––Don’t +you see?”</p> +<p>“What if he finds it can?” huskily demanded +Knowles.</p> +<p>“He can’t. I’m sure he can’t. If he builds a +reservoir, where could he get enough water to fill it? +The watershed above us is too small. He couldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +impound more than three thousand acre feet of flood +waters at the utmost.”</p> +<p>“How about the whole river going to waste, down +in Deep Cañon?” queried her father.</p> +<p>“Heavens, Mr. Knowles! How would he ever get +a drop of water out of that awful chasm?” exclaimed +Ashton. “I looked down into it. The river is +thousands of feet down. It must be way below the +level of Dry Mesa.”</p> +<p>“I’m not so sure about that,” replied the cowman. +“Holes are mighty deceiving.”</p> +<p>“Well, what if it ain’t so deep as the mesa?” +argued Gowan, for once half in accord with Ashton. +“It shore is deep enough, ain’t it? Even allowing +that this man Blake is the biggest engineer in the U.S., +how’s he going to pump that water up over the rim +of the cañon? The devil himself couldn’t do it.”</p> +<p>“If I am mistaken regarding the depth, that is, if +the river really is higher than the mesa,” remarked +Ashton, “there is the possibility that it might be tapped +by a tunnel through the side of High Mesa. But +even if it is possible, it still is quite out of the question. +The cost would be prohibitive.”</p> +<p>“You see, Daddy!” exclaimed Isobel. “Lafe +knows. He’s an engineer himself.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” growled her father, frowning +heavily at Ashton. “You never told me you’re an +engineer.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p>“I told Miss Chuckie the first day I met her,” explained +Ashton. “Ever since then I’ve been so busy +trying to be something else––”</p> +<p>“Shore you have!” jeered Gowan.</p> +<p>“But about Mr. Blake, Daddy?” interposed Isobel. +“I’m certain he’ll find that no irrigation project is +possible; and if <i>he</i> says so, you will be able to give +up worrying about it.”</p> +<p>“So that’s your idea,” he replied. “Of course, +honey, you meant well. But he’s a pretty big man, +according to all the reports. What if he––” The +cowman stopped, unable to state the calamity he +dreaded.</p> +<p>“Yes, what if?” bravely declared his daughter. +“Isn’t it best to know the worst, and have it over?”</p> +<p>“Well––I don’t know but what you’re right, +honey.”</p> +<p>“It’s your say, Mr. Knowles,” put in Gowan. +“If you want the tenderfeet on your range, all right. +If you don’t, I’ll engage to head back any bunch of +engineers agoing, and I don’t care whether they’re +dogies or longhorns.”</p> +<p>“There is to be no surveying party,” explained Isobel. +“Mr. Blake is coming to visit us with his wife +and baby. Here is his letter.”</p> +<p>“Hey?” ejaculated Knowles. He read the letter +with frowning deliberation, and passed it on to Gowan. +“Well, he seems to be square enough. Guess we’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +have to send over for him, honey, long as you asked +him to come.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you will, Daddy!” she cried. She gave him +a delicious kiss and cuddled against his shoulder coaxingly. +“You’ll let me go over in the buckboard for +them, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Kind of early in the season for you to begin +hankering after city folks,” he sought to tease her.</p> +<p>“But think of the baby!” she exclaimed as excitedly +as a little girl over the prospect of a doll. “A baby +on our ranch! I simply must see it at the earliest +possible moment! Besides, it will look better for our +hospitality for me to meet Mrs. Blake at the train, +since she––That’s something I meant to ask you, +Lafe. What does Mr. Blake mean by saying they +will leave the servants in the car?”</p> +<p>“I presume they are traveling in Mr. Leslie’s +private car, and will have it sidetracked at Stockchute,” +answered Ashton.</p> +<p>“<i>Whee-ew!</i>” ejaculated Knowles. “Private car! +And we’re supposed to feed them!”</p> +<p>“It is just because of the change we will give them +that they are coming out here,” surmised Isobel. +“Look at the letter again. Mr. Blake expressly +writes that his wife wishes to rough-it. Of course +she cannot know what real roughing-it means. But +if she is coming to us without a maid, we shall like her +as much as––as Mr. Blake.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_SELFDEFENSE' id='CHAPTER_XI_SELFDEFENSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>SELF-DEFENSE</h3> +</div> +<p>Nothing more was said about the trip to town +until late Wednesday evening. As Knowles +slammed shut his book and the young men rose to +withdraw to the bunkhouse, he asked Gowan casually: +“Got those harness hawsses in the corral?”</p> +<p>“Brought ’em in this afternoon. Greased the +buckboard and overhauled the harness. Everything’s +in shape,” answered the puncher.</p> +<p>Knowles merely nodded. Yet in the morning, immediately +after the usual early breakfast, Gowan +went up to the corral and returned driving a lively +pair of broncos to the old buckboard. Ashton +happened to come around the house as Knowles +stepped from the front door. The cowman was followed +by his daughter, attired in a new riding habit +and a fashionable hat with a veil.</p> +<p>“You’re just in time, Lafe,” said Knowles. +“Saddle a couple of hawsses and follow Chuckie to +town. I misdoubt that seat is cramped for three, +and a baby to boot.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></p> +<p>“But I––it looks quite wide to me,” said Ashton, +flushing and drawing back.</p> +<p>“You know the size of Blake and his lady––I +don’t,” replied the cowman. “Just the same, I want +you to go along with Chuckie. There’s not a +puncher in this section would harm her, drunk or +sober; but the fellows that come in and go out on +the railroad are sometimes another sort.”</p> +<p>“Of course I––if necessary,” stammered Ashton. +“Yet may I ask you to excuse me? In the event of +trouble, Mr. Gowan, you know––”</p> +<p>“Great snakes!” called Gowan from the buckboard. +“Needn’t ask <i>me</i> to go, twice!”</p> +<p>“Can’t spare you today,” said Knowles, his keen +eyes fixed on Ashton in unconcealed amazement.</p> +<p>It was inconceivable. For the first time in his +career as an employé, the tenderfoot was attempting +to evade a duty,––a duty that comprised a fifty-mile +ride in company with Miss Isobel Knowles!</p> +<p>The girl looked at Ashton with a perfect composure +that betrayed no trace of her feelings.</p> +<p>“I’m sure there’s no reason whatever why Lafe +should go, if he does not wish to,” she remarked. +“Any of my hawsses will lead to the buckboard.”</p> +<p>“He’s going to town with you,” said Knowles, his +jaw setting hard with stubborn determination.</p> +<p>“Why, of course, Mr. Knowles, if you really think +it necessary,” reluctantly acquiesced Ashton. He put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +his hand into his pocket, shrugged, and asked in a hesitating +manner: “May I request––I have only a +small amount left from that five dollars. If you consider +there are any wages owing me––Going to +town, you know.”</p> +<p>“Lord!” said the cowman. “So that’s what you +stuck on. ’Fraid of running out of change with a +lady along. Here’s the balance of your first month’s +wages, and more, if you want it.”</p> +<p>He drew out a fat wallet and began counting out +banknotes.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, not so many,” said Ashton. “I wish only +what you consider as owing to me now.”</p> +<p>“You’ll take an even hundred,” ordered Knowles, +forcing the money on him. “A man doesn’t feel +just right in town unless he’s well heeled. Only don’t +show more than a ten at a time in the saloon.”</p> +<p>“You have chosen me to act as your daughter’s escort,” +replied Ashton.</p> +<p>Quick to catch the inference of his remark, Isobel +flashed him a look of approval, but called banteringly +as she darted out to the buckboard: “Better move, +if you expect to get near enough to escort me, this side +of Stockchute.”</p> +<p>Gowan sprang down to hand her into the buckboard. +She took the reins from him and spoke to +the fidgetting broncos. They plunged forward and +started off on a lope. Ashton perceived that she did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +not intend to wait for him. He caught Gowan’s look +of mingled exultance and envy, and dashed for the +corral. Rocket was outside, but at his call trotted +to meet him, whinnying for his morning’s lump of +sugar. Ashton flung on saddle and bridle, and slipped +inside the corral to rope his own pony. Haste made +him miss the two first throws. At last he noosed +the pony, and slapped on the girl’s saddle and bridle.</p> +<p>As he raced off, pounding the pony with his rope to +keep him alongside Rocket, Knowles waved to him +from the house. He had saddled up in less than +twice the time that Gowan could have done it,––which +was a record for a tenderfoot. He waved +back, but his look was heavy despite the excitement of +the pursuit.</p> +<p>He expected to overtake Isobel in a few minutes. +This he could have done had he been able to give +Rocket free rein. But he had to hold back for the +slower-gaited pony. Also, the girl had more of a +start than he had at first realized, and she did her +best to hold the handicap. Hitched to the light buckboard, +her young broncos could have run a good part +of the way to Stockchute. She was far out on the +flat before she at last tired of the wild bumping over +ruts and sagebrush roots, and pulled her horses down +to a walk.</p> +<p>“I could have kept ahead clear across to the hills,” +she flung back at him as he galloped up. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p> +<p>“You shouldn’t have been so reckless!” he reproached. +“Every moment I’ve been dreading to +see you bounced out.”</p> +<p>“That’s the fun of it,” she declared, her cheeks +aglow and eyes sparkling with delight.</p> +<p>“But the road is so rough!” he protested. +“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to ride my pony? +He’s like a rocking-chair.”</p> +<p>“No,” she refused. But she smiled, by no means +ill pleased at his solicitude for her comfort. She +halted the broncos, and said cordially: “Tie the +saddle hawsses to the back rail, and pile in. We may +as well be sociable.”</p> +<p>He hastened to accept the invitation. She moved +over to the left side of the seat and relinquished the +lines to him. With most young ladies this would have +been a matter-of-course proceeding; from so accomplished +a horsewoman it was a tactful compliment. +He appreciated it at its full value, and his mood lightened. +They rattled gayly along, on across the flats, +up and down among the piñon clad hills, and through +the sage and greasewood of the valleys.</p> +<p>He had thought the country a desolate wilderness; +but now it seemed a Garden of Eden. Never had the +girl’s loveliness been more intoxicating, never had her +manner to him been more charming and gracious. +He could not resist the infection of her high spirits. +For the greater part of the trip he gave himself over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +to the delight of her merry eyes and dimpling, rosy +cheeks, her adorable blushes and gay repartee.</p> +<p>All earthly journeys and joys have an ending. The +buckboard creaked up over the round of the last and +highest hill, and they came in sight of the little shack +town down across the broad valley. Though five +miles away, every house, every telegraph pole, even +the thin lines of the railroad rails appeared through +the dry clear air as distinct as a miniature painting. +Miles beyond, on the far side of the valley, uprose +the huge bulk of Split Peak, with its white-mantled +shoulders and craggy twin peaks.</p> +<p>But neither Ashton nor Isobel exclaimed on this +magnificent view of valley and peak. Each fell silent +and gazed soberly down at the dozen scattered shacks +that marked the end of their outward trip. Rapidly +the gravity of Ashton’s face deepened to gloom and +from gloom to dejection. The horses would have +broken into a lope on the down grade. He held them +to a walk.</p> +<p>Chancing to gaze about and see his face, the girl +started from her bright-eyed daydream. “Why, +Lafe! what is it?” she inquired. “You look as you +did the other day, when you brought the mail.”</p> +<p>“It’s––everything!” he muttered.</p> +<p>“As what?” she queried.</p> +<p>He shrugged hopelessly, hesitated, and drew out the +roll of bills forced on him by Knowles. “Tell me, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +please, just how much of this is mine, at your father’s +usual rate of wages, and deducting the real value of +that calf.”</p> +<p>“Why, I can’t just say, offhand,” she replied. +“But why should you––”</p> +<p>“I shall tell you as soon as––but first––” He +drew out his watch. “This cost me two hundred and +fifty dollars. It is the only thing I have worth trading. +Would you take it in exchange for Rocket and +the balance of this hundred dollars over and above +what is due me?”</p> +<p>“Why––no, of course, I wouldn’t think of such +a thing. It would be absurd, cheating yourself that +way. Anyhow, Rocket is your horse to ride, as long +as you wish to.”</p> +<p>“But I would like him for my own. How about +trading him for my pony and the wages due me?”</p> +<p>“Well, that wouldn’t be an unfair bargain. Your +hawss is the best cow pony of the two.”</p> +<p>“It is very kind of you to agree, Miss Chuckie! +Here is all the money; and here is the watch. I wish +you to accept it from me as a––memento.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Ashton!” she exclaimed, indignantly widening +the space between them as much as the seat would +permit.</p> +<p>“Please!” he begged. “Don’t you understand? +I am going away.”</p> +<p>“Going away?” she echoed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But––why?”</p> +<p>“Because he is coming.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Blake?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I cannot stay after he––”</p> +<p>“But why not? Has he injured you? Are you +afraid of him?”</p> +<p>“No. I’m afraid that you––” Ashton’s voice +sank to a whisper––“that you will believe what he––what +they will say against me.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” she commented, her expression shifting +swiftly from sympathetic concern to doubt.</p> +<p>He caught the change in her look and tone, and +flushed darkly.</p> +<p>“There are sometimes two sides to a story,” he +muttered.</p> +<p>“Tell me your side now,” she suggested, with her +usual directness.</p> +<p>His eyes fell before her clear honest gaze. His +flush deepened. He hung his head, biting his twisted +lip. After several moments he began to speak in a +hesitating broken murmur:</p> +<p>“I’ve always been––wild. But I graduated from +Tech.––not at the foot of my class. My father––always +busy piling up millions––never a word or +thought for me, except when I overspent my allowance. +I was in a––fast set. My father––threatened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +me. I had to make good. I took a position in +old Leslie’s office––Genevieve’s father. I––”</p> +<p>He paused, licked his lips, hesitated, and abruptly +went on again, this time speaking with almost glib facility: +“There was an engineers’ contest for a projected +bridge over Michamac Strait. I started to draw +plans, that I might enter the contest, but I did not +finish in time. The plans of the other engineers were +all rejected. I continued to work on mine. After +the contest I happened to pick up a piece of torn plan +out of the office wastebasket, and it gave me a suggestion +how to improve the central span of my +bridge.”</p> +<p>“Yes?” asked the girl, her interest deepening.</p> +<p>He again licked his lips, hesitated, and continued: +“There was no name on that torn plan––nothing to +indicate to whom it had belonged. So I used it––that +is, the suggestion I got from it, and was awarded +the bridge on my plans. This made me the Resident +Engineer of the bridge, and I had it almost completed +when this man Blake came back from Africa after +Genevieve, and claimed that I had––had stolen his +plans of the bridge. It seems they were lost in Mr. +Leslie’s office. He claimed he had handed them in to +me for the contest. But so had all the other contestants, +and their plans were not lost. It may have been +that one of the doorkeepers tore his plans up, out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +revenge. Blake was a very rough brute of a fellow +at that time. He quarreled with the doorkeeper because +the man would not admit him to see Mr. Leslie––threatened +to smash him. Afterwards he accused +Mr. Leslie of stealing his plans.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, no! he couldn’t have done that! He +can’t be that kind of a man!” protested Isobel.</p> +<p>“It’s true! Even he will not deny it. Old Leslie +thought him crazy––then. It was different when he +came back and accused me! He had been shipwrecked +with Genevieve. They were alone together all those +weeks, and so one can––” Ashton checked himself. +“No, you must not think––He saved her. When +they came back he claimed the bridge as his own––those +lost plans.”</p> +<p>“His plans? So that was it! And you––?”</p> +<p>“Of course they believed him. What was my word +against his with Genevieve and Leslie. Leslie’s consulting +engineer was an old pal of Blake’s. So of +course I––I’ll say though that Blake agreed to put +it that I had only borrowed his idea of the central +span.”</p> +<p>“That was generous of him, if he really believed––”</p> +<p>“Did he?––did Genevieve? Do they believe it +now? You see why I must go away.”</p> +<p>“I don’t any such thing,” rejoined the girl.</p> +<p>“You don’t?” he exclaimed. “When they are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +coming here, believing I did it! They must believe +it, all of them! And my father––after all this time––They +agreed not to tell him. Yet he has found +out. That letter, up at the waterhole––it was from +his lawyers. He had cut me off––branded me as an +outcast.”</p> +<p>“Without waiting to hear your side––without asking +you to explain? How unjust! how unfair!” cried +Isobel.</p> +<p>Ashton winced. “I––I told you I––my record +was against me. But I was his son––he had no right +to brand me as a––a thief! My valet read the letter. +He must have told the guide––the scoundrels!”</p> +<p>Tears of chagrin gathered in the young man’s dark +eyes. He bit his lip until the blood ran.</p> +<p>“O-o-oh!” sighed the girl. “It’s all been frightfully +unjust! You haven’t had fair play! I shall +tell Mr. Blake.”</p> +<p>“No, not him!––not him!” Ashton’s voice was +almost shrill. “All I wish is to slip away, before they +see me.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean, run away?” she said, quietly +placing her little gauntlet-gloved hand on his arm. +“You’re not going to run away, Lafe.”</p> +<p>“What else?” he asked, his eyes dark with bitter +despair. “Would you have me return, to be booted +off the range when they tell your father?”</p> +<p>“Just wait and see,” she replied, gazing at him with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +a reassuring smile. “You’ve proved yourself a right +smart puncher––for a tenderfoot. You’re in the +West, the good old-style West, where it’s a man’s +present record that counts; not what he has been or +what he has done. No, you’re not going to run. +You’re going to face it out––and going to stay to +learn your new profession of puncher and––<i>man</i>!”</p> +<p>“But they will not wish to associate with me.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they will,” she predicted. “I shall see to +that.”</p> +<p>He took heart a little from her cheery, positive assurance. +“Well, if you insist, I shall not go until +they show––”</p> +<p>“They’ll not recognize you at first. That will give +me a chance to speak before they can say anything disagreeable. +I’m sure Mr. Blake will understand.”</p> +<p>“But––Genevieve?”</p> +<p>“If she married him when he was as rough as you +say, and if he agrees to let bygones be bygones, you +need have no fear of Mrs. Blake. Only be sure to +go into raptures over the baby. Tell her it’s the perfect +image of its father.”</p> +<p>“What if it isn’t?” objected Ashton gloomily.</p> +<p>She dimpled. “One must allow for the difference +in age; and there’s always some resemblance––each +must have a mouth and eyes and ears and a nose.”</p> +<p>He caught himself on the verge of laughter. Her +eyes were fixed upon him, pure and honest and dancing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +with mirth. A sudden flood of crimson swept up his +face from his bristly, tanned chin to his white forehead. +He averted his gaze from hers.</p> +<p>“You’re <i>good</i>!” he choked out. “I don’t deserve––But +I can’t go––when you tell me to +stay!”</p> +<p>“Of course you can’t,” she lightly rejoined. +“Look! There’s the train coming. Push on the +lines!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_THE_MEETING' id='CHAPTER_XII_THE_MEETING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>THE MEETING</h3> +</div> +<p>A word started the horses into a lope. The +buckboard was whirled along over the last two +miles to Stockchute in a wild race against the train. +The steam horse won. It had sidetracked the private +car attached to the rear of the last pullman and was +puffing away westward, when Ashton guided his running +team in among the crude shacks of the town. He +swung around at a more moderate pace towards the +big chute for cattle-loading, and fetched up a few yards +out from the rear step of the private car.</p> +<p>An assiduous porter had already swung down with +a box step. A big, square-faced, square-framed man +of twenty-eight or thirty stepped out into the car vestibule. +He sprang to the ground as Miss Knowles +stepped from the buckboard. She had lowered her +veil, but it failed to mask the extreme brilliancy of her +eyes and her quick changes of color. Her face, flushed +from the excitement of the race into town, went white +when she first saw the man in the vestibule; flushed +again when he sprang down; again paled; and, last of +all, glowed radiantly as she advanced to meet him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>He hastened to her, baring his big head of its +Panama, and staring at her fashionable hat and dress +in frank surprise.</p> +<p>“Mr. Blake!” she murmured.</p> +<p>At the sound of her voice he started and fixed his +light blue eyes on her veiled face with a keen glance. +She turned pale and as quickly blushed, as if embarrassed +by his scrutiny.</p> +<p>“Excuse me!” he apologized. “You are Miss +Knowles?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she murmured.</p> +<p>“Knowles?” he repeated, half to himself. +“Strange! Haven’t I met you before?”</p> +<p>“In Denver?” she suggested. “I spend my +winters in Denver. But there was one in Europe.”</p> +<p>“No, it wouldn’t be either. You must excuse me, +Miss Knowles. There was something about your +voice and face––rather threw me off my balance. If +you’ll kindly overlook the bungling start-off! I’m +greatly pleased to meet you. My wife will be, too. +May I ask you to step aboard the car?––No, here she +is now.”</p> +<p>A graceful, rather small lady, dressed with elegant +simplicity, had come out into the car vestibule.</p> +<p>“Jenny, here’s Miss Knowles now,” said Blake. +“She came to meet us herself.”</p> +<p>“That was very good of you, Miss Knowles,” said +the lady, as the two advanced towards her. “We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +are very glad to meet you. Will you not come up out +of the sun?”</p> +<p>The white-uniformed porter promptly stood at attention. +Blake as promptly offered his hand. The +girl accepted his assistance and mounted the car steps +with an absence of awkwardness instantly noted by +Mrs. Blake. That lady held out a somewhat thin +white hand as Isobel drew off her gauntlet gloves. +But she did not stop with the light firm handclasp. +Lifting the girl’s veil, she kissed her full on her coral +lips.</p> +<p>“We shall be friends,” she stated, a smile in her +hazel eyes.</p> +<p>“I hope so,” murmured the girl, blushing with delight. +“The only question is whether you will like +me.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake patted the plump, sunbrowned hand that +she had not yet relinquished. She was little if any +older than the girl, but her air was that of matronly +wisdom. “My dear, can you doubt it? I was prepared +to like even the kind of young woman my husband +told me to expect.”</p> +<p>“Bronco Bess, Queen of the Cattle Camp,” suggested +the girl, dimpling. “Wait till you see me rope +and hogtie a steer.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake smiled, and looked across at Ashton, +who sat motionless under the shadow of his big sombrero, +his face half averted from the car. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>“I’ve a real surprise for you,” said the girl. +“Mr. Blake, if I may tell it to you also.”</p> +<p>Blake swung up the steps, hat in hand. “It can’t +be half as pleasant as the surprise you’ve already given +us,” he said.</p> +<p>“I fear not,” she replied, with a quick change to +gravity. She looked earnestly into their faces. +“Still, I hope––yes, I really believe it will please you +when you consider it. But first, I want to tell you that +out here it’s our notion that a man should be rated +according to his present life, and not blamed for his +past mistakes.”</p> +<p>“Certainly not!” agreed Mrs. Blake, with a swift +glance at her husband. “If a man has mounted to a +higher level, he should be upheld, not dragged down +again.”</p> +<p>“That’s good old-style Western fair play,” added +Blake.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad you take it that way!” said Isobel. +“A young man utterly ruined in fortune––partly at +least through his own fault––came to us and asked +to be hired. He has been a hard worker and a gentleman. +His name is Lafayette Ashton.”</p> +<p>“Ashton?” said Blake, his face as impassive as a +granite mask.</p> +<p>“Yes. He has told me all about the bridge. He +wished to go away, because he thought you and Mrs. +Blake would not like to meet him. I told him you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +would be willing to let bygones be bygones, and help +him start off with a new tally card.”</p> +<p>“Lafayette Ashton working––as a cowboy!” murmured +Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“He is still a good deal of a tenderfoot. But he +is learning fast; and work!––the way he pesters +Daddy to find him something to do!”</p> +<p>“He certainly must be a changed man,” dryly commented +Blake.</p> +<p>“<i>Cherchez la femme</i>,” said his wife.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Blake!” protested the girl, blushing.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” he asked.</p> +<p>“‘Find the woman,’” explained Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“That’s easy,” he said, fixing his twinkling eyes on +the rosy-faced girl.</p> +<p>“But I’m sure it has not been because of me––at +least not altogether,” she qualified with her uncompromising +honesty.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t blame him even if it was altogether,” +said Blake.</p> +<p>“Then you will be willing to overlook your past +trouble with him?”</p> +<p>“Since you say he has straightened out––yes.”</p> +<p>“That’s good of you! That’s what I expected of +you!” exclaimed the girl. “That is he, in the buckboard.”</p> +<p>Without a word, Blake started down the car steps.</p> +<p>“Bring him here at once, Tom,” said Mrs. Blake. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></p> +<p>Her husband went up beside the motionless figure +in the buckboard and held out his hand. “Glad to +meet you, Ashton,” he said with matter-of-fact heartiness. +“Jenny wants you to come to her. We’re not +ready to start, as we were not certain we would be +met.”</p> +<p>“Miss––Mrs. Blake wishes me to come!” mumbled +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Blake, gripping the other’s hesitatingly +extended hand.</p> +<p>Ashton flushed darkly. “But I––I can’t leave the +horses,” he replied.</p> +<p>Blake signed to the porter, who hastened forward. +“Hold the lines for this gentleman, Sam.”</p> +<p>Ashton reluctantly gave the lines into the mulatto’s +sallow hands and stepped from the buckboard. His +head hung forward as he followed Blake. But at the +foot of the steps he removed his sombrero and forced +himself to look up. Isobel was smiling down at him +encouragingly. He looked from her to Mrs. Blake, +his handsome face crimson with shame.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Lafayette?” Mrs. Blake greeted +him with quiet cordiality. “This is a pleasant surprise.”</p> +<p>“Yes––yes, indeed! I––yes, very!” he stammered, +so embarrassed that he would have stuck at +the foot of the steps had not Blake started him up with +a vigorous boost. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>Mrs. Blake gave him her hand. “You look so +strong and hearty!” she remarked. “It speaks well +for the fare Miss Knowles provides.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that credit is due our Jap chef,” laughed the +girl. “I can cut out a cow from the herd better than +I can bone a chop. But the butter and eggs and cream +that are awaiting you––Which reminds me that +we’ve yet to see It.”</p> +<p>“It?” asked Blake.</p> +<p>“Yes, him––the <i>baby</i>!”</p> +<p>“Oh, you dear girl!” cooed Mrs. Blake. “Come +in and see him.”</p> +<p>Isobel followed her into the car. Blake nodded to +Ashton. But the younger man shrank away from the +door.</p> +<p>“If you’ll kindly excuse me,” he muttered. “It +would remind me too much of––the time when––No, +I’d rather not.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” assented Blake with ready understanding. +“How do you like this country? I went +through here once on a railway survey. It’s rare +good luck––this chance to visit Miss Knowles. Jenny +is a little run down, as you see.”</p> +<p>“I shall trust that her visit to this locality will soon +quite restore her,” remarked Ashton.</p> +<p>“It will. The doctors said Maine; I said Colorado. +It has done you no end of good. You are looking +particularly fine and fit.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>“It has helped me––in more ways than one,” murmured +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Glad to hear you say it!” responded Blake in +hearty approval.</p> +<p>Ashton turned from him as Isobel appeared in the +doorway, cuddling a lusty, rosy-cheeked baby. The +mother hovered close behind her.</p> +<p>“Look at him!” jeered Blake with heavily feigned +derision. “Did you ever see such a big, fat, lubberly––”</p> +<p>“Yes, look at him, Lafe,” said the girl, stepping +out into the vestibule. “He is only a yearling, but +isn’t he just the perfect image of his father?”</p> +<p>Ashton burst into a ringing laugh, but abruptly +checked himself at sight of the sober face of the young +mother. “I––I beg pardon!” he stammered. “I––she––Miss +Knowles––that is what she told me +to tell you about him.”</p> +<p>“And you didn’t play up worth a little bit, Lafe!” +complained the girl.</p> +<p>It was Blake’s turn to laugh. “You––!” he accused. +“Schemed to frame up a case on us did +you!”</p> +<p>His wife smiled faintly, not altogether certain that +an aspersion had not been cast upon her chuckling +son.</p> +<p>“But it’s partly true, really,” remarked Ashton, +peering at the baby’s big pale-blue eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></p> +<p>Blake burst into a hilarious roar. But Mrs. Blake +now beamed upon Ashton. “Then you, too, see the +resemblance, Lafayette! Isn’t it wonderful, and he +so young? His name is Thomas Herbert Vincent +Leslie Blake.––Now, my dear, if you please, I shall +take him in. We must be preparing to start, if it is +so long a drive.”</p> +<p>“Do let me hold him until you and Mr. Blake are +ready,” begged the girl.</p> +<p>“I am not quite sure that––You will be careful +not to drop him? He is tremendously strong, +and he squirms,” dubiously assented the fond mother. +“Come, Tom. We must not keep Miss Knowles +waiting.”</p> +<p>Blake disappeared with her into the luxuriously +furnished car.</p> +<p>“Isn’t he a dear?” cooed the girl, clasping the +baby to her bosom and kissing his chubby clenched +hands. He stared up into her glowing face with his +round light-blue eyes. “Thomas Blake!––Tom +Blake!” she whispered.</p> +<p>Ashton did not heed the words. He was gazing +too intently at the girl and the child. His eyes +glistened with a wonderment and longing so exquisitely +intense that it was like a pain. The girl sank down in +one of the cane chairs and laid the baby on his back. +He kicked and gurgled, seized one of his upraised feet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +and thrust a pink big toe in between his white milk +teeth.</p> +<p>“That’s more than you can do, Lafe!” challenged +the girl.</p> +<p>She glanced up, dimpling with merriment,––met the +adoration in his eyes, and looked down, blushing. He +attempted to speak, but the words choked into an incoherent +sound like a sob. He jumped from the car +and hurried to take the lines from the porter.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_OTHER_LADYS_HUSBAND' id='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_OTHER_LADYS_HUSBAND'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>THE OTHER LADY’S HUSBAND</h3> +</div> +<p>Miss Knowles did not seem to observe Ashton’s +deflection. She remained worshipfully +downbent over the wriggling, chuckling baby until its +parents reappeared.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake had changed to an easy and serviceable +dress of plain, strong material. The skirt, cut to +walking length, showed that her feet and ankles were +protected by a pair of absurdly small laced boots. +Her husband had shifted to an equally serviceable costume––flannel +shirt, broad-brimmed felt hat, and +surveyor’s boots.</p> +<p>“Crossing the plains we packed a trunk with what +we considered most necessary,” said Mrs. Blake, as +she took the baby. “It is not a large one, and in addition +there is only my satchel and the level and the +lunch my maid is putting up for us.”</p> +<p>“There is room for more, if you wish,” replied Isobel. +“But we can send over here for anything you +need, any time.”</p> +<p>“You’re not going to let us really rough-it!” complained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +Mrs. Blake, as her husband swung her to the +ground. “Were it not for Thomas Herbert––”</p> +<p>“––We’d go to Africa again and eat lions,” Blake +completed the sentence. “Wait, though––we may +have a chance at mountain lions.”</p> +<p>The porter had gone to help a manservant fetch +the trunk from the other end of the car. Isobel untied +the saddle horses from the rear of the buckboard. +The trunk was lifted in, and Blake lashed it on, together +with his level rod and tripod, using Ashton’s +lariat.</p> +<p>“Level is in the trunk,” he explained, in response +to Ashton’s look of inquiry. “I suppose we ride.”</p> +<p>“I think it will be better if Lafe drives,” objected +Isobel. “I am so reckless, and you don’t know the +road, as he does. The only thing is Rocket––Lafe +has about trained him out of his tricks. But I should +warn you that the hawss has been rather vicious.”</p> +<p>“Tom will ride him,” confidently stated Mrs. +Blake.</p> +<p>Her husband took the bridle reins of the big horse +and mounted him with the agility of a cowboy. For +a moment Rocket stood motionless. Then, whether +because of Blake’s weight or the fact that he was a +stranger, all the beast’s newly acquired docility vanished. +He began to plunge and buck even more +violently than when first mounted by Ashton.</p> +<p>Half a hundred Stockchuteites––all the residents +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +of the town and several floaters––had come down to +inspect the palatial private car and its passengers. At +Rocket’s first leap these highly interested spectators +broke into a murmur of joyful anticipation. They +were about to see the millionaire tenderfoot pull +leather.</p> +<p>Yet somehow the event failed to transpire. Blake +sat the flat saddle as if glued fast to it. His knees +and legs were crushing against the sides of the leaping, +whirling beast with the firmness of an iron vise. +He held both hands upraised, away from the +“leather.”</p> +<p>Presently Rocket’s efforts began to flag. Instead +of seeking to quiet the frantic beast, Blake began to +whoop and to strike him with his hat. Thus taunted, +Rocket resorted to his second trick. He took the bit +in his teeth and started to bolt. The crowd scattered +before the rush of the runaway. But they need not +have moved. Blake reached down on each side of +the beast’s outstretched neck and pulled. Tough-mouthed +as he was, Rocket could not resist that powerful +grip. His head was drawn down and backwards +until his trumpet nostrils blew against his deep chest. +After half a dozen wild plunges, he was forced to a +stand, snorting but subdued.</p> +<p>“That’s some riding, Miss Chuckie!” called the +burly sheriff of the county. “Your guest forks a +hawss like a buster.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></p> +<p>The girl rode forward beside Blake, her face radiant. +She paid him the highest of compliments by taking +his riding as a matter of course; but in her eyes +was a look strangely like that of his wife’s fond gaze,––a +look of pride at his achievement, rather than admiration.</p> +<p>“We’ll ride ahead of the team to keep clear of the +dust,” she remarked.</p> +<p>He twisted about and saw that Ashton was starting +to drive after them. His wife’s elderly maid was +waving her handkerchief from one of the car windows. +The porter and the manservant stood at attention. +He exchanged a nod and smile with his wife, patted +Rocket’s arched neck and clicked to him to start.</p> +<p>“This is great, Miss Knowles!” he said. “I did +not look for such fun, first crack out of the box. +And––if you don’t mind my saying it––it’s such a +jolly surprise your being what you are.”</p> +<p>The girl blushed with pleasure. “I––we have +been so eager to meet you,” she murmured. She +added hurriedly, “On account of your wonderful work +as an engineer, you know.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have suspected Ashton of bragging +for me,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Oh, he––he says you have a remarkable knack +of hitting on the solution of problems. But it’s in +the engineering journals and reports that we’ve read +about your work. Perhaps that is why you thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +we had met before. After reading about you so +much, I felt that I already knew you, and so my manner, +you know––”</p> +<p>He shook his head at this seemingly ingenuous explanation. +“No, there is something about your voice +and face––” His eyes clouded with the grief of a +painful memory; his head sank forward until his square +chin touched his broad chest. He muttered brokenly: +“But that’s impossible.... Anyway––better for +them they died––better than to live after....”</p> +<p>Behind her veil the girl’s face became deathly +white. He raised his head and looked at her with a +wistful gleam of hope. She had averted her face +from him and was gazing off at the hills with dim +unseeing eyes.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, Miss Knowles,” he said, “but do you +mind if I ask what is your first name?”</p> +<p>She hesitated almost imperceptibly before replying: +“I am called Chuckie––Chuckie Knowles. Doesn’t +that sound cowgirlish? We always have a chuck-wagon +on the round-ups, you know. But it’s a name +that used to be quite common in the West.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it comes from the Spanish Chiquita,” he said. +He repeated the word with the soft caressing Spanish +accent, “<i>Che-keé-tah!</i>”</p> +<p>A flood of scarlet swept up into the girl’s pallid +face, and slowly subsided to her normal rich coloring. +After a short silence she asked in a conventional tone: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +“I suppose you are glad to get away from Chicago. +The last papers we received say that the East is +sweltering in one of those smothery heat waves.”</p> +<p>“It’s the humidity and close air that kills,” said +Blake. “I ought to know. I lived for years in the +slums.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you––you really speak of it––openly!” the +girl exclaimed.</p> +<p>“What of it?” he asked, astonished in turn at her +lack of tact.</p> +<p>“Nothing––nothing,” she hastened to disclaim. +“Only I know––have read about the dreadful conditions +in the Chicago slums. It is––it must be so +painful to recall them––That was so rude of me +to––”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” he interrupted. To cover her evident +confusion he held up his white hand in the scorching +sunrays and commented jovially: “Talk about Eastern +heat––this is a hundred and five Fahrenheit at +the very least! A-a-ah!” He drew in a deep breath +of the dry pure air. “This is something like! When +you get your land under ditch, you’ll have a paradise.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but you do not understand,” she replied. +“We want you to find out and tell us that Dry Mesa +<i>cannot</i> be watered. Irrigation would break up +Daddy’s range and put him out of business. It is just +what we do not want.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>“I see,” said Blake, with instant comprehension of +the situation.</p> +<p>“I know it cannot be done. But there are so many +reclamation projects, and Daddy has read and read +about them until he almost has a bee in his bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Yet you sent for me––an engineer.”</p> +<p>“Because I knew that when <i>you</i> told him our mesa +couldn’t be watered, he would stop worrying. You +know, you are quite a hero with us. We have read +all about your wonderful work.”</p> +<p>Blake’s pale eyes twinkled. “So I’m a hero. +Will you dynamite my pedestal if I figure out a way +to water your range?”</p> +<p>She flashed him a troubled glance, but rallied for +a quick rejoinder: “Even you can’t pump the water +out of Deep Cañon, and Plum Creek is only a trickle +most of the year.”</p> +<p>“I see you want me to make my report as dry as I +can write it,” he bantered.</p> +<p>“No,” she replied, suddenly serious. “We wish +the exact truth, though we hope you’ll find it dry.”</p> +<p>“Then you are to blame if the matter does not +figure out your way,” he warned her. “You’ve +given me a problem. If there is any possible way for +me to irrigate your mesa, I am bound to try my best +to work it out. Hadn’t you better head me off before +I start in? At present I haven’t the remotest +desire to do this except to comply with your wishes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“It’s as I told Daddy,” she said. “If there really +is a way, the sooner we know it the better. It is the +uncertainty that is bothering Daddy. If your report +is for us, all well and good; if against us, he will stand +up and fight and forget about worrying.”</p> +<p>“Fight?” asked Blake.</p> +<p>“Fight the project, fight against the formation of +any irrigation district. He owns five sections. The +reservoir might have to be on his patented land. +He’d fight fair and square and hard––to the last +ditch!”</p> +<p>“Isn’t that a Dutchman’s saying?” asked Blake +humorously.</p> +<p>The girl’s tense face relaxed, and she burst out in +a ringing laugh. She shifted the conversation to less +serious subjects, and they cantered along together, +laughing and chatting like old friends.</p> +<p>By this time Ashton and Mrs. Blake had gradually +come to the same stage of pleasant comradeship. +Ashton had started the drive in a sullen mood, his +manner half resentful and wholly embarrassed. Of +this the lady was tactfully oblivious. Avoiding all +allusion to the catastrophe that had befallen him, she +told him the latest news of the mutual friends and +acquaintances in whom ordinarily he would have been +expected to be interested.</p> +<p>She even spoke casually of his father. His face contracted +with pain, but he showed no bitterness against +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +the parent who had disowned him. After that her +graciousness towards him redoubled. With Isobel for +excuse, she gradually shifted the conversation to ranch +life and his employment as cowboy. In many subtle +ways she conveyed to him her admiration of the manner +in which he had turned over a new leaf and was +making a clean fresh start in life.</p> +<p>After delicately intimating her feelings, she at once +turned to less personal topics. The last traces of his +embarrassment and moodiness left him, and he began +to talk quite at his ease, though with a certain reserve +that she attributed to the vast change in his fortunes. +In return for her kindness, he repaid her by showing a +real interest in Thomas Herbert Vincent Leslie Blake.</p> +<p>That young man spent his time chuckling and crowing +and kicking, until overcome with sleep. Two +hours out from Stockchute he awoke and vociferously +demanded nourishment. Promptly the party was +brought to a halt. They were among the piñons on +one of the hillsides. While the baby took his dinner, +Isobel laid out the lunch and the men burned incense +in the guise of a pair of Havana cigars produced by +Blake.</p> +<p>The lunch might have been put up in the kitchen of +a first-class metropolitan hotel. The fruit was the +most luscious that money could buy; the sandwiches +and cake would have tempted a sated epicure; the mineral +water had come out of an ice chest so nearly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +frozen that it was still refreshingly cool. But––what +was rather odd for a lunch packed in a private car––it +included no wine or whiskey or liqueur. Blake +caught Ashton’s glance, and smiled.</p> +<p>“You see I’m still on the waterwagon,” he remarked. +“I’ve got a permanent seat. There have +been times when it looked as if I might be jolted off, +but––”</p> +<p>“But there’s never been the slightest chance of +that!” put in his wife. She looked at Isobel, her soft +eyes shining with love and pride. “Once he gets a +grip on anything, he never lets go.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I can believe that!” exclaimed the girl with +an enthusiasm that brought a shadow into the mobile +face of Ashton.</p> +<p>“A man can’t help holding on when he has something +to hold on for,” said Blake, gazing at his wife +and baby.</p> +<p>“That’s true!” agreed Ashton, his eyes on the +dimpled face of Isobel.</p> +<p>Refreshed by the delicious meal, the party prepared +to start on. But they did not travel as before. While +Ashton was considerately washing out the dusty nostrils +of the horses with water from his canteen, Isobel +decided to drive with Mrs. Blake. Declaring that it +would be like old times to sit a cowboy saddle, the big +engineer lengthened the girl’s stirrup leathers and +swung on to the pony. This left Rocket to his owner. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>At first Ashton seemed inclined to be stiff with his +new road-mate. But as they jogged along, side by +side, over the hills and across the sagebrush flats, Blake +restricted his talk to impersonal topics and spared his +companion from any allusion to their past difficulties. +Throughout the ride, however, the two men maintained +a certain reserve towards each other, and at no time +approached the cordial intimacy that developed between +the girl and Mrs. Blake before the end of their +first mile together.</p> +<p>After telling merrily about her dual life as summer +cowgirl and winter society maiden, Isobel drifted +around, by seemingly casual association of ideas, to the +troublesome question of irrigation on Dry Mesa, and +from that to Blake and his work as an engineer.</p> +<p>“I do so hope Mr. Blake finds that there is no +project practicable,” she went on. “He has warned +me that if there seems to be any chance to work out +an irrigation scheme on our mesa he is bound to try to +do it.”</p> +<p>“And he would do it,” added Mrs. Blake with quiet +confidence.</p> +<p>“Then I hope and pray he will find there is no +chance, because Daddy would have to oppose him. +That would be such a pity! He and I have read so +much about Mr. Blake’s work that we have come to +regard him as our––as one of our heroes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>Mrs. Blake smiled. It was very apparent, despite +the quietness and repression of her high-bred manner, +that she was very much in love with her husband.</p> +<p>The girl continued in a meekly deferential tone: +“So you will not mind my worshiping him. He is a +hero, a real hero! Isn’t he?”</p> +<p>The words were spoken with an earnestness and sincerity +that won Mrs. Blake to a like candor. “You +are quite right,” she said. “Lafayette may have told +you how Mr. Blake and I were wrecked on the most +savage coast of Africa. He saved me from wild beasts +and tropical storms, from fever and snakes,––from +death in a dozen horrible forms. Then, when he had +saved me––and won me, he gave me up until he could +prove to himself that he was worthy of me.”</p> +<p>“He did?” cried the girl. “But of course!––of +course!”</p> +<p>“Yet that was nothing to the next proof of his +strength and manhood,” went on the proud wife. +“He destroyed a monster more frightful than any lion +or tropical snake––he overcame the curse of drink +that had come down to him from––one of his +parents.”</p> +<p>“From––from his––” whispered the girl, her +averted face white and drawn with pain.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake had bent over to kiss the forehead of +her sleeping baby and did not see. “If only all parents +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +knew what terrible misfortunes, what tortures, +their transgressions are apt to bring upon their innocent +children!” she murmured.</p> +<p>“He told me that he won his way up out of the––the +slums,” said Isobel. “It must be some men fail +to do that because they have relatives to drag them +down––their families.”</p> +<p>“It seems hard to say it, yet I do not know but that +you are right, my dear,” agreed Mrs. Blake. “Strong +men, if unhampered, have a chance to fight their way +up out of the social pit. But women and girls, even +when they escape the––the worst down there, can +hardly hope ever to attain––And of course those +that fall!––Our dual code of morality is hideously +unjust to our sex, yet it still is the code under which we +live.”</p> +<p>The girl drew in a deep, sighing breath. Her eyes +were dark with anguish. Yet she forced a gay little +laugh. “Aren’t we solemn sociologists! All we are +concerned with is that <i>he</i> has won his way up, and +there’s no one ever to drag him down or disgrace him; +and––and you won’t be jealous if I set him up on a +pedestal and bring incense to him on my bended knees.”</p> +<p>“Only you must give Thomas Herbert his share at +the same time,” stipulated the mother.</p> +<p>The girl burst into prolonged and rather shrill +laughter that passed the bounds of good breeding. +Her emotion was so unrestrained that when she looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +about at her surprised companion her face was flushed +and her eyes were swimming with tears.</p> +<p>“Please, oh, do please forgive me!” she begged +with a humility as immoderate as had been her laughter. +“I––I can’t tell you why, but––”</p> +<p>“Say no more, my dear,” soothed Mrs. Blake. +“You are merely a bit hysterical. Perhaps the excitement +of our coming, after your months of lonely ranch +life––”</p> +<p>“You’re so good!” sighed the girl. “Yes, it was +due to––your coming. But now the worst is over. +I’ll not shock you again with any more such outbursts.”</p> +<p>She smiled, and began to talk of other things, with +somewhat unsteady but persistent gayety.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_A_DESCENT' id='CHAPTER_XIV_A_DESCENT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>A DESCENT</h3> +</div> +<p>When the party arrived at the ranch, the girl +hostess took Mrs. Blake to rest in the clean, +simply furnished room provided for the visitors. +Blake, after carrying in their trunk single-handed, went +to look around at the ranch buildings in company with +Ashton.</p> +<p>On returning to the house, the two found Knowles +and Gowan in the parlor with the ladies. Isobel had +already introduced them to Mrs. Blake and also to her +son. That young man was sprawled, face up, in the +cowman’s big hands, crowing and valiantly clutching at +his bristly mustache.</p> +<p>Gowan sat across from him, perfectly at ease in the +presence of the city lady. But, with his characteristic +lack of humor, he was unmoved by the laughable +spectacle presented by his employer and the baby, and +his manner was both reserved and watchful.</p> +<p>At sight of Blake, Isobel called to her father in +feigned alarm: “Look out, Daddy! Better stop +hazing that yearling. Here comes his sire.”</p> +<p>Knowles gave the baby back to its half-fearful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +mother, and rose to greet his guest with hospitable +warmth: “Howdy, Mr. Blake! I’m downright +glad to meet you. Hope you’ve found things comfortable +and homelike.”</p> +<p>“Too much so,” asserted Blake, his eyes twinkling. +“We came out expecting to rough-it.”</p> +<p>“Well, your lady won’t know the difference,” remarked +Knowles.</p> +<p>“You’re quite mistaken, Daddy, really,” interposed +his daughter. “She and Mr. Blake were wrecked in +Africa and lived on roast leopards. We’ll have to +feed them on mountain lions and bobcats.”</p> +<p>“If you mean that, Miss Chuckie,” put in Gowan, +“I can get a bobcat in time for dinner tomorrow.”</p> +<p>The girl led the general outburst of laughter over +this serious proposal. “Oh! oh! Kid! You’ll be +the death of me!––Yet I sent you a joke-book last +Christmas!”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t see anything funny in it,” replied the +puncher. “I haven’t lost it, though. It came from +you.”</p> +<p>To cover the girl’s blush at this blunt disclosure of +sentiment, Mrs. Blake somewhat formally introduced +her husband to the puncher. He shook Blake’s hand +with like formality and politeness. But as their +glances met, his gray eyes shone with the same cold suspicion +with which he had regarded Ashton at their +first meeting. Before that look the engineer’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +friendly eyes hardened to disks of burnished steel, and +his big fist released its cordial grip of the other’s small, +bony hand. He gave back hostility for hostility with +the readiness of a born fighter. Gowan was the first +to look away.</p> +<p>The incident passed so swiftly that only Knowles +observed the outflash of enmity. His words indicated +that he had anticipated the puncher’s attitude. He +addressed Blake seriously: “Kid has been with us +ever since he was a youngster and has always made +my interests his own. Chuckie has been telling us what +you said about putting through any project you once +started.”</p> +<p>Blake nodded. “Yes. That is why I suggested to +Miss Knowles that she call off the agreement under +which I came on this visit. We shall gladly pay board, +and I’ll merely knock around; or, if you prefer, we’ll +leave you and go back tomorrow morning.”</p> +<p>“No, Daddy, no! we can’t allow our guests to leave, +when they’ve only just come!” protested Isobel.</p> +<p>“As for any talk about board,” added her father, +“you ought to know better, Mr. Blake.”</p> +<p>“My apology!” admitted Blake. “I’ve been living +in the East.”</p> +<p>“That explains,” agreed the cowman. “Even as +far east as Denver––I’ve got a sister there; lives up +beyond the Capitol. But I’ve talked with other men +there from over this way. They all agree you might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +as well look for good cow pasture behind a sheep drive +as for hospitality in a city. Sometimes you can get +what you want, and all times you’re sure to get a +lot of attention you don’t want––if you have money +to spend.”</p> +<p>“That’s true. But about my going ahead here?” +inquired Blake. “Say the word, and I put irrigation +on the shelf throughout our visit.”</p> +<p>Knowles shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I +reckon Chuckie is right. We’d best learn just how +we stand.”</p> +<p>“What if I work out a practical project? There’s +any amount of good land on your mesa. The lay of +it and the altitude ought to make it ideal for fruit. +If I see that the proposition is feasible, I shall be bound +to put water on all of your range that I can. I am +an engineer,––I cannot let good land and water go to +waste.”</p> +<p>“The land isn’t going to waste,” replied Knowles. +“It’s the best cattle range in this section, and it’s +being used for the purpose Nature intended. As for +the water, Chuckie has figured out there isn’t more +than three thousand acre feet of flood waters that can +be impounded off the watershed above us. That +wouldn’t pay for building any kind of a dam.”</p> +<p>“And the devil himself couldn’t pump the water +up out of Deep Cañon,” put in Gowan.</p> +<p>“The devil hasn’t much use for science,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +Blake. “It has almost put him out of business. So +he is not apt to be well up on modern engineering.”</p> +<p>“Then you think you can do what the devil can’t?” +demanded Knowles.</p> +<p>“I can try. Unless you wish to call off the deal, +I shall ride around tomorrow and look over the country. +Maybe that will be sufficient to show me there +is no chance for irrigation, or, on the contrary, I may +have to run levels and do some figuring.”</p> +<p>“Then perhaps you will know by tomorrow night?” +exclaimed Isobel.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s something,” said the cowman. +“I’ll take you out first thing in the morning.––Lafe, +show Mr. Blake the wash bench. There goes the first +gong.”</p> +<p>When, a little later, all came together again at the +supper table, nothing more was said about the vexed +question of irrigation. Isobel had made no changes +in her table arrangements other than to have a plate +laid for Mrs. Blake beside her father’s and another +for Blake beside her own.</p> +<p>The employés were too accustomed to Miss Chuckie +to be embarrassed by the presence of another lady, +and Blake put himself on familiar terms with them by +his first remarks. If his wealthy high-bred wife was +surprised to find herself seated at the same table with +common workmen, she betrayed no resentment over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +the situation. Her perfect breeding was shown in the +unaffected simplicity of her manner, which was precisely +the same to the roughest man present as to her hostess.</p> +<p>Even had there been any indications of uncongeniality, +they must have been overcome by the presence of +Thomas Herbert Vincent Leslie Blake. The most unkempt, +hard-bitten bachelor present gazed upon the +majesty of babyhood with awed reverence and delight. +The silent Jap interrupted his serving to fetch a queer +rattle of ivory balls carved out one within the other. +This he cleansed with soap, peroxide and hot water, +in the presence of the honorable lady mother, before +presenting it to her infant with much smiling and hissing +insuckings of breath.</p> +<p>After supper all retired at an early hour, out of regard +for the weariness of Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>When she reappeared, late the next morning, she +learned that Knowles, Gowan and her husband had +ridden off together hours before. But Isobel and Ashton +seemed to have nothing else to do than to entertain +the mother and child. Mrs. Blake donned one of the +girl’s divided skirts and took her first lesson in riding +astride. There was no sidesaddle at the ranch, but +there was a surefooted old cow pony too wise and +spiritless for tricks, and therefore safe even for a less +experienced horsewoman than was Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>Knowles and Gowan and the engineer returned so +late that they found all the others at the supper table. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +Blake’s freshly sunburnt face was cheerful. Gowan’s +expression was as noncommittal as usual. But the +cowman’s forehead was furrowed with unrelieved suspense.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Blake!” exclaimed Isobel. “Don’t tell +us your report is unfavorable.”</p> +<p>“Afraid I can’t say, as yet,” he replied. “We’ve +covered the ground pretty thoroughly for miles along +High Mesa and Deep Cañon. If the annual precipitation +here is what I estimate it from what your father +tells me, it would be possible to put in a drainage and +reservoir system that would store four thousand acre +feet. Except as an auxiliary system, however, it would +cost too much to be practicable. As for Deep Cañon––” +He turned to his wife. “Jenny, whatever else +happens, I must get you up to see that cañon. It’s +almost as grand and in some ways even more wonderful +than the Cañon of the Colorado.”</p> +<p>“Then I must see it, by all means,” responded Mrs. +Blake. “I shall soon be able to ride up to it, Isobel +assures me.”</p> +<p>“Within a few days,” said the girl. “But, Mr. +Blake, pardon me––How about the water in the +cañon? You surely see no way to lift it out over +the top of High Mesa?”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, but I can’t even guess what can be done +until I have run a line of levels and found the depth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +of the cañon. I tried to estimate it by dropping in +rocks and timing them, but we couldn’t see them strike +bottom.”</p> +<p>“A line of levels? Will it take you long?”</p> +<p>“Maybe a week; possibly more. If I had a transit +as well as my level, it would save time. However, I +can make out with the chain and compass I brought.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Blake is to start running his levels in the +morning,” said Knowles. “Lafe, I’d like you to help +him as his rodman, if you have no objections. As +you’ve been an engineer, you can help him along +faster than Kid.––You said one would do, Mr. Blake; +but if you need more, take all the men you want. The +sooner this thing is settled, the better it will suit me.”</p> +<p>“The sooner the better, Daddy!” agreed Isobel, +“that is, if our guests promise to not hurry away.”</p> +<p>“We shall stay at least a month, if you wish us to,” +said Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“Two months would be too short!––And the +sooner we are over with this uncertainty––Lafe, +you’ll do your utmost to help Mr. Blake, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed; anything I can,” eagerly responded +Ashton.</p> +<p>Gowan’s face darkened at sight of the smile with +which the girl rewarded the tenderfoot. Yet instead +of sulking, he joined in the evening’s entertainment of +the guests with a zeal that agreeably surprised everyone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +His guitar playing won genuine praise from the +Blakes, though both were sophisticated and critical +music lovers.</p> +<p>Somewhat earlier than usual he rose to go, with the +excuse that he wished to consult Knowles about some +business with the owner of the adjoining range. The +cowman went out with him, and did not return. An +hour later Ashton took reluctant leave of Isobel, and +started for the bunkhouse. Half way across he was +met by his employer, who stopped before him.</p> +<p>“Everybody turning in, Lafe?”</p> +<p>“Not at my suggestion, though,” replied Ashton.</p> +<p>“Reckon not. Mr. Blake and his lady are old +friends of yours, I take it.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Blake is,” stated Ashton, with a touch of his +former arrogance. “We made mud-pies together, in +a hundred thousand dollar dooryard.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” grunted Knowles. “And her husband?”</p> +<p>The darkness hid Ashton’s face, but his voice betrayed +the sudden upwelling of his bitterness: “I +never heard of him until he––until a little over three +years ago. I wish to Heaven he hadn’t taken part +in that bridge contest!”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” asked Knowles in a casual tone.</p> +<p>“Nothing––nothing!” Ashton hastened to disclaim. +“You haven’t been talking with Miss Chuckie +about me, have you, Mr. Knowles?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>“No. Why?”</p> +<p>“It was only that I explained to her how I came to +be ruined––to lose my fortune. You see, the circumstances +are such that I cannot very well say anything +against Blake; yet he was the cause––it was owing +to something he did that I lost all––everything––millions! +Curse him!”</p> +<p>“You’ve appeared friendly enough towards him,” +remarked Knowles.</p> +<p>“Yes, I––I promised Miss Chuckie to try to forget +the past. But when I think of what I lost, all because +of him––”</p> +<p>“So-o!” considered the cowman. “Maybe there’s +more in what Kid says than I thought. He’s been +cross-questioning Blake all day. You know how little +Kid is given to gab. But from the time we started off +he kept after Blake like he was cutting out steers at +the round-up.”</p> +<p>“Blake isn’t the kind you could get to tell anything +against himself,” asserted Ashton.</p> +<p>“Well, that may be. All his talk today struck me +as being straightforward and outspoken. But Kid has +been drawing inferences. He keeps hammering at it +that Blake must be in thick with his father-in-law, and +that all millionaires round-up their money in ways that +would make a rustler go off and shoot himself.”</p> +<p>“Business is business,” replied Ashton with all his +old cynicism. “I’ll not say that H. V. Leslie is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +crooked, but I never knew of his coming out of a deal +second best.”</p> +<p>“Well, at any rate, it’s white of Blake to tell us +beforehand what he intends to do if he sees a chance of +a practical project.”</p> +<p>“Has he told you everything?” scoffed Ashton.</p> +<p>“How about his offer to drop the whole matter and +not go into it at all?” rejoined Knowles.</p> +<p>Ashton hesitated to reply. For one thing, he was +momentarily nonplused, and, for another, the Blakes +had treated him as a gentleman. But a fresh upwelling +of bitterness dulled his conscience and sharpened +his wits.</p> +<p>“It may have been to throw you off your guard,” he +said. “Blake is deep, and he has had old Leslie to +coach him ever since he married Genevieve. He could +have laid his plans,––looked over the ground, and +found out just what are your rights here,––all without +your suspecting him.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not so sure––”</p> +<p>“Have you told him what lands you have deeds +to?”</p> +<p>“No, but if he knows as much about the West as I +figure he does, he can guess it. Fence every swallow +of get-at-able water to be found on my range this time +of year, and you won’t have to dig a posthole off of +land I hold in fee simple. Plum Creek sinks just below +where Dry Fork junctions.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“But you can’t have <i>all</i> the water?” exclaimed Ashton +incredulously.</p> +<p>“Yes, every drop to be found outside Deep Cañon +this time of year. There’s my seven and a half mile +string of quarter-sections blanketing Plum Creek from +the springs to down below Dry Fork, and five quarter-sections +covering all the waterholes. That makes up +five sections. A bunch of tenderfeet came in here, +years ago, and preëmpted all the quarter-sections with +water on them. Got their patents from the government. +Then the Utes stampeded them clean out of +the country, and I bought up their titles at a fair +figure.”</p> +<p>“And you own even that splendid pool up where I +had my camp?”</p> +<p>“Everything wet on this range that a cow or hawss +can get to, this time of year.”</p> +<p>Ashton considered, and advised craftily: “Don’t +tell him this. Does Miss Chuckie know it?”</p> +<p>“She knows I have five sections, and that most of +it is on Plum Creek. I don’t think anything has ever +been said to her about the waterholes. But why not +tell Blake?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you see? Even if he finds a way to get at +the water in Deep Cañon, he will first have to bore his +tunnel. He and his construction gang must have water +to drink and for their engines while they are carrying +out his plans. You can lie low, and, when the right +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +time comes, get out an injunction against their trespassing +on your land.”</p> +<p>“Say, that’s not a bad idea. The best I could figure +was that they might need one of my waterholes for a +reservoir site. But why not call him when he first takes +a hand?” asked Knowles.</p> +<p>“No, you should not show your cards until you have +to,” replied Ashton. “With all Leslie’s money against +you, it might be hard to get your injunction if they +knew of your plans. But if you wait until they have +their men, machinery and materials on the ground, you +will have them where they must buy you out at your +own terms.”</p> +<p>“By––James!” commented Knowles. “Talk +about business sharps!”</p> +<p>“I was in Leslie’s office for a time,” explained Ashton. +“Your interests are Miss Chuckie’s interests. +I’m for her––first, last, and all the time.”</p> +<p>“Um-m-m. Then I guess I can count on you as sure +as on Gowan.”</p> +<p>“You can. I am going to try my best to win your +daughter, Mr. Knowles. She’s a lady––the loveliest +girl I ever met.”</p> +<p>“No doubt about that. What’s more, she’s got +grit and brains. That’s why I tell you now, as I’ve +told Kid, it’s for her to decide on the man she’s going +to make happy. If he’s square and white, that’s all +I ask.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></p> +<p>“About my helping Blake with his levels,” Ashton +rather hastily changed the subject. “I am in your employ––and +so is he, for that matter. Don’t you think +I have a right to keep you posted on all his plans?”</p> +<p>“Well––yes. But he as much as says he will tell +them himself.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he will, and perhaps he won’t, Mr. +Knowles. I’ve told you what Leslie is like; and Blake +is his son-in-law.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not so sure. You and Kid, between +you, have shaken my judgment of the man. It can’t do +any harm to watch him, and I’ll be obliged to you for +doing it. If it comes to a fight against him and the +millions of backing he has, I want a fair deal and––But, +Lord! what if we’re making all this fuss over +nothing? It doesn’t stand to reason that there’s any +way to get the water out of Deep Cañon.”</p> +<p>“Wait a week or so,” cautioned Ashton. “In my +opinion, Blake already sees a possibility.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_LEVELS_AND_SLANTS' id='CHAPTER_XV_LEVELS_AND_SLANTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>LEVELS AND SLANTS</h3> +</div> +<p>At sunrise the next morning Blake screwed his +level on its tripod and set up the instrument about +a hundred yards away from the ranch house. Ashton +held the level rod for him on a spike driven into +the foot of the nearest post of the front porch. Blake +called the spike a bench-mark. For convenience of +determining the relative heights of the points along his +lines of levels, he designated this first “bench” in his +fieldbook as “elevation 1,000.”</p> +<p>From the porch he ran the line of level “readings” +up the slope to the top of the divide between Plum +Creek and Dry Fork and from there towards the waterhole +on Dry Fork. At noon Isobel and Mrs. Blake +drove out to them in the buckboard, bringing a hot meal +in an improvised fireless-cooker.</p> +<p>“And we came West to rough-it!” groaned Blake, +his eyes twinkling.</p> +<p>“You can camp at the waterhole where Lafe did, +and I’ll send Kid out for that bobcat,” suggested the +girl. “You could roast him, hair and all.”</p> +<p>“What! roast Gowan?” protested Blake. “Let +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +me tell you, Miss Chuckie––you and my wife and Ashton +may like him that much, but I don’t!”</p> +<p>“You need not worry, Mr. Tenderfoot,” the girl +flashed back at him. “Whenever it comes to a hot +time, Kid always gets in the first fire, without waiting +to be told.”</p> +<p>“Don’t I know it?” exclaimed Ashton. “Maybe +you haven’t noticed this hole in my hat, Mrs. Blake. +He put a bullet through it.”</p> +<p>“But it’s right over your temple, Lafayette!” replied +Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“Lafe was lifting his some-berero to me, and Kid +did it to haze him––only a joke, you know,” explained +Isobel. “Of course Lafe was in no danger. It was +different, though, when somebody––we think it was +his thieving guide––took several rifle shots at him. +Tell them about it, Lafe.”</p> +<p>Ashton gave an account of the murderous attack, +more than once checking himself in a natural tendency +to embellish the exciting details.</p> +<p>“Oh! What if the man should come back and shoot +at us?” shuddered Mrs. Blake, drawing her baby close +in her arms.</p> +<p>“No fear of that,” asserted Isobel. “Kid found +that he had fled towards the railroad. That proves it +must have been the guide. He would never dare come +back after such a crime.”</p> +<p>“If he should, I always carry my rifle, as you see,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +remarked Ashton; adding, with a touch of bravado, +“I made him run once, and I would again.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad Miss Chuckie is sure he will not come +back,” said Blake. “I don’t fancy anyone shooting +at me that way.”</p> +<p>“Timid Mr. Blake!” teased the girl. “Genevieve +has been telling me how you faced a lion with only a +bow and arrow.”</p> +<p>“Had to,” said Blake. “He’d have jumped on me +if I had turned or backed off.––Speaking about +camping at that waterhole, I believe we’ll do it, Ashton, +if it’s the same thing to you. It would save the +time that would be lost coming and going to the ranch.”</p> +<p>“Save time?” repeated Isobel. “Then of course +we’ll bring out a tent and camp kit for you tomorrow. +Genevieve and I can ride or drive up to the waterhole +each day, to picnic with you.”</p> +<p>“It will be delightful,” agreed Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“You ride on ahead and wait for us in the shade,” +said her husband. “We’ll knock off for the day when +we reach that dolerite dike above the waterhole.––If +you are ready, Ashton, we’ll peg along.”</p> +<p>He started off to set up his level as briskly as at +dawn, though the midday sun was so hot that he had +to shade the instrument with his handkerchief to keep +the air-bubble from outstretching its scale. His wife +and the girl drove on up Dry Fork to the waterhole.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake was outstretched on her back, fast asleep, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +and Isobel was playing with the baby under the adjoining +tree, when at last the surveyors came up on the +other side of the creek and ended their day’s run with +the establishment of a bench-mark on the top of the +dike above the pool. Blake seemed as fresh as in +the morning. He took a moderate drink of water +dipped up in the brim of his hat, and without wakening +his wife, sat down beside her to “figure up” his +fieldbook.</p> +<p>Ashton had come down to the pool panting from +heat and exertion. It was the first time that he had +walked more than half a mile since coming to the +ranch, for he had immediately fallen into the cowboy +practice of saddling a horse to go even short distances. +He had his reward for his work when, having soused +his hot head in the pool and drunk his fill, he came up +to rest in the shade of Isobel’s tree. Very considerately +the baby fell asleep. To avoid disturbing him and +his mother, the young couple talked in low tones and +half whispers very conducive to intimacy.</p> +<p>Ashton did his utmost to improve his opportunity. +Without openly speaking his love, he allowed it to +appear in his every look and intonation. The girl +met the attack with banter and raillery and adroit shiftings +of the conversation whenever his ardent inferences +became too obvious. Yet her evasion and her teasing +could not always mask her maidenly pleasure over his +adoration of her loveliness, and an occasional blush betrayed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +to him that his wooing was not altogether unwelcome.</p> +<p>He was in the seventh heaven when Mrs. Blake +awoke from her health-giving sleep and her husband +closed his fieldbook. The girl promptly dashed her +suitor back to earth by dropping him for the engineer.</p> +<p>“Mr. Blake! You can’t have figured it out already?” +she exclaimed. “What do you find?”</p> +<p>“Only an ‘if,’ Miss Chuckie,” he answered. “If +water can be stored or brought by ditch to this elevation, +practically all Dry Mesa can be irrigated. Our +bench-mark there on the dike is more than two hundred +feet above that spike we drove into your porch +post.”</p> +<p>“Is that all you’ve found out today?”</p> +<p>“All for today,” said Blake. “I could have left +this line of levels until later, but I thought I might as +well get through with them.”</p> +<p>“You would not have run them if you had thought +they would be useless,” she stated, perceiving the point +with intuitive acuteness.</p> +<p>“I like to clean up my work as I go along,” he replied. +“If you wish to know, I have thought of a +possible way to get water enough for the whole mesa. +It depends on two ‘ifs.’ I shall be certain as to one +of them within the next two days. The other is the +question of the depth of Deep Cañon. If I had a +transit, I could determine that by a vertical angle,––triangulation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +As it is, I probably shall have to go +down to the bottom.”</p> +<p>“Go down to the bottom of Deep Cañon?” cried +the girl.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered in a matter-of-course tone. “A +big ravine runs clear down to the bottom, up beyond +where your father said you first met Ashton. I think +it is possible to get down that gulch.––Suppose we +hitch up? We’ll make the ranch just about supper-time.”</p> +<p>Ashton hastened to bring in the picketed horses. +When they were harnessed Isobel fetched the sleeping +baby and handed him to his mother; but she did not +take the seat beside her.</p> +<p>“You drive, Lafe,” she ordered. “I’m going to +ride behind with Mr. Blake. It’s such fun bouncing.”</p> +<p>All protested in vain against this odd whim. The +girl plumped herself in on the rear end of the buckboard +and dangled her slender feet with the gleefulness +of a child.</p> +<p>“Mr. Blake will catch me if I go to jolt off,” she +declared.</p> +<p>The engineer nodded with responsive gayety and +seated himself beside her. As the buckboard rattled +away over the rough sod, they made as merry over +their jolts and bounces as a pair of school-children on +a hayrack party.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake sought to divert Ashton from his disappointment, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +but he had ears only for the laughing, +chatting couple behind him. The fact that Blake was +a married man did not prevent the lover from giving +way to jealous envy. Chancing to look around as he +warned the hilarious pair of a gully, he saw the girl +grasp Blake’s shoulder. Natural as was the act, his +envy flared up in hot resentment. Except on their +drive to Stockchute, she had always avoided even +touching his hand with her finger tips; yet now she +clung to the engineer with a grasp as familiar as that +of an affectionate child. Nor did she release her clasp +until they were some yards beyond the gully.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blake had seen not only the expression that +betrayed Ashton’s anger but also the action that caused +it. She raised her fine eyebrows; but meeting Ashton’s +significant glance, she sought to pass over the incident +with a smile. He refused to respond. All during the +remainder of the drive he sat in sullen silence. Genevieve +bent over her baby. Behind them the unconscious +couple continued in their mirthful enjoyment of +each other and the ride.</p> +<p>When the party reached the ranch, the girl must +have perceived Ashton’s moroseness had she not first +caught sight of her father. He was standing outside +the front porch, his eyes fixed upon the corner post +in a perplexed stare.</p> +<p>“Why, Daddy,” she called, “what is it? You +look as you do when playing chess with Kid.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>“Afraid it’s something that’ll annoy Mr. Blake,” +replied the cowman.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Blake, who was handing his +wife from the buckboard.</p> +<p>As the engineer faced Knowles, Gowan sauntered +around the far corner of the house. At sight of the +ladies he paused to adjust his neckerchief.</p> +<p>“Can’t understand it, Mr. Blake,” said the cowman. +“Somebody has pulled out that spike you drove in +here this morning.”</p> +<p>“Pulled the spike?” repeated Gowan, coming forward +to stare at the post. “That shore is a joke. +The Jap’s building a new henhouse. Must be short +of nails.”</p> +<p>“That’s so,” said Knowles. “I forgot to order +them for him. I’m mighty sorry, Mr. Blake. But +of course the little brown cuss didn’t know what he +was meddling with.”</p> +<p>“Jumping Jehosaphat!” ejaculated Gowan. “That +shore is mighty hard luck! I reckon pulling that +spike turns your line of levels adrift like knocking out +the picket-pin of an uneasy hawss.”</p> +<p>Blake burst into a hearty laugh. “That’s a fine +metaphor, Mr. Gowan. But it does not happen to +fit the case. It would not matter if the spike-hole had +been pulled out and the post along with it, so far as +concerns this line of levels.”</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t?” muttered Gowan, his lean jaw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +dropping slack. He glowered as if chagrined at the +engineer’s laughter at his mistake.</p> +<p>Without heeding the puncher’s look, Blake began to +tell Knowles the result of his day’s work. While he +was speaking, they went into the house after his wife +and the girl, leaving Gowan and Ashton alone. +Equally sullen and resentful, the rivals exchanged stares +of open hostility. Ashton pointed a derisive finger at +the spike-hole in the post.</p> +<p>“‘Hole ... and the post along with it!’” he repeated +Blake’s words. “On bridge work it might +have caused some trouble. But a preliminary line of +levels––<i>Mon Dieu</i>! A Jap should have known better––or +even a yap!” With a supercilious shrug, he +swung back into the buckboard and drove up to the +corral.</p> +<p>Gowan’s right hand had dropped to his hip. Slowly +it came up and joined the other hand in rolling a thick +Mexican cigarette. But the puncher did not light his +“smoke.” He looked at the spike-hole in the post, +scowled, and went back around the house.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_METAL_AND_METTLE' id='CHAPTER_XVI_METAL_AND_METTLE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>METAL AND METTLE</h3> +</div> +<p>At dawn Blake and Ashton drove up to the waterhole +on Dry Fork with their camp equipment. +There they left the outfit in the buckboard and proceeded +with the line of levels on up the creek bed into +the gorge from which it issued.</p> +<p>For more than a mile they carried the levels over +the bowlders of the gradually sloping bottom of that +stupendous gash in the mountain side. So far the work +was fairly easy. At last, however, they came to the +place where the bed of the gulch suddenly tilted upward +at a sharp angle and climbed the tremendous +heights to the top of High Mesa in sheer ascents and +cliff-like ledges. Blake established a bench-mark at +the foot of the acclivity, and came forward beside Ashton +to peer up the Titanic chute between the dizzy +precipices. From where they stood to the head of +the gulch was fully four thousand feet.</p> +<p>“What do you think of it?” asked the engineer.</p> +<p>“I think this is where your line ends,” answered Ashton, +and he rolled a cigarette. He had been anything +but agreeable since their start from the ranch. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></p> +<p>“We of course can’t go up with the level and rod,” +said Blake, smiling at the absurdity of the suggestion. +“Still, we might possibly chain it to the top.”</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged. “I fail to see the need of risking +my neck to climb this goat stairway.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” agreed Blake, ignoring his companion’s +ill humor. “Kindly take back the level and get out +the chain.”</p> +<p>Ashton started off without replying. Blake looked +at the young man’s back with a regretful, half-puzzled +expression. But he quickly returned to the business +in hand. He laid the level rod on a rock and inclined +it at the same steep pitch as the uptilt of the gorge bottom. +Over the lower end of this he held a plumb bob, +and took the angle between the perpendicular line of +the bob-string and the inclined line of the rod with a +small protractor that he carried in his notebook. The +angle measured over fifty degrees from the horizontal.</p> +<p>Having thus determined the angle of inclination, the +engineer picked a likely line of ascent and started to +climb the gulch chute. He went up in rapid rushes, +with the ease and surefootedness of a coolheaded, steel-muscled +climber. He stopped frequently, not because +of weariness or of lack of breath, but to test the structure +and hardness of the rocks with a small magnifying +glass and the butt of his pocket knife.</p> +<p>At last, nearly a thousand feet up, his ascent was +stopped by a sheer hundred-foot cliff. He had seen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +it beetling above him and knew beforehand that he +could not hope to scale such a precipice; yet he clambered +up to it, still examining the rock with minute +care. As he walked across the waterworn shelf at the +foot of the sheer cliff, his eye was caught by a wide +seam of quartz in the side wall of the gulch.</p> +<p>Going on over to the vein, he looked at it in several +places through his magnifying glass. Everywhere +little yellow specks showed in the semi-translucent +quartz. He drew back across the gorge to examine +the trend of the vein. It ran far outward and upward, +and in no place was it narrower than where it +disappeared under the bed of the gorge.</p> +<p>His lips pursed in a prolonged, soundless whistle. +But he did not linger. Immediately after he had estimated +the visible length and dip of the seam, he began +his descent. Arriving at the foot without accident, +he picked up the level rod and swung away down the +gulch.</p> +<p>He saw nothing of Ashton until he had come all +the distance down across the valley to the dike above +the pool. His assistant was in the grove below, +assiduously helping Miss Knowles to erect a tent that +the girl had improvised from a tarpaulin. Genevieve +and Thomas Herbert were interesting themselves in +the contents of the kit-box. The two ladies had ridden +up to the camp on horseback, Isobel carrying the baby.</p> +<p>When Blake came striding down to them, the girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +left Ashton and ran to meet him, her eyes beaming with +affectionate welcome.</p> +<p>“What has kept you so long?” she called. “Lafe +says the gulch is absolutely unclimbable. I could have +told you so, beforehand.”</p> +<p>“You are right. I tried it, but had to quit,” replied +Blake, engulfing her outstretched hand in his +big palm.</p> +<p>When he would have released her, she caught his +fingers and held fast, so that they came down to his +wife hand in hand. Oblivious of Ashton’s frown, the +girl dimpled at Mrs. Blake.</p> +<p>“Here he is, Genevieve,” she said. “We have him +corralled for the rest of the morning.”</p> +<p>“Sorry,” replied Blake, stooping to pick up his +chuckling son. “We can’t knock off now.”</p> +<p>“But if you cannot continue your levels?” asked his +wife. “From what Lafayette told us, we thought you +would not start in again until after lunch.”</p> +<p>“No more levels until tomorrow,” said Blake. +“But I must settle one of my big ‘ifs’ by night. To +do it, Ashton and I will have to go up on High Mesa +and measure a line. There’s still two hours till noon. +We’ll borrow your saddle ponies, Miss Chuckie, and +start at once, if Jenny will put us up a bite of lunch.”</p> +<p>“Immediately, Tom,” assented Mrs. Blake, delighted +at the opportunity to serve her big husband. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></p> +<p>“When shall we take Genevieve to see the cañon?” +asked the girl. “I am sure she can ride up safely on +old Buck.”</p> +<p>“We have only the two saddle horses today,” replied +Blake. “If our measurement settles that ‘if’ +one way, I shall start a line of levels up the mountain +tomorrow morning, if the other way, any irrigation +project is out of the question, and we shall go up to +the cañon merely as a sightseeing party.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” sighed the girl. “‘If!’ ‘if’––I do so +hope it turns out to be the last one!”</p> +<p>Blake looked at her with a quizzical smile. “Perhaps +you would not, Miss Chuckie, if you could see +all the results of a successful water system.”</p> +<p>“You mean, turning our range into farms for hundreds +of irrigationists,” she replied. “I suppose I am +selfish, but I am thinking of what it would mean to +Daddy. Just consider how it will affect us. For +years this land has been our own for miles and miles!”</p> +<p>“Well, we shall see,” said Blake, his eyes twinkling.</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed!” she exclaimed. “Lafe, if you’ll +help me saddle up and help Mr. Blake rush up to do +that measuring, I’ll––I’ll be ever so grateful!”</p> +<p>Though all the more resentful at Blake over having +to leave her company, Ashton eagerly sprang forward +to help the girl saddle the ponies. When they were +ready, she filled his canteen for him and took a sip +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +from it “for luck.” Genevieve had packed an ample +lunch in a gamebag, along with her husband’s linked +steel-wire surveyor’s chain.</p> +<p>Ten minutes after Blake’s arrival, he handed the +baby to its mother and swung into the saddle. Ashton +had already mounted, fired by a kind glance from +the girl’s forget-me-not eyes. In his zeal, he led the +way at a gallop around the craggy hill and across the +intervening valley to the escarpment of High Mesa. +Had not Blake checked him, he would have forced the +pace on up the mountain side.</p> +<p>“Hold on,” called the engineer. “We want to +make haste slowly. That buckskin you’re on isn’t so +young as he has been, and my pony has to lug around +two hundred pounds. We’ll get back sooner by being +moderate. Besides you don’t wish to knock up old +Buck. He is about the only one of these jumpy cow +ponies that is safe for Jenny.”</p> +<p>“That’s so,” admitted Ashton. “Suppose you set +the pace.”</p> +<p>He stopped to let Blake pass him, and trailed behind +up the mountain side. He had headed into a draw. +The engineer at once turned and began zigzagging up +the steep side of the ridge that thrust out into the valley +between the draw and the gulch of Dry Fork. At the +stiffest places he jumped off and led his pony. None +too willingly, Ashton followed the example set by his +companion. There were some places where he could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +not have avoided so doing––ledges that the old buckskin, +despite his years of mountain service, could hardly +scramble up under an empty saddle.</p> +<p>Long before they reached the point of the ridge, +Ashton was panting and sweating, and his handsome +face was red from exertion and anger. But his indignation +at being misguided up so difficult a line of +ascent received a damper when he reached the lower +end of the ridge crest. Blake, who had waited patiently +for him to clamber up the last sharp slope, gave +him a cheerful nod and pointed to the long but fairly +easy incline of the ridge crest.</p> +<p>“In mountain climbing, always take your stiffest +ground first, when you can,” he said. “We can jog +along pretty fast now.”</p> +<p>They mounted and rode up the ridge, much of the +time at a jog trot. Before long they came to the top +of High Mesa, and galloped across to one of the ridges +that lay parallel with Deep Cañon. Climbing the +ridge, they found themselves looking over into a +ravine that ran down to the right to join another ravine +from the opposite direction, at the head of Dry Fork +Gulch. Blake turned and rode to the left along the +ridge, until he found a place where they could cross +the ravine. The still air was reverberating with the +muffled roar of Deep Cañon.</p> +<p>From the ridge on the other side of the ravine, they +could look down between the scattered pines to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +gaping chasm of the stupendous cañon. But Blake +rode to the right along the summit of the ridge until +they came opposite the head of Dry Fork Gulch. +Here he flung the reins over his pony’s head, and dismounted. +Ashton was about to do the same when he +caught sight of a wolf slinking away like a gray shadow +up the farther ravine. He reached for his rifle, and +for the first time noticed that he had failed to bring +it along. In his haste to start from camp he had left +it in the tent.</p> +<p>“<i>Sacre!</i>” he petulantly exclaimed. “There goes +twenty-five dollars!”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” asked Blake. He looked and +caught a glimpse of the wolf just as it vanished. “Why +don’t you shoot?”</p> +<p>“Left my rifle in camp, curse the luck!”</p> +<p>“Keep cool,” advised Blake. “It’s only twenty-five +dollars, and you might have missed anyway.”</p> +<p>“Not with my automatic,” snapped Ashton. +“You needn’t sneer about the money. You’ve seen +times when you’d have been glad of a chance at half +the amount.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” gravely agreed the engineer. +“What’s more, I realize that it is far harder for you +than it ever was for me. I want to tell you I admire +the way you have stood your loss.”</p> +<p>“You do?” burst out the younger man. “I want +to tell <i>you</i> I don’t admire the way you ruined me––babbling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +to my father––when you promised to keep +still! You sneak!”</p> +<p>Blake looked into the other’s furious face with no +shade of change in his grave gaze. “I have never +said a word to your father against you,” he declared.</p> +<p>“Then––then how, after all this time––?” stammered +Ashton, even in his anger unable to disbelieve +the engineer’s quiet statement. He was disconcerted +only for the moment. Again he flared hotly: “But +if you didn’t, old Leslie must have! It’s all the +same!”</p> +<p>“No, it is not the same,” corrected Blake. “As +for my father-in-law, if he said anything about––the +past, I feel sure it was not with intention to hurt your +interests.”</p> +<p>“Hurt my interests! You know I am utterly +ruined!”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, I know you are not ruined. You +have lost a large allowance, and a will has been made +cutting you off from a great many millions that you expected +to inherit. But you have landed square on your +feet; you have a pretty good job, and you are stronger +and healthier than you were.”</p> +<p>“If you break up Mr. Knowles’ range with your +irrigation schemes, I stand to lose my job. You know +that.”</p> +<p>“If the project proves to be feasible, I shall offer +you a position on the works,” said Blake. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“You needn’t try to bribe me!” retorted Ashton. +“I’m working for Mr. Knowles.”</p> +<p>“Well, he directed you to help me with this survey,” +replied the engineer, with imperturbable good nature. +“The next move is to chain across to the cañon.”</p> +<p>He pulled his surveyor’s chain from the bag and descended +the ridge to an out-jutting rock above the head +of the tremendous gorge in the mountain side. Ashton +followed him down. Blake handed him the front +end of the chain.</p> +<p>“You lead,” he said. “I’ll line you, as I know +where to strike the nearest point on the cañon.”</p> +<p>Ashton sullenly started up the ridge, and the measurement +began. As Blake required only a rough approximation, +they soon crossed the ridge and chained +down through the trees to the edge of Deep Cañon. +Ashton was astonished at the shortness of the distance. +The cañon at this point ran towards the mesa escarpment +as if it had originally intended to drive through +into Dry Fork Gulch, but twisted sharp about and +curved back across the plateau. Even Blake was surprised +at the measurement. It was only a little over +two thousand feet.</p> +<p>“Noticed this place when out with Mr. Knowles and +Gowan,” he remarked, gazing down into the abyss with +keen appreciation of its awful grandeur. “They told +me it is the nearest that the cañon comes to the edge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +of the mesa, until it breaks out, thirty or forty miles +down.”</p> +<p>“How––how about that ‘if’ you said this measurement +would settle?” asked Ashton.</p> +<p>“What’s the time?”</p> +<p>Ashton looked at his watch, frowning over the +evasive reply. “It’s two-ten.”</p> +<p>“I’ll figure on the proposition while we eat lunch,” +said Blake. “I can answer you better regarding that +‘if’ when I have done some calculating. Luckily I +climbed up to examine the rock in the gulch.” He +smiled quizzically at his companion. “You were right +as to its being unclimbable; but I found out even more +than I expected.”</p> +<p>Ashton silently took the bag from him and arranged +the lunch and his canteen on a rock under a pine. The +engineer figured and drew little diagrams in his fieldbook +while he ate his sandwiches. Ashton had half +drained the canteen on the way up the mountain. Before +sitting down Blake had rinsed out his mouth and +taken a few swallows of water. After eating, he +started to take another drink, noticed his companion’s +hot dry face, and stopped after a single sip.</p> +<p>“Guess you need it more than I do,” he remarked, as +he rose to his feet. “Time to start. I wish to go +around and down the mountain on the other side of +the gulch.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>“How about the––the ‘if’?” inquired Ashton.</p> +<p>“Killed,” answered Blake. “There now is only +one left. If that comes out the same way, Dry Mesa +will have good cause to change its name.”</p> +<p>“You can tunnel through from the gulch to the +cañon?” exclaimed Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes; and I shall do so––if Deep Cañon is not too +deep.”</p> +<p>“I hope it is a thousand feet below Dry Mesa!” +said Ashton.</p> +<p>“In the circumstances,” Blake replied to the fervent +declaration, “I am glad to hear you say it.”</p> +<p>Ashton stared, but could detect no sarcasm in the +other’s smile of commendation.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_A_SHOT_IN_THE_DUSK' id='CHAPTER_XVII_A_SHOT_IN_THE_DUSK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>A SHOT IN THE DUSK</h3> +</div> +<p>They returned to their grazing ponies, and at +once started the descent of the mountain, after +crossing the ravine where they had seen the wolf. +Blake chose a route that brought them down into the +valley above the waterhole shortly before five o’clock. +They cantered the remaining distance along the wide, +gravelly wash of the creek bed to the dike.</p> +<p>Looking down from the dike, they saw that Knowles +and Gowan had come up the creek and were waiting for +them in company with the ladies. Ashton set spurs to +his horse and dashed across above the pool, to descend +the slope to the party. Blake descended on the other +side, to water his horse and slake his own thirst.</p> +<p>To Ashton’s chagrin, Isobel joined Genevieve in +hastening to meet the engineer. He rode down beside +the two men and jumped off to follow the ladies. But +Gowan sprang before him.</p> +<p>“Hold on,” he said. “Mr. Knowles wants your +report.”</p> +<p>“If you’ll oblige us, Lafe,” added the cowman. +“I’m pretty much worked up.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>“You have cause to be!” replied Ashton. “He +says the only question left is whether the water in the +cañon is not at too low a level. We measured across +from the creek gulch to the cañon. A tunnel is practicable, +he says.”</p> +<p>“Through all that mountain?” scoffed Gowan. +“It’s solid rock, clean through. It would take him +a hundred years to burrow a hole like that.”</p> +<p>“You know nothing of engineering and its tools. +We now have electric drills that will eat into granite +like cheese,” condescendingly explained Ashton.</p> +<p>“Think I don’t know that? But just you try to +figure out how he’s going to get his electricity for his +drills,” retorted Gowan.</p> +<p>Without stopping for his disconcerted rival to reply, +he turned his back on him and started towards +Isobel. The girl was running up from the pool, her +face almost pitiful with disappointment.</p> +<p>“Oh, Daddy!” she called, “Mr. Blake says that if +the water in the cañon––”</p> +<p>“Needn’t tell me, honey. I know already,” broke +in her father, hastening to meet her.</p> +<p>She flung her arms about his neck, and sobbed +brokenly: “I’m––I’m so sorry for you, D-Daddy!”</p> +<p>“There, there now!” he soothed, awkwardly patting +her back. “’Tisn’t like you to cry before you’re +hurt.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p> +<p>“No, no––you! not me. It doesn’t matter about +me!”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t it, though! But I’m not hurt either, as +yet. It’s a long ways from being a sure thing.”</p> +<p>“All the way down to the bottom of Deep Cañon!” +put in Ashton.</p> +<p>“And then some!” added Gowan. “I’ve hit on +another ‘if,’ Miss Chuckie.”</p> +<p>“You have? Oh, Kid, tell us!”</p> +<p>“It’s this: How’s he going to get electricity to +dig his tunnel?”</p> +<p>Blake was coming up from the pool, with his baby +in one arm and his wife clinging fondly to the other. +He met the coldly exultant glance of Gowan, and +smiled.</p> +<p>“The only question regarding the power is one of +cost, Mr. Gowan,” he said. “There is no coal near +enough to be hauled. But gasolene is not bulky. If +there was water power to generate electricity, a tunnel +could be bored at half the cost I have figured. The +point is that there is no water power available, nor will +there be until the tunnel is finished.”</p> +<p>“What! You talk about finishing the tunnel? +Didn’t you say it is still uncertain about the water?” +demanded Knowles.</p> +<p>“I was merely explaining to Mr. Gowan,” replied +Blake. “The question he raised is one of the factors +in our problem as to whether an irrigation project is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +practicable. We now know that we have the land for +it, the tunnel site, the reservoir site––” he pointed to +the valley above the dike––“and I have figured that +the cost of construction would not be excessive. All +that remains is to determine if we have the water. I +have already explained that this will require a descent +into the cañon.”</p> +<p>“You say that that will decide it, one way or the +other?” queried Knowles, his forehead creased with +deep lines of foreboding.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Blake. “I regret that you feel as +you do about it. Consider what it would mean to +hundreds, yes, thousands of people, if this mesa were +watered. I assure you that you, too, would benefit +by the project.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care for any such benefit, Mr. Blake. +I’ve been a cowman for twenty-five years. I want to +keep my range until the time comes for me to take +the long trail.”</p> +<p>“It would be hard to change,” agreed the engineer. +“However, the point now is to find what Deep Cañon +has to tell us.”</p> +<p>“You still think you can go down it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if I have ropes, a two-pound hammer, and +some iron pins; railroad spikes and picket-pins would +do.”</p> +<p>“Going to rope the rocks and pull them up for +steps?” asked Gowan. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p> +<p>“I shall need two or three hundred feet of half-inch +manila,” said Blake, ignoring the sarcasm.</p> +<p>“They may have it at Stockchute,” said Knowles. +“Kid, you can drive over with the wagon and fetch +Mr. Blake all the rope and other things he wants. +I can’t stand this waiting much longer.”</p> +<p>“There will be no time lost,” said Blake. “It will +take Ashton and me all of tomorrow to carry a line +of levels up the mountain.”</p> +<p>“Why need you do that, Tom?” asked his wife.</p> +<p>“Yes, why, if all that’s left is to go down into the +cañon?” added Isobel, dabbing the tears from her +wet eyes.</p> +<p>Ashton thrust in an answer before Blake could +speak. “We must see how high the upper mesa is +above this one, Miss Chuckie, and then compare the +difference of altitude with the depth of the cañon, to +see whether its bottom is above or below the bottom +of the gulch.”</p> +<p>“Oh––measure up and then down, to see which +way is longest,” said Genevieve.</p> +<p>“Sorry, ma’am,” broke in Knowles. “We’ll have +to be starting now to get home by dark. If you think +you can trust me with that young man, I’d like the +honor of packing him all the way in. I’ve toted +calves for miles, so I guess I can hold onto a baby +if I use both hands.”</p> +<p>“You shall have him!” replied Genevieve, smiling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +like a daughter as she met the look in his grave eyes. +“Tom, give Thomas to Mr. Knowles––when he is +safe in the saddle.”</p> +<p>Even Gowan cracked a smile at this cautious qualification. +He hastened to bring Isobel’s horse and hold +him for her––which gave Ashton the opportunity to +help her mount. Both services were needless, but she +rewarded each eager servitor with a dimpled smile. +When Blake handed the baby up to Knowles, his wife, +untroubled by mock modesty, gave him a loving kiss. +He lifted her bodily into the saddle, and she rode off +with her three companions.</p> +<p>Isobel, however, wheeled within the first few yards, +and came back for a parting word: “You can expect +us quite early tomorrow. We will overtake you +on your way up the mountain. I wish Genevieve to +see the cañon. Good night––Pleasant dreams!”</p> +<p>She had addressed Ashton, but her last smile was +for Blake, and it was undisguisedly affectionate. As +she loped away after the others, Ashton frowned, and, +picking up his rifle, started off up the valley. Blake +was staring after the girl with a wondering look. He +turned to cast a quizzical glance at the back of the +resentful lover.</p> +<p>When the latter had disappeared around the hill, +the engineer took the frying pan and walked up into +the creek bed above the dike. After going some distance +over the gravel bars, he came to a place where the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +swirl of the last freshet had gouged a hole almost +to bedrock. Scooping a panful of sand and gravel +from the bottom of the hole, he went back and squatted +down beside the pool within easy reach of the water.</p> +<p>He picked the larger pebbles from the pan, added +water, and began to swirl the contents around with a +circular motion. Each turn flirted some of the sand +and water over the pan’s beveled edge. Every little +while he renewed the water. At last the pan’s contents +were reduced to a half dozen, irregular, dirty, +little lumps and a handful of “black sand” in which +gleamed numbers of yellow particles.</p> +<p>Blake put the nuggets into his pocket and threw +the rest out into the pool. He returned to the tent +and sat down to re-check his level-book and his calculations +on the approximate cost of the tunnel. Sundown +found him still figuring; but when twilight faded +into dusk, he put away his fieldbook and started a +fire for supper.</p> +<p>He was in the act of setting on a pan of bacon when, +without the slightest warning, a bullet cut the knot of +the loose neckerchief under his downbent chin. In the +same instant that he heard the ping of the shot he +pitched sideways and flattened himself on the ground +with the chuck-box between him and the fire. A roll +and a quick crawl took him into the underbrush beyond +the circle of firelight. No second bullet followed +him in his amazingly swift movements. He lay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +motionless, listening intently, but no sound broke the +stillness of the evening except the distant wail of a +coyote and the hoot of an owl.</p> +<p>Half an hour passed, and still the engineer waited. +The dusk deepened into darkness. At last a heavy +footfall sounded up on the dike. Blake rose, and +slipping silently to the tent, groped about until he +found a heavy iron picket-pin.</p> +<p>Someone came down the slope and kicked his way +petulantly through the bushes to the dying fire. He +threw on an armful of brush. The light of the up-blazing +flame showed Ashton standing beside the +chuck-box, rifle in hand. But he dropped the weapon +to pick up the overturned frying pan, which lay at his +feet.</p> +<p>“Hello, Blake!” he sang out irritably. “I supposed +you’d have supper waiting. Haven’t turned in +this early, have you?”</p> +<p>“No,” replied Blake, and he came forward, carelessly +swinging the picket-pin. “Thought I saw a +coyote sneaking about, and tried to trick him into coming +close enough for me to nail him with this pin.”</p> +<p>“With that!” scoffed Ashton. “But it would do +as well as my rifle. I took a shot at a wolf, and then +the mechanism jammed. I can’t get it to work.”</p> +<p>“You fired a shot?” asked Blake.</p> +<p>“Yes. Was it too far off for you to hear? I +circled all around these hills.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></p> +<p>“No, I heard it,” replied Blake, looking close into +the other’s sullen face. “You may not have been +as far away as you thought.”</p> +<p>“I was far enough,” grumbled Ashton. “I’ve +walked till I’m hungry as a shark.”</p> +<p>“Do you realize that you want to be careful how +you shoot with these high-power rifles?” asked Blake. +“They carry a mile or more.”</p> +<p>“I’ve carried mine more than that, and <i>it</i> won’t +carry an inch,” complained Ashton. “Wish you would +see if you can fix it, while I get on some bacon.”</p> +<p>Blake took his scrutinizing gaze from his companion’s +face, and picked up the rifle. Ashton showed +plainly that he was tired and hungry and very irritable, +but there was no trace of guilt in his look or +manner. While he hurriedly prepared supper, Blake +took apart the mechanism of the rifle. He discovered +the trouble at once.</p> +<p>“This is easy,” he said. “Nothing broken––just +a screw loose. Have you been monkeying with the +parts, to see how they work?”</p> +<p>“No; I don’t care a hang how they work. What +gets me is that they didn’t work!”</p> +<p>“Queer, then, how this screw got loose,” said Blake +as he tightened it with the blade of his pocket knife. +“It sets tight enough. Of course it might have come +from the factory a bit loose, and jarred out with the +firing; but neither seems probable.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></p> +<p>“Is it all right now?” queried Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes.––Seems to me someone <i>must</i> have loosened +this screw.”</p> +<p>“What’s the difference how it happened, if it will +not happen again?” irritably replied Ashton. “Guess +this bacon is fried enough. Let’s eat.”</p> +<p>Blake recoupled the rifle, emptied the magazine, +tested the mechanism, refilled the magazine, and joined +his ravenous companion in his ill-cooked meal.</p> +<p>Immediately after eating, Ashton flung himself +down in the tent. A few minutes later Blake crept in +beside him and struck a match. The young man had +already fallen into the deep slumber of utter physical +and mental relaxation. Blake went outside and listened +to the wailing of the coyotes. Difficult as it was to +determine the direction of their mournful cries, he at +last satisfied himself that they were circling entirely +around the camp.</p> +<p>A watchdog could not have indicated with greater +certainty that there was no other wild beast or any +human being lurking near the waterhole. Blake crept +back into the tent and was soon fast asleep beside his +companion.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_ON_THE_BRINK' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_ON_THE_BRINK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>ON THE BRINK</h3> +</div> +<p>Early to bed, early to rise. The two men were +up at dawn. During the night the coyotes had +sneaked into the camp. But Blake had fastened the +food in the chuck-box and slung everything gnawable +up in the branches out of reach of the sly thieves.</p> +<p>At sunrise the two started out on their day’s work, +Ashton carrying his rifle and canteen and the level rod, +Blake with the level and a bag containing their lunch +and a two-quart sirup-can of water.</p> +<p>“We’ll run a new line from the dike bench, around +the hill and across the valley the way we rode out +yesterday,” said the engineer, as they climbed the slope +above the waterhole. “That will give us a check by +cross-tying to the line of the creek levels where it runs +into the gulch.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you trust to the accuracy of your own +work?” asked Ashton with evident intent to mortify.</p> +<p>Blake smiled in his good-natured way. “You forget +the first rule of engineering. Always check when +you can, then re-check and check again.––Now, if +you’ll kindly give me a reading off that bench.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>Ashton complied, though with evident ill will. He +had wakened in good spirits, but was fast returning +to his sullenness of the previous day. He took his +time in going from the bench-mark to the first turning +point. Blake moved up past him with inspiring briskness, +but the younger man kept to his leisurely saunter. +In rounding the corner of the hill twice as much time +was consumed as was necessary.</p> +<p>When they came to the last turn at the foot of the +rocky slope, where the line struck out across the valley +towards the foot of the mountain side, Ashton paused +to roll a cigarette before holding his rod for the reading. +Small as was the incident, it was particularly aggravating +to an engineer. The reading would have +taken only a moment, and he could then have rolled +his cigarette and smoked it while Blake was moving +past him for the next “set up.” Instead, he deliberately +kept Blake waiting until the cigarette had been +rolled and lighted.</p> +<p>Blake “pulled up” his level and started forward, +his face impassive. Ashton leaned jauntily on the rod, +sucked in a mouthful of smoke, and raising his cigarette, +flicked the ash from the tip with his little finger. +At the same instant a bullet from the crags above +him pierced the crown of his hat. He pitched forward +on his face, rolled half over, and lay quiet.</p> +<p>Most men would have been dumfounded by the +frightful suddenness of the occurrence––the shot and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +the instant fall of Ashton. It was like a stroke of +lightning out of a clear sky. Blake did not stand +gaping even for a moment. As Ashton’s senseless body +struck the ground, he sprang sideways and bent to lay +down his instrument, with the instinctive carefulness of +an old railroad surveyor. A swift rush towards Ashton +barely saved him from the second bullet that came +pinging down from the hill crest. It burned across +the back of his shoulder.</p> +<p>Heedless of the blood spurting from the wound in +the side of Ashton’s head, Blake snatched up the automatic +rifle and fired at a point between two knobs of +rock on the hill crest. Promptly a hat appeared, then +an arm and a rifle. It might have been expected that +a bullet would have instantly followed; yet the assassin +was strangely deliberate about getting his aim. Blake +did not wait for him. He began to fire as fast as the +automatic ejector and reloader set the rifle trigger. +Three bullets sped up at the assassin before he had +time to drop back out of sight.</p> +<p>Blake started up the hillside, his pale eyes like white-hot +steel. He was in a fury, but it was the cold fury +of a man too courageous for reckless bravado. He +went up the hill as an Apache would have charged, +dodging from cover to cover and, wherever possible, +keeping in line with a rock or tree in his successive +rushes. At every brief stop he scanned the ridge crest +for a sign of his enemy. But the assassin did not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +show himself. For all that Blake could tell, he might +be waiting for a sure shot, or he might be lying with +a bullet through his brain.</p> +<p>To avoid suicidal exposure, the engineer was compelled +to veer off to the right in his ascent. He +reached the ridge crest without a shot having been +fired at him. Leaping suddenly to his feet, he scrambled +up to the flat top of a high crag, from which he +could peer down upon the others. The natural embrazure +from which the assassin had fired was exposed +to his view; but the place was empty. He looked cautiously +about at the many huge bowlders behind which +a hundred men might have been crouching unseen by +him, advantageous as was his position. To flush the +assassin would require a bold rush over and around +the rocks.</p> +<p>Blake set his powerful jaw and gathered himself together +for the leap down from his crag. At that moment +his alert eye caught a glimpse of a swiftly +moving object on the mesa at the foot of the far side +of the hill. It was a horse and rider racing out of +sight around the bend of a ridge point.</p> +<p>Blake whipped the rifle to his shoulder. But the +cowardly fugitive had disappeared. He lowered the +rifle and started back down the hill faster than he had +come up. Leaping like a goat, sliding, rushing––he +raced to the bottom in a direct line for Ashton.</p> +<p>The victim lay as he had fallen, his head ghastly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +red with blood, which was still oozing from his wound. +Blake dropped down beside the flaccid body and tore +open the front of the silk shirt. He thrust in his hand. +For some moments he was baffled by the violent throbbing +of his own pulse. Then, at last, he detected a +heartbeat, very feeble and slow yet unmistakable.</p> +<p>He turned Ashton on his side, and washing away +the blood with water from the canteen, examined the +wound with utmost carefulness. The bullet had +pierced the scalp and plowed a furrow down along the +side of the skull, grazing but not penetrating the bone.</p> +<p>“Only stunned.... Mighty close, though,” muttered +Blake. He looked at the ashen face of the +wounded man and added apprehensively, “Too close!... +Concussion––”</p> +<p>Hastily he knotted a compress bandage made of +handkerchiefs and neckerchiefs around the bleeding +head, and stretching Ashton flat on his back, began to +pump his arms up and down as is done in resuscitating a +drowned person. After a time Ashton’s face began to +lose its deathly pallor. His heart beat less feebly; +he drew in a deep sighing breath, and stared up dazedly +at Blake, with slowly returning consciousness.</p> +<p>“I’ll smoke all I please and when I please,” he murmured +in a supercilious drawl.</p> +<p>Blake dashed his face with the cupful of water still +left in the canteen. The wounded man flushed with +quick anger and attempted to rise. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>“What––what you––How dare you?” he +spluttered, only to sink back with a groan, “My head! +O-o-oh! You’ve smashed my head!”</p> +<p>“You’re in luck that your head <i>wasn’t</i> smashed,” +replied Blake. “It was a bullet knocked you over.”</p> +<p>“Bullet?” echoed Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes. Scoundrel up on the hill tried to get us +both.”</p> +<p>“Up on the hill?” Ashton twisted his head about, +in alarm, to look at the hill crest. “But if he––He +may shoot again.”</p> +<p>“Not this time. I went up for him. He went +down faster, other side the hill. Saw him on the run. +The sneaking––” Blake closed his lips on the word. +After a moment his grimness relaxed. “Came back to +start your funeral. Found you’d cheated the undertaker. +How do you feel now?”</p> +<p>“I believe I––” began Ashton, again trying to raise +himself, only to sink back as before. “My head!––What +makes me so weak?”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry,” reassured Blake. “It’s only a +scalp wound. You are weak from the shock and a +little loss of blood. I’ll get you a drink from my +can, and then tote you into camp. You’ll be all right +in a day or two.”</p> +<p>He fetched the can of water from his bag, which he +had dropped beside the level. Ashton drank with the +thirstiness of one who has lost blood. When at last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +his thirst was quenched, he glanced up at Blake with +a look of half reluctant apology.</p> +<p>“I said something about your striking me,” he murmured. +“I did not understand––did not realize I +had been shot. You see, just before––”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” broke in Blake. “I owe you +a bigger apology. Last evening, while you were out +hunting, someone took a shot at me. It must have +been this same sneaking skunk. I thought it was +you.”</p> +<p>“You thought I could try to––to shoot you?” +muttered Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes. There’s the old matter of the bridge, and +you seem to think I am responsible for what your +father has done. But after you came in, I soon concluded +that you had fired towards the camp unintentionally.”</p> +<p>“If you had asked,” explained Ashton, “I was +around at the far end of these hills, nearly two miles +from the camp, when I shot at the wolf and the rifle +went wrong.”</p> +<p>“That was a fortunate occurrence––your going out +and seeing the wolf;” said Blake. “If you hadn’t +taken that shot, we would not have known your rifle +was out of gear. My first bullet merely made the +sneak rise up to pot me. If the rapidity of the next +three shots hadn’t rattled him, I believe he would have +potted me, instead of running.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p> +<p>“So that was it?” exclaimed Ashton. “Do you +know, I believe it must be the same scoundrel who attacked +me the first day I rode down Dry Fork. No +doubt he remembered how I ripped loose at him with +the automatic-catch set.”</p> +<p>“Your thieving guide?” said Blake. “But why +should he try to kill me?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” murmured Ashton. +“Another drink, please.”</p> +<p>“I shall tote you back to camp, and––No, I’ll +lay you over there in the shade and go up to see if he +is in sight.”</p> +<p>Picking up the wounded man as easily as if he had +been a child, the engineer carried him over under a +tree, fetched him the can of water, and for the second +time climbed the rocky hillside. Scaling his lookout +crag, he surveyed the country below him. A mile +down the creek two riders were coming up towards the +waterhole at an easy canter. He surmised that they +were his wife and Miss Knowles.</p> +<p>Their approach brought a shade of anxiety into his +strong face. He swept the landscape with his glance. +A little cloud of dust far out on the mesa towards +Split Peak caught his eye. He looked at it steadfastly +under his hand, and drew a deep breath of relief as he +made out a fleeing horse and rider.</p> +<p>He descended to Ashton, and taking him up pick-a-back, +swung away for the camp with long, swift +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +strides. Before he had gone half the distance, he felt +Ashton’s arms loosening their clasp of his neck. He +caught him as he sank in a swoon. Without a moment’s +hesitation, he slung his senseless burden up on +his shoulder like a sack of meal, and hastened on faster +than before.</p> +<p>Swiftly as he walked, the ladies reached the camp +before him. When he came to the top of the dike +slope, his wife had dismounted and Isobel was handing +down the baby to her. As the girl slipped out of +the saddle she looked up the slope. With a startled +cry, she darted to meet Blake.</p> +<p>Quick to forestall her alarm, he called in a gasping +shout: “Not serious––not serious!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Tom––Mr. Blake!” she cried. “What +has happened?”</p> +<p>“Scalp wound––faint––blood loss,” Blake panted +in terse answer.</p> +<p>“He is wounded? O-o-oh!” She ran up and +looked fearfully at the bloodsoaked bandages across +Ashton’s hanging head.</p> +<p>Blake staggered on down the slope without pausing. +Genevieve had started to meet him. But at her husband’s +panting explanation, she laid the baby on the +nearest soft spot of earth and darted to the kit-chest. +She was opening a “first aid” box when Blake crashed +through the bushes and sank down with his burden under +the first tree. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p> +<p>Genevieve hastened towards the men, calling to her +companion: “Water, Chuckie––that pail by the +fireplace.”</p> +<p>The girl flew to fetch a bucket of water from the +pool.</p> +<p>Blake was peering anxiously down into Ashton’s +white face. “Didn’t––know––but––that––” he +panted.</p> +<p>“No,” reassured his wife. “He will soon be all +right.”</p> +<p>She drew the unconscious man flat on his back and +held a bottle of ammonia to his nostrils. The powerful +stimulant revived him just as the girl came running +back with the water. He opened his eyes, and the +first object they rested upon was her anxious pitiful +face. He smiled and whispered gallantly: “Don’t +be afraid. I’m all right––now!”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll drink first,” said Blake.</p> +<p>He took a deep draught from the pail, doused a +hatful of water over his hot head and face, and +stretched out to cool off. Genevieve, assisted by the +deeply concerned girl, took the handkerchief bandage +from Ashton’s head and washed the wound with an +antiseptic solution. She then clipped away the hair +from the edges and drew the scalp together with a +number of stitches.</p> +<p>In this last the hardy cowgirl was unable to help. +She clasped Ashton’s hand convulsively and sat shuddering. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +Ashton smiled up into her tender pitying eyes. +Genevieve had numbed his wound with cocaine. He +was quite satisfied with the situation.</p> +<p>Another antiseptic washing and a compress of sterilized +cotton bound on with surgical bandages completed +the operation. Then, when it was all over +with, the young mother, who had gone through everything +with the aplomb and deftness of a surgeon, +quietly sank back in a faint. On the instant Blake +was reaching for the ammonia bottle.</p> +<p>A whiff restored his wife to consciousness. She +opened her eyes, and smiling at her weakness, sought +to rise. He held her down with gentle force and ordered +her to lie quiet.</p> +<p>“I shall fetch Tommy,” he added. “We’ll all +take a <i>siesta</i> until noon.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_PLOTTERS' id='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_PLOTTERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>THE PLOTTERS</h3> +</div> +<p>When Blake came back with the baby, Isobel +begged him for a full account of how Ashton +had been wounded. In relating the affair he sought +to minimize the danger that he had incurred, and he +omitted all mention of the bullet shot at him the +previous evening. But his account was frequently interrupted +by exclamations from his wife and Isobel.</p> +<p>At the end he dwelt strongly on the cowardly haste +of the assassin’s flight; only to be met by a shrewdly +anxious rejoinder from the girl: “He ran away after +he attacked Lafe the other time. He will come back +again!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Tom!” cried Genevieve––“if he does!”</p> +<p>“We will get him, that is all there is to it,” replied +her husband. “What do you say to that, Ashton?”</p> +<p>“We will not have the chance,” said Ashton. “I +don’t believe he has nerve enough to try it the third +time. But if he should––”</p> +<p>“No, no! I hope he keeps running forever!” +fervently wished Isobel. “Don’t you realize how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +close a miss that was, Lafe?––and the other time, +too?”</p> +<p>“I like having one Miss close,” he punned.</p> +<p>The girl blushed, but failed to show any sign of +resentment.</p> +<p>Blake looked significantly at his wife. “Don’t +know but what I’ve changed my mind about a <i>siesta</i>,” +he remarked. “Here’s Tommy gone to sleep just +when I wanted to fight him. Do you think Miss +Chuckie can keep him and Ashton from running away +if I go to bring in the level?”</p> +<p>“You say you had started to run the line of levels +across to the mountain?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.... This little pleasantry has knocked us +out of a day’s work and you out of your trip to the +cañon.”</p> +<p>“But why couldn’t I rod for you?” she suggested. +“I noticed Lafayette the other day. It seems easier +than golfing.”</p> +<p>“It is.”</p> +<p>“Then I shall do it. A good walk is exactly what +I need.”</p> +<p>“Genevieve!” hastily appealed Isobel. “Surely +you’ll not go off and leave me––us!”</p> +<p>“Thomas is asleep, and Lafayette needs to be +quiet,” was the demure reply. “Come, Tom. We’ll +run the levels over to the foot of the mountain, at +least.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>With a reproachful glance at the smiling couple, the +girl slipped over to put Thomas Herbert between herself +and Ashton. Blake found another bag and can, +which last he filled with water from the bucket. +Genevieve put on the cowboy hat that she had borrowed +at the ranch, and sprang up to join him.</p> +<p>He paused for a question: “How about leaving +the rifle?”</p> +<p>Isobel put her hand to a fold in her skirt and drew +out her long-barreled automatic pistol. “I can do +as well or better with this,” she answered.</p> +<p>“What a wicked looking thing!” exclaimed Genevieve. +“Surely, dear, you do not shoot it?”</p> +<p>“Shoot it!” put in Ashton. “Hasn’t she told you +about saving me from a rattler?”</p> +<p>“She did?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, and he told about the rattlesnake +in the bunkhouse.</p> +<p>“But I ought to have shot quicker,” Isobel explained, +when he finished. “I missed the head, +though I aimed at it.”</p> +<p>“The way we’ve left Thomas about on the +ground!” exclaimed Genevieve. “Are there any of +the horrid things around here? Is that why you +carry the pistol?”</p> +<p>“No, no, don’t be afraid. We’ve killed them out +here, long ago, because of the cattle. I carry my pistol +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +on the chance of killing wolves. They’re dreadfully +harmful to the calves and colts, you know.”</p> +<p>“Good for you,” praised Blake, as he picked up +the rifle. “Well, we’re off.”</p> +<p>He started away, hand in hand with his wife. They +were soon at the top of the dike slope and almost dancing +along over the dry turf. It was months since +they had been alone together in the open, and they +were still deeper in love than at the time of their marriage––if +that were possible.</p> +<p>They soon reached the place where the shooting had +occurred. Here they picked up the lunch bag, Ashton’s +canteen and his hat, now punctured with another +bullet hole; and at once started to carry the line of +levels out across the valley. A few words of instruction +made an efficient rodwoman of Genevieve, so that +they soon reached the foot of the ridge up which her +husband had led Ashton the previous day. Here he +established a bench-mark, and turned along the base +of the escarpment to the mouth of Dry Fork Gully, +where he checked the line of levels that had been run +up the bed of the creek.</p> +<p>“Good work––less than three tenths difference, +and all that I am concerned about is an error in feet,” +he commented. “It’s getting along towards noon. +We’ll go up the gulch, and eat our lunch in the shade. +This place is almost as much of a sight as the cañon.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>Genevieve more than agreed with her husband’s +opinion when he led her up into the stupendous gorge +and the walls of rock began to tower on each side ever +steeper and loftier.</p> +<p>“Oh, I do not see how anything can be so grand, +so awesome as this!” she cried, gazing up the precipices. +“It makes me positively giddy to look at such +heights!”</p> +<p>“Better stop off for a while,” advised Blake. “We +are almost to where the bottom tilts skyward. You +can stargaze while we are eating lunch. It’s rougher +along here. We can get on faster this way.”</p> +<p>He picked her up in his arms as though she were a +feather, and carried her on up the gulch to the foot +of the Titanic chute. Here, resting on a flat rock +in the cool semi-twilight of the gorge bottom, they +ate their lunch and talked with as much zest as if they +were still new acquaintances.</p> +<p>“Those awful cliffs!” she murmured, lowering her +gaze from the colossal walls above her. “I cannot +bear to look at them any longer. They overpower +me!”</p> +<p>“Wait till you look down into the cañon,” replied +her husband. “In some ways it is more tremendous +than the Grand Cañon of the Colorado––the width +is so much narrower in proportion to the depth.”</p> +<p>“What makes these frightful chasms?––earthquakes?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<p>“Water,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Water? Not all these hundreds and thousands +of feet cut down through the solid rock!”</p> +<p>“Every foot,” he insisted. “Think of water flowing +along in the same bed and always washing sand +and gravel and even bowlders downstream––grind, +grind, grind, through the centuries and hundreds of +centuries.”</p> +<p>“But there is no water here, Tom.”</p> +<p>“Not now, and no chance of any this time of year, +else I wouldn’t have brought you in here. A sudden +heavy June rain up above there would pour down a +torrent that would drown us before we could run three +hundred yards. Imagine a flood roaring down that +bumpy shoot-the-chutes.”</p> +<p>“I can’t! It’s too terrifying. Is that the way it +will be if you get the water and dig the tunnel?”</p> +<p>“No. At this end, the tunnel may terminate any +place from down here to a thousand feet up, but in +any event far below the top. I hope it proves to be +well up. The greater the drop to the level of the +mesa, the more turbines could be put in to generate +electricity.”</p> +<p>“That sounds so inspiring! But, Dear––” Genevieve +looked at her husband with a shade of anxiety––“even +if this project is feasible, do you feel you should +carry it through?”</p> +<p>“You mean on account of Miss Chuckie and her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +father,” he replied. “I have considered their side +of the matter, and even at the first I saw how––Listen, +Sweetheart. No one knows better than you +that I’m an engineer to the very marrow of my bones. +My work in life is to construct,––to harness the forces +of nature and compel them to serve mankind; and to +save waste––waste material, waste energy––and put +it to use.”</p> +<p>“Don’t I know, Tom!”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” he went on, “in the bottom of Deep +Cañon is a river––waste waters down there beyond the +reach of this rich but waterless land, down in the +gloom, doing no good to anything or anybody, frittering +away their energy on barren rocks. Why, it’s as +bad as the way Ashton, with all the good qualities we +now see he has in him––the way he dissipated his +strength and his brains and his father’s money.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Dear! wasn’t it a splendid thing when he was +thrown out of his rut of wastefulness?”</p> +<p>“Otherwise known as the primrose path, or the +great white way,” added Blake. “It certainly was a +throw out. I’m as pleased as I am astonished that +he seems to have landed squarely on his feet.”</p> +<p>“What a marvelous change it has made in him!” +exclaimed Genevieve. “Sometimes I hardly can believe +it really is Lafayette. He is so serious and +manly.”</p> +<p>“Good thing he has changed,” replied Blake. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +“If Miss Chuckie hadn’t told us he had made a clean +breast of that bridge, I should begin to feel worried +about––Do you know, Sweetheart, it’s the strangest +thing in the world the way I feel towards that girl. +It’s not because she is so lovely. Of course I enjoy +her beauty, but that’s not it. If Tommy were a girl +and grown up––that’s how I feel.”</p> +<p>“She is a very dear, sweet girl.”</p> +<p>“So are several of your friends––our friends,” +said Blake. “This is different. The very first day +we met her, there was something about her voice and +face––seemed as though I already knew her.”</p> +<p>“She knew you, through what she had read of you. +She warned me, in that frank, charming way of hers, +that you were a hero to her and I must not mind if she +worshiped you openly.”</p> +<p>Blake laughed pleasedly. “Isn’t she the greatest! +And the way she chums with me! Wonder if that +is what makes Ashton so sore at me? The idiot! +Can’t he see the difference?”</p> +<p>“Lovers always are blind,” said Genevieve.</p> +<p>“I’m not,” he rejoined, his eyes, as he gazed +down into hers, as blue and tender as Isobel’s.</p> +<p>The young wife blushed deliciously and rewarded +him with a kiss.</p> +<p>“But about Chuckie?” she returned to the previous +question. “You were going to tell me––”</p> +<p>“I am going to tell you something you will think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +is very fanciful––and it is! Do you know why I am +so taken with that girl? It’s because she reminds me +of my sisters––what they might have grown to be!... +God!––” he bent over with his face in his shaking +hands––“God! If only they had gone any other +way than––the way they did!”</p> +<p>“My poor dear boy!” soothed his wife, her hand +on his downbent head. “Let us trust that they are in +a happier world, a world where sorrow and pain––”</p> +<p>“If only I could believe that!” he groaned.</p> +<p>Genevieve waited a few moments and with quiet +tactfulness sought to divert him from his grief: “If +Chuckie reminds you of them, Dear––”</p> +<p>“She might be either––only Mary, the older one, +had dark brown eyes. But Belle’s were blue like +Chuckie’s.”</p> +<p>“What a pure blue her eyes are––the sweet true +girl! Why can’t you regard her as your sister, and––and +give over further thought of this irrigation +project?”</p> +<p>Blake looked up, completely diverted. “You little +schemer! So that’s what you’ve been working +around to?”</p> +<p>“But why not?” she insisted.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you. It is because I am so fond of +Chuckie that I am determined to get water on Dry +Mesa, if it is possible.”</p> +<p>“But––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>“To make use of those waste waters,” he explained; +“to turn this dusty semi-desert into a garden; +and to benefit Chuckie by doubling the value of her +father’s property.”</p> +<p>“How could that be, when the farmers would divide +up his range?”</p> +<p>“He owns five sections, Chuckie told me. What +are they worth now? But with water on them, even +without a single tree planted, they would sell as +orchard land for more than all his herd; and he would +still have his cattle. He could sell them to the settlers +for more than what he now gets shipping them +over the range.”</p> +<p>“I begin to see, Tom. I might have known it.”</p> +<p>“I’m telling you, of course. We’re to keep it +from them as a happy surprise, because it may not +come off. There’s still the question whether the +water in the cañon––”</p> +<p>“But if it is! How delightful it will be to help +Mr. Knowles and Chuckie, besides, as you say, turning +this desert into a garden!”</p> +<p>“That valley is a natural reservoir site to hold +flood waters,” continued the engineer. “All that’s +needed is a dam built across the narrow place above +the waterhole, with the dike for foundation. I would +build it of rock from the tunnel, run down on a gravity +tram.”</p> +<p>“You’ve worked it all out?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></p> +<p>“Not all, only the general scheme. If the tunnel +comes through high enough up here, we shall be able +to manufacture cheap electricity to sell. Just think +of our settlers plowing by electricity, and their wives +cooking on electric stoves.”</p> +<p>“You humorous boy!”</p> +<p>“No, I mean it. There’s another thing––I +wouldn’t whisper it even to you if you weren’t my +partner as well as my wife. I have reason to believe +the creek bed above the dike is a rich placer. I’ve +planned to take Knowles and Ashton in on that discovery––Gowan, +too, if Knowles asks it.”</p> +<p>“A placer?”</p> +<p>“Yes, placer mine––gold washed down in the +creek bed. But it’s a small thing compared with another +discovery I’ve made. Up there––” Blake +pointed up the steep ledges that he had climbed––“I +found a bonanza.”</p> +<p>“Bonanza? What is that, pray?”</p> +<p>“A mint, a John D. bank account, a––Guess?”</p> +<p>“A gold mine! Oh, Tom, how romantic!”</p> +<p>“Yes; it’s free-milling quartz. We can mill it ourselves, +and not have to pay tribute to the Smelting +Trust. That’s romance––or at least sounds like it. +You will pay for all the development work, in return +for one-third share. I shall take a third, as the discoverer, +and Chuckie gets the remaining third as +grub-staker.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p> +<p>“As what?”</p> +<p>“She is staking us with grub––food and supplies. +If she had not sent for me to come and look over the +situation, I should not have been here to stumble on +this mine. So she gets a share.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad, glad, Tom! Isn’t it nice to be able to +do fine things for others? I’m so glad for Chuckie’s +sake, because, if Lafayette keeps on as he is doing +now, he may win his father’s forgiveness.”</p> +<p>“What has that to do with Chuckie?”</p> +<p>“You and I know what she is, Dear; yet if she had +no money, his father might insist on regarding her as +a mere farm girl. He is as––as snobbish as I was +when we were flung ashore by the storm, there in +Mozambique.”</p> +<p>“I fail to see that it matters any to Chuckie what +Ashton senior thinks.”</p> +<p>“Of course you don’t see. You’re as blind as +when I––” the lady blushed––“as when I had to fling +myself at you to make you see. The dear girl is as +deeply in love with Lafayette as he is with her.”</p> +<p>“No? She doesn’t show it. How can you tell?”</p> +<p>“You know that Mr. Gowan is desperately in love +with her.”</p> +<p>“That stands to reason. He couldn’t help but be. +Can’t say I like the fellow. He may be all right, +though. Must have some good qualities––Chuckie +seems to be very fond of him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p> +<p>“As fond as if he were a brother. No; Lafayette +is to be the happy man––unless he backslides. We +must help him.”</p> +<p>Blake nodded. “That’s another thing that hangs +on this project. If it proves to be feasible, I can give +Ashton a chance to make good as an engineer. I used +to think he must have bought his C.E. Now I see +he has the makings.”</p> +<p>“He can be brilliant when he chooses. If only he +were not so––so scatter-brained.”</p> +<p>“What he needed was a jolt heavy enough to shake +him together. It seems as though his father gave it +to him.”</p> +<p>“That shock, and being picked up by Chuckie,” +agreed Genevieve.</p> +<p>“We’ll help her keep him braced until the cement +sets,” said her husband. “It’s even worse to let +brains go to waste than water.”</p> +<p>“Far worse! What is the good of all your engineering––of +all the machinery, yes, and all the culture +of civilization, if not to uplift men and women? May +the next generation work for the uplifting of all mankind, +both materially and spiritually!”</p> +<p>“We might make a try at it ourselves,” said Blake. +“As for the future, I know it will not be your fault if +our member of the next generation fails to do his share +of uplift work.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p> +<p>The young mother placed her hand on her bosom, +and sprang up. “We should be going back, Dear. +Thomas will be wakening.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_INDIAN_SHOES' id='CHAPTER_XX_INDIAN_SHOES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>INDIAN SHOES</h3> +</div> +<p>They returned along the shadowy bottom of the +great gorge to the glaring sunshine of the open +creek bed, where they had left the rod and level. +Blake placed both upon one of his broad shoulders, +and gave his wife the unencumbered arm to assist her +somewhat hurried pace.</p> +<p>As they approached the dike her hasty steps quickened +to a run. She darted ahead down to the camp. +Thomas Herbert Vincent was vociferating for his +dinner. Blake followed at a walk. He was only a +father.</p> +<p>When he came down to the trees he found Isobel +and Ashton alone. The girl’s manner was constrained +and her color higher than usual. Ashton, comfortably +outstretched on a blanket with her saddle for pillow, +frowned petulantly at the intruder. But Isobel +sprang up and came to meet Blake, unable to conceal +her relief.</p> +<p>“I was so glad to see Genevieve,” she said. “You +came back just in time.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></p> +<p>“How’s that?” asked Blake, his eyes twinkling.</p> +<p>She blushed, but quickly recovered from her confusion +to dimple and cast a teasing glance at Ashton. +“Baby woke up,” she answered. “You may not +know it, but babies cry when they fail to get what they +want.”</p> +<p>“He’s getting what he wants––I’m not!” complained +Ashton.</p> +<p>“I––I must see if Genevieve needs anything,” +murmured the girl, and she fled to the tent.</p> +<p>“I need you!” Ashton called after her without +avail.</p> +<p>“How’re you feeling?” inquired Blake.</p> +<p>Ashton’s frown deepened to a scowl.</p> +<p>“Didn’t mean how you feel towards me,” added +Blake. “I can guess that. My reference was to your +head.”</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” snapped Ashton. “Needn’t +worry. I’m still weak and dizzy, but I shall be quite +able to do my work tomorrow.”</p> +<p>“That’s fine,” said the engineer, with insistent +good humor. “However, if you feel at all shaky in +the morning, I can perhaps get Gowan, or maybe Miss +Chuckie would like to––”</p> +<p>“No!” broke in Ashton. “She shall not! I will +do it, I tell you.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Blake. He put down the level +and rod, but retained the rifle. “Tell the ladies I shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +be back before long. I am going to look for something +I forgot this morning.”</p> +<p>Without waiting for the other’s reply, he returned +up the dike slope and around the bend of the hill to +where Ashton had been shot. That for which he was +looking was not here, for he at once turned and started +up the hill. He climbed direct to the place where the +assassin had lain in wait.</p> +<p>The bare ledge told Blake nothing, but from a +crevice nearby he picked out two long thirty-eight +caliber rifle shells. He put them into his pocket and +went over to scan the mesa from the top of his lookout +crag. He could see no sign of the fugitive murderer. +Down below the mesa side of the hill, however, he saw +a man riding up the bank of Dry Fork, and recognized +him as Knowles.</p> +<p>Trained to alert observation by years of life on the +range, the cowman had already perceived Blake. He +wheeled aside and rode towards the hill when the engineer +waved his hat and began to descend. The two +met at the foot of the rugged slope.</p> +<p>“Howdy, Mr. Blake,” greeted the cowman, “I +thought I’d just ride up to see how things are coming +along.”</p> +<p>“Not so fast as they might, Mr. Knowles. We +have stopped for repairs.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t broken your level?”</p> +<p>“No. Ashton is laid up for the day with a scalp +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +wound. We were shot at this morning from up there––other +side of the crest.”</p> +<p>“Shot at, and Lafe hit?”</p> +<p>“Not seriously, though it could not well have been +a closer shave. He says he will be all right by tomorrow,” +said Blake, and he gave the bald details of the +occurrence in a few words.</p> +<p>Knowles listened without comment, his leathery +face stolid, but his eyes glinting. When Blake had +finished, he remarked shortly: “Must be the same +man. Let’s see those shells.”</p> +<p>Blake handed over the two empty cartridge shells.</p> +<p>“Thirty-eight,” confirmed Knowles. “Same as +were fired at Lafe before. Kid and Chuckie showed +me how a thirty-eight fitted the hole in Lafe’s silver +flask. About where did the snake crawl down the +hill?”</p> +<p>“Not far from here. He could not have gone any +considerable distance along the top or side. He was +down and riding away when I reached the crags, and +I had not lost much time coming up the other side.”</p> +<p>“It’ll take an Indian to make out his tracks on this +dry ground,” remarked the cowman. “We’ll try a +look, though, at his hawss’s hoof prints. Just keep +behind, if you don’t mind.”</p> +<p>He threw the reins over the head of his horse, and +dismounted, to walk slowly along the more level +ground at the foot of the slope. Blake followed, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +he had requested, but scrutinizing the ground with a +gaze no less keenly observant than that of his companion.</p> +<p>“Mighty queer,” said Knowles, after they had carried +their examination over a hundred yards. “Either +he came down more slanting or else––”</p> +<p>“What do you make of this?” Blake interrupted, +bending over a blurred round print in the dust between +two grass tufts.</p> +<p>“<i>Sho!</i>” exclaimed the cowman as he peered at the +mark. “That’s why, of course.”</p> +<p>“Indian shoes,” said Blake.</p> +<p>“You’ve seen a thing or two. You’re no tenderfoot,” +remarked Knowles.</p> +<p>“I have myself shrunk rawhide shoes on horses’ +hoofs when short of iron shoes,” Blake explained. +“This would make a hard trail to run down without +hounds.”</p> +<p>The cowman straightened and looked at his companion, +his weather-beaten face set in quiet resolve.</p> +<p>“I know what’s better than hounds,” he said. +“This is one badman who has played his game once +too often. I’m going to run him down if it takes all +year and all the men in the county. There’s a couple +of Ute bucks being held in the jail at Stockchute, to be +tried for hunting deer. I’m going to get the loan of +them. The sheriff will turn out with a posse, and we’ll +trail that snake, if it takes us clear over into Utah.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>“We’ll have a fair chance to get him with Ute +trackers,” agreed Blake.</p> +<p>Knowles shook his head. “Unless you’re particular +to come along, Mr. Blake, I’d like you and Lafe +to keep on with this survey. I’ve been worrying over +the chance of losing my range, till it’s got on my +nerves.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Mr. Knowles. I shall go ahead in the +morning, if Ashton is able to rod. It will be best, I +suppose, for my wife and Miss Chuckie to remain close +at the ranch until you make sure where this trail leads.”</p> +<p>“No; he’s a snake, but the Indian shoes prove he’s +Western––He won’t strike at the ladies. Another +thing, I’m going to give you Kid for guard.”</p> +<p>“He may prefer to join the posse.”</p> +<p>“Of course he’ll prefer that. You can count on +Kid Gowan when it comes to a man hunt. He’ll stay, +though, all right. I don’t want Mrs. Blake to think +she has to stop indoors. With Kid on the lookout +around your camp, the ladies can feel free to come and +go any time between sunup and sundown, and you and +Lafe can do what you want. There won’t be any more +shooting, unless it’s by Kid.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Blake. “I’m not anxious to +play hide and seek with a man who shoots and runs. +When can we expect the rope and spikes?”</p> +<p>“That’s another thing,” replied Knowles. “Kid +can be packing them and your camp outfit up to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +cañon while you and Lafe are running your line of +levels. He ought to be home by now. He was gone +when the men turned out this morning. Soon as I get +back I’ll send him up to camp with you. He can bring +along Rocket, to be ready for a chase, providing we +can find the brute. Queer about that hawss. +Wanted to ride him this morning. Found he’d got +out and gone off the way he used to before Lafe +gentled him.”</p> +<p>While talking, the two men had returned to the cowman’s +horse and started around the hill to the camp. +They found Isobel and Genevieve and the baby all +engaged in entertaining Ashton. Knowles briefly congratulated +the wounded man, and led his pony down to +the pool for a drink. Blake had seated himself beside +his wife. She handed the baby to him, and remarking +that she also wished to drink, she followed Knowles.</p> +<p>The cowman smiled at her reassuringly. “You’re +not afraid of any more shooting, ma’am, are you?” he +asked. “I’ve told your husband that Kid is to come +up to keep guard. He will stay right along, unless +that scoundrel is trailed down sooner.”</p> +<p>“Then I shall have no fear, Mr. Knowles.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t, and you and Chuckie can come and +go just the same as ever. I don’t want your visit +spoiled. It’s a great treat to all of us to have you +with us.”</p> +<p>“And to my husband and myself to be your guests! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +I have quite fallen in love with your daughter, Mr. +Knowles. If you’ll permit me to say it, you are very +fortunate to have so lovely and lovable a girl.”</p> +<p>“Don’t I know it, ma’am!”</p> +<p>“So beautiful––and her character as beautiful as +her face. How you must prize her!”</p> +<p>“Prize her!” repeated Knowles, his usual stolid +face aglow with pride and tenderness. “Why, ma’am, +I couldn’t hold her more in liking if she was my own +flesh and blood!”</p> +<p>Genevieve suddenly bent down to hide the intense +emotion that had struck the color from her face. Yet +after a moment’s pause, she spoke in a composed, almost +casual tone: “Then Chuckie is not your own +daughter?”</p> +<p>“Not in the way you mean. Hasn’t she told you? +I adopted her.”</p> +<p>“I see,” remarked Genevieve, with a show of polite +interest. “But of course, taking her when a young +infant, she has always thought of you as her own +father.”</p> +<p>“No––what I can’t get over is that she feels that +way, and I feel the same to her, though I never saw or +heard of her till she was going on fourteen.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” Genevieve could no longer suppress her +agitation. “Then she is––I’m sure that she must +be––You said she came from the East, from +Chicago?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>“No, ma’am! I didn’t say where she came from,” +curtly replied the cowman.</p> +<p>The shock of his brusqueness restored the lady to +her usual quiet composure. Looking up into his face, +she found it as blank and impenetrable as a cement +wall.</p> +<p>“You must pardon me,” she murmured. “I myself +am a Chicago girl, so you must see how natural +it is for me to hope that so sweet and beautiful a girl +as Chuckie came from my city.”</p> +<p>“Chuckie is my daughter,” stated Knowles in a flat +tone.</p> +<p>“If you will kindly permit me to explain. My husband––”</p> +<p>“Chuckie is my daughter, legally adopted,” repeated +the cowman. “You can see what she is like. If that +is not enough, ma’am, I can’t prevent you from declining +our hospitality, though we’d be mighty sorry to +have you and your husband leave.”</p> +<p>The tears started into Genevieve’s hazel eyes. +“Mr. Knowles! how could you think for a moment +that I––that we––”</p> +<p>“Excuse me, ma’am!” he hastened to apologize. +“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You see, I’m +kind of prejudiced along some lines. I’ve been bred +up to the Western idea that it isn’t just etiquette to +ask about people’s antecedents. Real Western, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +mean. Our city folks are nearly as bad as you Easterners +over family trees. As if a child isn’t as much +descended from its mother’s maternal grandmother as +from its father’s paternal grandfather!”</p> +<p>Genevieve smiled at this adroit diversion of the subject +by the seemingly simple Westerner, and replied: +“My father’s and mother’s parents were farm people. +My husband worked his way up out of the Chicago +slums.”</p> +<p>“He did?” The cowman could not conceal his astonishment. +He looked curiously into the lady’s high-bred +face. “Well, now, that sure is something to be +right proud of––not that I’d have exactly expected +you to think so. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’m +more surprised at the way you feel about it than that +he was able to do such a big thing.”</p> +<p>“No one is responsible for what he is born. But +we are at least partly entitled to the credit or discredit +of what we become,” she observed.</p> +<p>“That’s good American doctrine, ma’am––Western +American!” approved Knowles.</p> +<p>“It should apply to women as well as men,” she +stated.</p> +<p>“It ought,” he dryly replied, and he jerked up the +head of his pawing horse. “Here, you! I guess +it’s high time we were starting in, ma’am. Kid may +think he’s to lay over at the ranch until morning. We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +want to get him out here before dusk. I don’t reckon +there’s any show of that snake coming back tonight, +but it’s as well to be on the safe side.”</p> +<p>He walked up the slope towards the others, unbuckling +his cartridge belt as he went.</p> +<p>“Sling on your saddle, honey,” he called to his +daughter.</p> +<p>The girl sprang up from beside Ashton and ran to +fetch her own and Genevieve’s picketed ponies. Her +father held out his belt and revolver to the engineer.</p> +<p>“Here’s my Colt’s, Mr. Blake,” he said. “I have +another at home. You won’t need it, but I may as +well leave it. We’re going to lope in now, so as to +hustle Kid out to you before night. Just swap me that +yearling for my gun. It wouldn’t seem natural not +to be toting something that can make a noise.”</p> +<p>“Thomas never cries unless he needs attention,” +Genevieve sought to defend her infant.</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am. It’s a good thing he knows that +much already. You have to make yourself heard to +get what you want in the world generally, as well as in +hostleries and eating-houses.”</p> +<p>Blake buckled on the cartridge belt, with its holstered +revolver, and went to help saddle the ponies. +Ashton watched him and Isobel narrowly. He was +far from pleased with the familiarity of their talk and +manner towards one another. Twice the girl put her +hand on Blake’s arm. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>In marked contrast to this affectionate intimacy, +Isobel was distrait and hurried when she came to take +leave of the wounded man. He had risen to his feet, +and she could not ignore his proffered hand. But she +avoided his gaze and quickly withdrew her fingers from +his warm clasp to hurry off.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_MADONNA_DOLOROSA' id='CHAPTER_XXI_MADONNA_DOLOROSA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>MADONNA DOLOROSA</h3> +</div> +<p>Blake was cooking supper when, shortly before +sunset, Gowan drove up to the waterhole, with a +pony in lead behind the heavy wagon. Leaving the +wagon with the rope and other articles of his load on +the far side of the creek bed, he watered and picketed +the horses, and came across to the tent with his rifle +and a roll of blankets.</p> +<p>“Howdy, Mr. Blake. Got here in time for supper, +I see,” he remarked as he unburdened himself. “Met +Mr. Knowles and the ladies down near the ranch. +They told me about the shooting.” He faced about +to stare at Ashton’s bandaged head. “They told me +you came mighty near getting yours. You shore are +a lucky tenderfoot.”</p> +<p>Ashton shrugged superciliously. “The worst of it +is the additional hole in my hat. I see you have a new +one. Is that the latest style on the range?”</p> +<p>“Stetson, brand A-1.,” replied the puncher. “How +does it strike you, Mr. Blake?––and my new shirt? +Having a dude puncher on our range kind of stirred +up my emulosity. They don’t have real cowboy attire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +like his at an ordinary shorthorn cow town like Stockchute––but +I did the best I could.”</p> +<p>Blake made no response to this heavy badinage. +He set the supper on the chuck-box, and laconically +said: “Come and get it.”</p> +<p>“Might have known you’ve been on round-up,” remarked +Gowan, with an insistent sociability oddly at +variance with his usual taciturn reserve. “According +to Miss Chuckie, you’re some rider, and according to +Mr. Knowles, you can shoot. I wouldn’t mind hearing +from you direct about that shooting this morning.”</p> +<p>Blake recounted the affair still more briefly than he +had told it to Knowles.</p> +<p>“That shore was a mighty close shave,” commented +the puncher. “But you haven’t said what the fellow +looked like.”</p> +<p>“He wore ordinary range clothes,” replied Blake. +“I couldn’t see him behind the rocks, and caught only +a glimpse of him as he went around the ridge. His +horse was much the same build and color as Rocket.”</p> +<p>The puncher stared at Ashton with his cold unblinking +eyes. “You shore picked out a Jim Dandy guide, +Mr. Tenderfoot. According to this, it looks mighty +like he’s gone and turned hawss thief. Mr. Knowles +says your Rocket hawss has vamoosed. If he’s moving +to Utah under your ex-guide, it’ll take some lively +posse to head him. What d’you say, Mr. Blake?”</p> +<p>“I think the man is apt soon to come to the end of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +his rope––after dropping through a trap door,” said +the engineer.</p> +<p>Gowan looked at him between narrowed eyelids, and +paused with upraised coffee cup to reply: “A man +that has shown the nerve this one has won’t let anyone +get close enough to rope him.”</p> +<p>“It will be either that or a bullet, before long,” predicted +Blake. “The badman is getting to be rather +out of date.”</p> +<p>“Maybe a bullet,” admitted Gowan. “Never any +rope, though, for his kind.––Guess I’ll turn in. It’s +something of a drive over to Stockchute and back with +the wagon, and I got up early. You and Ashton might +go on watch until midnight, and turn me out for the rest +of the night.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” agreed Blake.</p> +<p>The puncher stretched out on his blankets under a +tree, a few yards from the tent. Ashton took the +dishes down to sand-scour them at the pool, while +Blake saw that everything damageable was disposed +safe from the knife-like fangs of the coyotes.</p> +<p>“How about keeping watch?” asked Ashton, when +he returned with the cleansed dishes. “Shall I take +first or second?”</p> +<p>“Neither,” answered Blake. “You will need all +the sleep and rest you can get. Tomorrow may be a +hard day. Turn in at once.”</p> +<p>“If you insist,” acquiesced Ashton. “I still am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +rather weak and dizzy.” He went to the tent and disappeared.</p> +<p>Blake took the lantern and strolled across to the +wagon, to look at the numerous articles brought by +Gowan. He set the lantern over in the wagon bed on +top of what seemed to be a heap of empty oat sacks, +while he overhauled the load. It included three coils +of rope of a hundred feet each, a keg of railroad spikes, +two dozen picket-pins, two heavy hammers, a pick and +shovel, and a crowbar.</p> +<p>The last three articles had not been ordered by +Blake. The puncher had brought them along, apparently +with a hazy idea that the descent of the cañon +would be something on the order of mining. There +were also in the wagon two five-gallon kerosene cans +to use in carrying water up the mountain, a sack of oats, +Gowan’s saddle, and two packsaddles.</p> +<p>In shifting one of the packsaddles to get at the hammers, +Blake knocked it against the sack on which the +lantern had been set. The lantern suddenly fell over +on its side. Blake reached in to pick it up, and perceived +that the sack was rising in a mound. He caught +up one of the hammers, and held it poised for a stroke. +From the sack came a muffled rattle. The hammer +descended in a smashing blow.</p> +<p>The sack rose and fell as if something under it was +squirming about convulsively. But to Blake’s surprise +it did not fall aside and disclose that which was making +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +the violent movement. The squirming lessened. He +grasped an outer corner of the sack and jerked it upward. +It failed to flip into the air. The lower part +sagged heavily. The squirmer was inside and––the +mouth of the sack was tied fast.</p> +<p>Blake looked at it thoughtfully. After some moments, +he placed the sack where it had lain at first, and +upset the keg of spikes on top of it. He then carefully +examined Gowan’s saddle; but it told him nothing. +He shook his head doubtfully, and returned to +camp.</p> +<p>Going quietly around to Gowan, he set down the +lantern close before the puncher’s face and stopped to +light a cigar. Gowan stirred restlessly and rolled half +over, but did not open his eyes. Blake smoked his +cigar, extinguished the lantern, and quietly stretched +out on the edge of the sleeper’s blankets. In a few +moments he, too, was asleep.</p> +<p>About two o’clock Gowan stirred and rolled over, +pulling at his blankets. Instantly Blake was wide +awake. The puncher mumbled, drew the blankets +closer about him, and lay quiet. Blake went into the +tent and dozed on his own blankets until roused by the +chill of dawn. He went down for a plunge in the pool, +and was dressed and back at the fireplace, cooking +breakfast, when Gowan started up out of his heavy +slumber.</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s getting along about that time,” Blake +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +called to him cheerfully. “You might turn out Ashton. +He has made as good a night of it as you have.”</p> +<p>Gowan had been staring at the dawn, his lean jaw +slack. As Blake spoke, he snapped his mouth shut and +came over to confront the engineer. “You agreed to +call me at midnight,” he said.</p> +<p>“My apology!” politely replied Blake. “I know +how you must feel about it. But I hope you will excuse +me. I saw that you, like Ashton, needed a full +night’s sleep, and so did not disturb you.”</p> +<p>The puncher looked away and muttered: “I’m +responsible for you to Mr. Knowles. He sent me here +to guard you.”</p> +<p>“That is true. Of course you will say it’s owing +to no fault of mine that we have come through the +night safely. Well, we have a big day’s work before +us. May I ask you to call Ashton? Breakfast is +ready.”</p> +<p>At this the puncher sullenly went to rouse the +sleeper. Ashton came out rubbing his eyes; but after +a dip in the pool, he declared himself restored by his +long sleep and ready for a day’s work. During the +night his bandage had come loose. He would have +tossed it away, but Blake insisted upon re-dressing the +wound. He did so with as much skill and almost as +much gentleness as had his wife.</p> +<p>When Blake and Ashton left the camp, the puncher +was leading the horses across to load their first packs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +The two levelmen walked briskly up the valley, carrying +only enough food and water to last themselves until +evening, when Gowan was to have the camp moved to +the top of High Mesa.</p> +<p>Beginning from his bench-mark at the foot of the +mountain, Blake carried the level line slantingly up +the ridge side. The work was slow and tedious, since +the telescope of the level could never be on a horizontal +line either higher or lower respectively than the top +and bottom of the thirteen-foot rod. This necessitated +setting-up the instrument every few feet during the +steepest part of the ascent.</p> +<p>They saw nothing of Gowan, who had chosen a more +roundabout but easier trail. At midmorning, however, +they were overtaken by Genevieve and Isobel and +Thomas Herbert Vincent Leslie Blake. Knowles had +started for Stockchute to seek the aid of the sheriff and +his Indian prisoners. The ladies divided the ascent +into several stages, riding ahead of the surveyors and +resting in the shade of a rock or pine until the men had +passed them.</p> +<p>Near noon, when the levels had been carried up +close to the top of High Mesa, Gowan rode down to +the party to inquire where the new camp was to be +pitched.</p> +<p>“I’ve brought up a lot this trip,” he stated. “I +can fetch the rest by sundown, if I don’t have to +meander all over the mesa with these first packs.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>“Where did you leave the packhorses?” asked +Blake.</p> +<p>“Up along the cañon where Ashton shot his yearling +deer,” answered the puncher. “It’s about half way +between that gulch where you say you’re going down +and the bend across from the head of Dry Fork +Gulch.”</p> +<p>“We’ll camp there,” decided Blake. “It is on the +shortest trail to that gulch, and you’ll not have time +to get your second load farther before dark.”</p> +<p>The puncher started back. But Isobel, who had +come riding up with Genevieve, called out to stop him: +“Wait, Kid. It is almost noon. You must take +lunch with us.”</p> +<p>“Can’t leave those hawsses standing with the packs, +Miss Chuckie, if they’re to make another trip today,” +he replied.</p> +<p>“Suppose you unload them and come back along the +edge of the cañon?” suggested Blake. “We shall +knock off soon and all go over to give my wife her first +look at the cañon. We can eat lunch there together.”</p> +<p>To this Gowan nodded a willing assent, and he +jogged away, with a half smile on his thin lips. But +that which pleased him had precisely the opposite effect +on Ashton. He did not fancy sharing the companionship +and attention of Miss Knowles with the puncher. +As this interference with his happiness was due to +Blake, he showed a petulant resentment towards the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +engineer that won him the girl’s sympathetic concern. +She attributed his fretfulness to his wound. Blake +made the same mistake.</p> +<p>“You’ve done quite enough for the morning, Ashton, +with that head of yours,” he said. “We’re over +the worst now, and can easily run on up to the camp +this afternoon. We shall knock off for a siesta.”</p> +<p>“Needn’t try to make out I’m a baby!” snapped +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Leave your rod here,” went on Blake, disregarding +the other’s irascibility. “I’ll take the level. It may +enable us to see the bottom of the cañon.”</p> +<p>He started on up the slope beside his wife’s pony. +Ashton was somewhat mollified when he saw Isobel +linger for him to walk beside her horse. She was +carrying the baby, who, regardless of scenic attractions, +had fallen asleep during the long climb from the lower +mesa. The sight of the child clasped to her bosom +awakened all that was highest in his nature. Concern +over his wound had sobered her usual gay vivacity to +a look of motherly tenderness.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” he murmured during a pause in +their conversation, “you make me think of pictures of +the Madonna!”</p> +<p>“Lafe!” she protested, blushing and as quickly +paling. “You should not say such a thing. It is +lovely––a beautiful thing to tell me; but––but I do +not deserve it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></p> +<p>“Madonna!––my Madonna!” he murmured in +ardent adoration.</p> +<p>“Oh, please! when I’ve asked you not to!” she +implored. “It is not right! I––I am not!––” +Tears glistened in her soft eyes. She bent over to suppress +a sob that might have awakened the sleeping +infant.</p> +<p>Ashton gazed up at her, wonder and contrition +mingling with his deepening adoration. “Forgive me, +Miss Chuckie! But I meant it––I feel it! I never +before felt this way towards any girl!... I know I +have no right to say anything now. I am a pennyless +adventurer, a disgraced, disinherited son, a mere cowpuncher +apprentice; but if, by next spring, I shall +have––”</p> +<p>“Oh, see. They’re getting such a long way ahead +of us!” exclaimed the girl, urging her pony to a faster +gait.</p> +<p>The animal started forward with a suddenness that +left Ashton behind. He made no effort to regain his +position beside the girl’s stirrup. Instead, he lagged +farther and farther in the rear, his face crimson with +mortification and anger. As his chagrin deepened, his +flush became almost feverish and there was a suggestion +of wildness in his flashing eyes. It was as though +his passion was intensifying some injury to his brain +caused by the concussion of the bullet on his skull.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_A_REAL_WOLF' id='CHAPTER_XXII_A_REAL_WOLF'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>A REAL WOLF</h3> +</div> +<p>When the loiterer came over the second ridge +into view of the booming chasm in the top of +the plateau, he saw the others down near the brink. +The baby had been laid on a soft bed of pine needles, +and Blake was leading the ladies down to look over +into the abyss, one on each arm.</p> +<p>Ashton’s chagrin flared into jealous hate. He felt +certain that the girl was quite capable of strolling +along the extreme edge of the precipice without a trace +of giddiness. Yet now she was clinging to Blake even +more closely than was Genevieve. There was more +than apprehension in the clasp of her little brown hand +on the engineer’s shoulder. Her cheek brushed his +sleeve.</p> +<p>The anger of the onlooker was so intense that he +did not see Gowan riding towards him from the left. +The puncher dismounted and came forward, his cold +gaze fixed on Ashton’s face.</p> +<p>“So you’re beginning to savvy it, too,” he remarked.</p> +<p>Ashton confronted him, vainly attempting to mask +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +his telltale look and color with a show of hauteur. “I +never discuss personal matters with acquaintances of +your stamp,” he said.</p> +<p>“That’s too bad,” coolly deplored Gowan. “Maybe +you’ve heard the saying about cutting off your nose +to spite your face.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“If you want to go it alone, I can’t stop you,” replied +the puncher. “Needn’t think I’m sucking +around you for any favors or friendship. If this was +my range, I would run you off it so fast you’d reach +Stockchute with your tongue hanging out like a dog’s. +That’s how much I like you.”</p> +<p>“The feeling is fully reciprocated, I assure you,” +rejoined Ashton.</p> +<p>“All right. Now what’re we going to do about +him?––each play a lone hand, or make it pardners +for this deal?”</p> +<p>“I––fail to understand,” hesitated Ashton.</p> +<p>“No, you don’t,” jeeringly contradicted the puncher. +“It’s a three-cornered fight. You see it now, even +if you have been too big a fool to see it before. We +can settle ours after. But I’m free to own up to it +that you’re a striped skunk if you won’t work with +me first to get rid of him. Look at him now––and +him married!”</p> +<p>Ashton’s flush deepened to purple. “Married!––yes, +married!” he choked out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“Right alongside his wife, too!” Gowan thrust the +goad deeper. “You’d think even that brand of skunk +would have more decency. Not that his wife is any +friend of mine, like she is yours. But for a man with +such a wife and baby ... with Miss Chuckie! +The––”</p> +<p>Gowan ended with a string of oaths so virulent that +even Ashton’s half-mad anger was checked.</p> +<p>“You may be––er––I fear that we––Perhaps +it’s not so bad as it appears!” he stammered.</p> +<p>“<i>Bah!</i>” disgustedly sneered the puncher, and he +strode on ahead, leaving Ashton torn between rage and +doubt and terror of his own furious jealousy.</p> +<p>The others continued to stand on a flat ledge that +here formed the lip of the cañon. Genevieve was +trembling with awed delight. Her husband and the +girl appeared more calm, but they were drinking in the +grandeur of the tremendous gorge below them with no +less intense appreciation of its gloomy vastness.</p> +<p>Upstream, to their left, the precipices jutted so far +out from each wall of the cañon that they overlapped, +a thousand or fifteen hundred feet from the top. But +downstream the upper part of the chasm flared to a +width that permitted the noonday sun to penetrate part +way down through the blue-black shadows.</p> +<p>“O-o-o-oh!” sighed Genevieve, for the tenth time, +and she clung tighter than ever to the strong arm of +her husband. “Isn’t it fearfully, fearfully delightful? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +It makes the soles of my feet tingle to look at +it!”</p> +<p>“That tickly feeling!” exclaimed Isobel. “I often +ride up here to the cañon, I do so love to feel that way! +Only with me it’s like ants crawling up and down my +back.”</p> +<p>“O-o-o-oh!” again sighed Genevieve. “It––it +so overpowers one!”</p> +<p>“It’s sure some cañon,” admitted her husband. +“That French artist Doré ought to have seen it.”</p> +<p>“If only we had a copy of Dante’s Inferno to read +here on the brink!” she whispered.</p> +<p>“It always reminds me of Coleridge’s poem,” murmured +Isobel, and she quoted in an awed whisper:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Where Alph, the sacred river, ran<br /> +Through caverns measureless to man,<br /> +Down to the sunless sea.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Fortunately for us, this is a cañon, not a string of +measureless caverns,” said Blake. “It can be measured, +one way or another. If I had a transit, I could +calculate the depth at any point where the water shows––triangulate +with a vertical angle. But it would +cause a long delay to send on for a transit. We shall +first try to chain down at that gulch break.”</p> +<p>Genevieve shrank back from the verge of the precipice +and drew the others after her.</p> +<p>“Dear!” she exclaimed, “I did not dream it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +so fearful. One has to see to realize! You will not +go down––promise me you will not go down!”</p> +<p>“Now, now, little woman,” reproached Blake. +“What’s become of my partner?”</p> +<p>“But baby––? If you should leave him fatherless!”</p> +<p>“Better that than for him to have a father who is +a quitter! Just wait, Sweetheart. That break looks +much less overwhelming than these sheer cliffs. You +know I shall not attempt anything foolhardy. If it is +not possible to get down without too great risk, I shall +give it up and send for a transit.”</p> +<p>“Oh, will you?” exclaimed Isobel, hardly less apprehensive +than his wife. “Why not wait anyway +until you can send for your transit?”</p> +<p>“Because I cannot triangulate the bottom within +half a mile upstream from where the tunnel would +have to be located. That roar and the wildness of +the water wherever we can see it is proof that it is +flowing down a heavy grade. At the point where I +triangulated it might be above the level of Dry Mesa, +and way below the mesa here at the tunnel site.”</p> +<p>“You could triangulate at the first place where the +bottom can be seen, beyond here,” suggested Genevieve.</p> +<p>“Suppose it proved to be lower than Dry Mesa, +wouldn’t that still leave us up in the air?” he asked. +“Like this––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></p> +<p>He pulled out his notebook and drew a rough +sketch.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-003.jpg' alt='' title='' width='192' height='68' /><br /> +</div> +<p>“I see, Dear,” said his wife. “When do you plan +to go down?”</p> +<p>“Tomorrow morning.”</p> +<p>“Can you wait until we come up from the ranch?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Mr. Knowles will no doubt be back by +then. He can bring you out early.”</p> +<p>“We shall come early, anyway,” said Isobel.</p> +<p>“Of course!” added Genevieve. She drew a deep +breath. “I shall see the place before you attempt to +descend.”</p> +<p>Her husband nodded reassuringly and looked +around to where Gowan and Ashton stood waiting, +several yards from one another.</p> +<p>“About lunch time, isn’t it?” he remarked. “Mr. +Gowan will wish to be starting soon to bring up his +second load.”</p> +<p>At the suggestion, the ladies hastened to spread out +their own lunch and the one brought by Blake. When +called by Isobel, Gowan came forward to join the party, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +with rather less than his usual reserve in his speech and +manner.</p> +<p>Ashton was the last to seat himself on the springy +cushion of brown pine needles, and he sat throughout +the meal in moody silence. Blake and the ladies attributed +this to the fatigue of working through the long +hot morning while suffering from his unhealed wound. +He repulsed the sympathetic attentions of the Blakes. +But he could not long continue to resist the kindly concern +of the girl. After lunch she made him lie down +in the shade while she bathed his wound with a good +part of the small supply of water remaining in the canteens.</p> +<p>Gowan had been asking questions about the work. +Blake explained at some length why he considered it +necessary not only to descend into the cañon but to +carry the line of levels down along the bed of the subterranean +stream to this point opposite Dry Fork +Gulch. When Isobel drew apart with Ashton the +puncher did not look at them, though his eyes narrowed +to slits and his mouth straightened.</p> +<p>“You shore have nerve to tackle it, Mr. Blake,” he +commented. “Everything alive that I know of that’s +ever gone down into Deep Cañon hasn’t ever come up +again, except it had wings.”</p> +<p>“We’ll prove that the rule has an exception,” replied +Blake, smiling away the reawakened apprehension +of his wife. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>Gowan shook his head doubtfully, and strolled +down the slope to peer into the cañon. The level was +directly in his path, set up firmly on its tripod, about +six feet from the brink. The puncher stopped beside +it to squint through the telescope.</p> +<p>“You’ll have one––peach of a time seeing anything +through this contraption down there,” he remarked. +“I can’t see even right here in the sun.”</p> +<p>“The telescope is out of focus,” explained Blake. +“Turn that screw on the side.” Gowan twisted a +protruding thumbscrew. “Not that––the one above +it,” directed Blake.</p> +<p>“Can’t stop to fool now,” replied the puncher. +“I’ve got to hustle along.”</p> +<p>He started hastily around between the level and the +precipice. The toe of his boot struck hard against the +iron toe of the outer tripod-leg. He stumbled and +sprawled forward on his hands and knees. Behind +him the instrument toppled over towards the brink.</p> +<p>Genevieve cried out in alarm at Gowan’s fall. Her +husband sprang to the rescue––not of the puncher, +but of the level. It had crashed down with its head +to the chasm, and was sliding out over the brink. +Blake barely caught it by the tip of one of the legs as +it swung up for the plunge. He drew it back and set +it up to see what damage had been done to the head. +Gowan watched him, tight-lipped.</p> +<p>“This is luck!” exclaimed the engineer, after a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +swift examination. “Nothing broken––only knocked +out of adjustment. I can fix that in half an hour. She +struck with the telescope turned sideways. You must +have set the clamp screw.”</p> +<p>The puncher’s face darkened. “Wish the––infernal +machine had gone plumb down to hell!” he +growled. “It came near tripping me over the edge.”</p> +<p>“My apology,” said Blake. “I spraddled the +tripod purposely to keep it from being upset.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Kid, you’ve hurt yourself,” called Isobel, as +the puncher began to wrap a kerchief about his hand. +“Come here and let me bandage it.”</p> +<p>“No,” he replied. “Two babies are enough for +you to coddle at one time. I’ve got to hit out.”</p> +<p>He turned his back on Blake and hurried up to his +horse. The engineer followed as far as the nearest +tree, where he set up the instrument in the shade and +began to adjust it.</p> +<p>“Good thing she has platinum crosshairs,” he said +to Ashton. “A fall like that would have been certain +to break the old-style spiderweb hairs.”</p> +<p>Ashton did not reply. He was absorbed in a murmured +conversation with Isobel. Blake completed the +adjustments of the level and stretched out beside his +wife to play with his gurgling son. A half hour of +this completed the two hours that he had set apart for +the noon rest. He placed the baby back in his wife’s +lap and stood up to stretch his powerful frame. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p> +<p>“How about it, Ashton?” he inquired. “Think +you feel fit to rod this afternoon? Don’t hesitate to +say no, if that’s the right answer. I expect my wife +and Miss Chuckie, between them, can help me carry +the line as far as the camp.”</p> +<p>“I can do it alone,” interposed the girl. “Let +them both stay here and rest all afternoon.”</p> +<p>“No, Miss Chuckie. I can and shall do my work,” +insisted Ashton, springing up with unexpected briskness +for one who had appeared so fatigued. “It is +you and Mrs. Blake who must stay here to rest––unless +you wish to keep us company.”</p> +<p>“Might we not go to the new camp and put it in +order?” suggested Genevieve.</p> +<p>“What if that outlaw should come sneaking back?” +objected Ashton. “It seems to me you should keep +with us.”</p> +<p>“He would not trouble us,” replied Isobel.</p> +<p>“Yet if he should? Anyway, Blake and I saw a +wolf up here the other day.”</p> +<p>“A real wolf! Where?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Blake. “Over in the ravine the +other side of the head of Dry Fork Gulch.”</p> +<p>“He may attack you,” argued Ashton.</p> +<p>The girl laughed. “You’re still a tenderfoot to +think a wolf wouldn’t know better than that. Wish +he didn’t! It would mean the saving of a half dozen +calves this winter.” She flashed out her long-barreled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +automatic pistol and knocked a cone from the tree +above Blake’s head with a swiftly aimed shot.</p> +<p>Blake caught the cone as it fell and looked at the +bullet hole through its center. “Unless that was an +accident, I should call it some shooting,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“Accident!” she called back. “Stand sideways +and see what happens to your cigar.”</p> +<p>“No, thanks. I’ll take your word for it. Just +lit this one, and I’ve only a few left. By by, Tommy! +Don’t let the wolves eat mamma and the poor little +cowlady!”</p> +<p>He picked up the level and started off at a swinging +stride. Ashton followed several paces behind. His +face was sullen and heavy, but in their merriment over +Blake’s banter, the ladies failed to observe his expression.</p> +<p>They rested for a while longer. Then, after venturing +down for another awed look into the abyss, they +rode along, parallel with the stupendous rift, to the +place selected for the new camp. As Gowan had +brought up the tent in one of the first packs, the ladies +pitched it on the level top of the ridge.</p> +<p>“This is real camping!” delightedly exclaimed +Genevieve, as they set to gathering leafy twigs for bedding +and dry branches for fuel. “How I wish we +could stay all night!”</p> +<p>“We can, if you wish,” replied Isobel.</p> +<p>“Can we, really?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>“Our men often sleep out in the open, this time of +year. We shall take the tent for ourselves. Won’t it +be fun! But will Thomas be all right?”</p> +<p>“I can manage with what I have until tomorrow +afternoon.”</p> +<p>“How long do you think they will be down in the +cañon?” the girl inquired.</p> +<p>Genevieve shuddered. “I wish I could tell! If +only Tom finds that he cannot get down at all, how +thankful I shall be!”</p> +<p>“And––Lafe!” murmured the girl.</p> +<p>“It is possible that they may be unable to do it in +one day,” went on Genevieve apprehensively––“Down, +down into those dreadful depths, and then +along the river, all the way to where the tunnel is to +be, and back again, and then up the awful cliffs! +Surely they cannot finish in one day! Of course they +will succeed––Tom can do anything, <i>anything</i>! Yet +how I dread the very thought––!”</p> +<p>“We must prepare to stay right here on High Mesa +until they do finish!” declared Isobel. “It will be +impossible to go back to the ranch tomorrow if they +are still in that frightful place! Kid will have to take +the hawsses down to the waterhole. He shall go on +home, and tomorrow morning fetch us cream and eggs +and everything you need. They will have to be told +at the ranch; and if Daddy has returned, he will come +up to help and be with us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></p> +<p>“You dear girl! The more I think of this terrible +descent, the more I dread it. I feel a presentiment +that––But I must try to be brave and not interfere +with Tom’s work! It will be a great comfort to have +your father with us.”</p> +<p>“Daddy will surely come if he has returned. Isn’t +he kind and good? He couldn’t have done more to +make me happy if he had been my own real father!”</p> +<p>Genevieve smiled into the girl’s glowing face. +“Yes, dear. Yet I am far from surprised, since <i>you</i> +are the daughter he wished to make happy. I was +more surprised to have him tell me you were adopted. +You have never said a word about it.”</p> +<p>“I––you see, I did not happen to,” confusedly +murmured the girl.</p> +<p>“Chuckie Knowles is not your real name,” Genevieve +gently reproached her.</p> +<p>“No, it is the pet name Daddy gave me. My real +one is––Isobel.”</p> +<p>“Isobel––?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Daddy’s sister, in Denver, always calls me +that. But here on the ranch––”</p> +<p>“Isobel––?” repeated Genevieve, with a rising inflection.</p> +<p>The color ebbed from the girl’s face, but she answered +steadily: “Chuckie––Isobel––Knowles. I +am Daddy’s daughter. I have no other father.”</p> +<p>“Is-o-bel––Is-o-bel,” Genevieve intoned the name +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +musically. “It has a beautiful sound. I had a friend +at school––Isabella––but we always called her +Belle.”</p> +<p>The girl suddenly faced away from her companion, +and darted to meet Blake and Ashton, who were bringing +the line of levels up over the ridge.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_TEMPTATION' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_TEMPTATION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE TEMPTATION</h3> +</div> +<p>When the ladies explained their plans for remaining +in camp on High Mesa, Blake gave a ready +assent.</p> +<p>“All right, Jenny. It’ll be something like old +times. Can’t scare you up any lions or fever, leopards +or cyclones; but you may see that wolf.”</p> +<p>“I should welcome all savage Africa if it would rid +us of this awful cañon!” replied his wife.</p> +<p>“Won’t you please give it up?” begged Isobel. +“I am to blame for your coming here. If anything +should happen to you, I––I could never forgive myself––never!”</p> +<p>Blake looked at the two lovely, anxious faces before +him, and smiled gravely. “There you go again, and +you have yet to see that gulch. But even if you find +that it looks dangerous, you wouldn’t want me to let +a little risk interfere with my work, would you? +Think of the fools who climb the highest and steepest +mountains just for sport. I am going down there because +it is necessary.”</p> +<p>“But is it?” the girl half sobbed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p> +<p>“Someone must do it, sooner or later,” he replied, +and he took his wife’s hand in his big palm. “Come, +little woman, speak up. Do you want your husband to +be a shirker and quitter?”</p> +<p>“Of course not, Tom. Yet one should be reasonable.”</p> +<p>“I have had enough experience in climbing to know +not to attempt the impossible, Sweetheart,” he assured +her. “The worst looking places are not always the +most dangerous. I promise you to take only reasonable +risks.”</p> +<p>“Have we time enough to look at the place this +afternoon?” she inquired.</p> +<p>Blake glanced at the sun, and nodded. “The riding +is good. We can get back long before dark. +Ashton, you had better stretch out and rest.”</p> +<p>“No, I shall go with you,” replied Ashton, his lips +set in as firm lines as Blake’s.</p> +<p>“You cannot go, Lafe, unless you agree to ride my +pony,” said Isobel.</p> +<p>“I’m not going to have Gowan call me a baby +again,” he objected.</p> +<p>“You will need all your strength tomorrow,” predicted +Blake.</p> +<p>“You must ride,” insisted Isobel.</p> +<p>“Very well––to please you,” he agreed. “We +shall take turns.”</p> +<p>Blake again looked at the sun. “As long as we are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +going, we may as well carry forward the line of levels. +We can take long turns nearly all the way, so there +will be little delay.”</p> +<p>“And I shall rod for you!” delightedly exclaimed +Isobel.</p> +<p>“Only part of the time,” qualified Ashton with a +sharpness that the others attributed to his zeal to serve +her.</p> +<p>He filled his canteen from one of the cans of water +brought up by Gowan, and rinsed out the mouths and +nostrils of the thirsty ponies. This done, he and +Genevieve mounted, and the party started off on a +route parallel with the cañon, which here trended back +away from the edge of the plateau.</p> +<p>They soon came to where the surface of the mesa +was slashed with gulleys and ravines, all running down +into the cañon. Blake swung away from the cañon, +in order to head the worst of these ravines or to cross +them where they were less precipitous. Presently, +however, he struck in again towards the great rift +along the flank of a high barren ridge. At last he led +over the ridge and down to the side of a very large +ravine where it pitched into the cañon at an angle little +less steep than the descent of Dry Fork Gulch.</p> +<p>The line of levels, as Blake had foretold, had been +an easy one to run. It was stopped on the corner of +a shelf of rock that jutted out above the gorge. Having +provided a soft nest for the baby, the four went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +out on the shelf and peered down the dizzy slope into +the black shadows of the depths.</p> +<p>The two ladies drew back shuddering. Blake +looked about at them and seeing their troubled faces, +sought to quiet their dread.</p> +<p>“You have not looked close enough,” he said. +“With spikes and ropes, the worst of this will be comparatively +easy. There are ledges and crevices all the +way down. You cannot see the lower half. When I +was here with Gowan and Mr. Knowles, the sun was +shining to the bottom. The lower half of the descent +is much less steep than this you see.”</p> +<p>Genevieve smiled trustfully. “Oh, if you say it is +safe, Tom!”</p> +<p>“We shall take down the rope and all the spikes +we can carry,” he explained in further reassurance. +“At the worst places a spike and a piece of the rope +will not only let us down safely, but can be left for our +ascent.”</p> +<p>“Then it will be all right!” sighed Isobel.</p> +<p>“For him––yes!” broke in Ashton, his voice harsh +and strained. He was cringing back, white-faced, +from the edge of the gulch.</p> +<p>“Why, Lafe!” exclaimed the girl. “If Tom––Mr. +Blake goes down, surely you can’t mean that +you––”</p> +<p>“He’s used to climbing––I’m not!” Ashton +sought to excuse himself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>“Oh, very well,” she said. “Of course it is not +right to ask you to do it if you suffer from vertigo. I +shall ask Kid to take your place. If he refuses, Daddy +will do it.”</p> +<p>“That may mean delay,” remarked Blake. “If +that scoundrel really is headed for Utah, your father +may not be back for several days. Yet he asked me to +settle this matter as soon as possible.”</p> +<p>“Then, if Kid will not go down with you, I shall,” +declared the girl, her blue eyes flashing.</p> +<p>“No, no indeed, dear!” protested Genevieve. “It +is simply impossible! You shall not do it!”</p> +<p>“I shall, unless Kid––”</p> +<p>“You shall not ask him!” interposed Ashton, his +pale face suddenly flushing a hot red. “I am going +down!”</p> +<p>“You will, Lafayette?” cried Genevieve. “That +is very brave and––and kind of you!”</p> +<p>“But if you have no experience in climbing?” objected +Isobel in a tone that transmuted the young man’s +angry flush into a glow of delight.</p> +<p>“Don’t inexperienced climbers go up the Alps with +guides?” he nonchalantly replied. “I can trust Blake +to get me safe to the bottom. He will need me in his +business.”</p> +<p>“Good for you, Lafe!” commended Blake.</p> +<p>It was the first time that he had ever addressed +Ashton so familiarly. He accompanied it with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +proffer of his hand. But Ashton did not look at him. +He was basking in the frankly admiring gaze of Miss +Knowles.</p> +<p>The party returned in the same manner that they +had come out, for Isobel firmly refused to permit Ashton +to walk. Blake allowed her to set the pace, and +she chose such a rapid one that they reached camp a +full half hour before sunset.</p> +<p>A few minutes later, as they were sitting down to a +hastily prepared supper, Gowan appeared with the second +load from the lower camp. Blake and Ashton +sprang up to loosen the packs of the sweating, panting +horses. The puncher swung down from his saddle, not +to assist them, but to remonstrate with Isobel.</p> +<p>“Been expecting to meet you, all the way up, Miss +Chuckie,” he said. “Ain’t you staying too late? +You won’t get home before long after dark.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Blake and I are not going down tonight, +Kid,” replied the girl, and she explained the change of +plans.</p> +<p>Gowan listened attentively, though without commenting +either by look or word. When she had quite +finished, he asked a single question: “Think your +Daddy won’t mind, Miss Chuckie?”</p> +<p>“He will understand that we simply can’t leave here +until Lafe and––Mr. Blake are safe up out of the +cañon.”</p> +<p>“All right. You’re the boss,” he acquiesced. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +“Just write out a list of what you want. I’ll take all +the hawsses down to the waterhole, and go on to the +ranch. You can look for me back at sunup. The +moon rises between three and four.”</p> +<p>“Genevieve, will you make out the list? Sit down +and eat, Kid.”</p> +<p>“Well, just a snack, Miss Chuckie. Wouldn’t stop +for that if the hawsses didn’t know the trail well +enough to go down in the dark.”</p> +<p>“Have you seen any sign of the murderer?” inquired +Ashton.</p> +<p>Gowan drained the cup of scalding hot coffee handed +to him by Isobel, and answered jeeringly: “Don’t +worry, Tenderfoot. He won’t try to get you tonight. +If he came back today, he saw me around. If he +comes back tonight, he won’t think of climbing High +Mesa to look for you.”</p> +<p>Blake came to the puncher with a list written by +himself and his wife on a leaf from his fieldbook. +Gowan folded it in his hatband, washed down the last +mouthful of bread and ham that he had been bolting, +and went to shift his saddle to Isobel’s pony, the youngest +and freshest of the horses. In two minutes he +was riding away down the ridge, willingly followed by +the four other horses. They knew as well as he that +they were returning to the waterhole.</p> +<p>As the campers again sat down to their supper Isobel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +paused with the coffeepot upraised. “Genevieve,” +she inquired, “did you put cream on the list?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, my dear. It did not occur to me.”</p> +<p>“Nor may it to Yuki. He will be sure to send +eggs and butter, but unless he thinks to save tonight’s +cream––I’ll run and tell Kid.”</p> +<p>Ashton sprang up ahead of her. “I’ll catch him,” +he said, and sprinted down the ridge.</p> +<p>Racing around a thicket of scrub oak, he caught +sight of Gowan more than an eighth of a mile ahead. +He whistled repeatedly. At last Gowan twisted about +in the saddle, and drew rein. He did not turn back, +but made Ashton come all the way to him.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s wanted?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Cream,” panted Ashton. “Miss Chuckie says––tell +Yuki.”</p> +<p>“Shore pop, I’ll bring all there is,” replied Gowan. +Ashton started back. “Hold on,” said the puncher. +“I want to say something to you, and here’s the +chance.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“About him. I want you to keep a mighty close +watch tonight.”</p> +<p>“But you said that the murderer would not––”</p> +<p>“<i>Bah!</i> What does he count in this deal? It’s this +engineer. I’ve been chewing it over all afternoon. +Miss Chuckie is as innocent and trusting as a lamb, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +spite of her winterings in Denver, and she’s plumb +locoed over him, reading so much about him in the +reports.”</p> +<p>“Still, it does not necessarily follow––”</p> +<p>“Don’t it, though!” broke in the puncher. “Guess +you didn’t find it any funnier than I did seeing her +hanging onto his shoulder.”</p> +<p>“Curse him!” cried Ashton, his jealousy flaring at +the remembrance.</p> +<p>“Now you’re talking!” approved Gowan. “That +shows you like her like I do. You’re not going to +stand for her losing her fortune.”</p> +<p>“Her fortune?”</p> +<p>“By his flooding us off our range.”</p> +<p>“Ah––as for that, I have been thinking it over. +She told me Mr. Knowles owns five sections. If +water is put on them––Western Colorado fruit lands +are very valuable, you know.”</p> +<p>“That’s a lie. Water can’t make five sections +worth a range like ours. But supposing it could––” +the puncher leaned towards Ashton, his eyes glaring +with the cold malignancy of a striking rattlesnake’s––“supposing +it could, how about us letting her lose her +good name?”</p> +<p>“Good God!” gasped Ashton. “It can’t come to +that!”</p> +<p>“Can’t it? can’t it? Where’s your eyes? And him +a married man! The––” Gowan cursed horribly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“You really believe it!” cried Ashton, convinced +by the other’s outburst.</p> +<p>“Believe it? I know it!” declared Gowan. “If +you thought half as much of her as I do––”</p> +<p>“I do!––not half, but a hundred times more!”</p> +<p>“Yes, you do?”</p> +<p>“I swear it! I’d do anything for her!”</p> +<p>“Except save her from him.”</p> +<p>“No, no! How can I? Tell me how!”</p> +<p>The puncher bent nearer to the half-frenzied man. +“You’re going down that gulch with him. Suppose +a spike gets knocked out or a rope breaks or a loose +rock gets pushed over?”</p> +<p>“God!” cried Ashton, putting his hands over his +eyes. “That would be murder!”</p> +<p>“<i>Bah!</i> You’d make a dog sick! Willing to do +anything for her––except save her from him! And +nothing to it but just an accident that’s just as like as +not to happen anyway.”</p> +<p>“But––murder!” shudderingly muttered Ashton.</p> +<p>“Murder a skunk,” sneered Gowan. “If saving +her from him isn’t a case of justifiable homicide, what +is? Don’t you get the idea? Just a likely accident, +down there where nobody can see.”</p> +<p>Ashton dropped his hands, half clenched, to his +sides. Beads of cold sweat were gathering and running +down his drawn face.</p> +<p>“I can’t!” he whispered. “I––I can’t!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>“Not if I agree to get out of the way and give you +clear running?” tempted Gowan.</p> +<p>“You would?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You see how much I like her. You rid +her of him, and I’ll let you have her for doing it.”</p> +<p>Ashton shuddered.</p> +<p>“Think it over––and watch him mighty close tonight,” +advised the tempter.</p> +<p>A red flush leaped into Ashton’s face. Gowan +struck his spurs into his horse’s flank and loped away.</p> +<p>Ashton stood motionless. The puncher disappeared +down the mountain side. The twilight faded +and darkness closed down about the tortured man. +He stood there motionless, his convulsed face alternately +flushing and paling, his eyes now clouding, now +burning with rage and hate.</p> +<p>When at last he returned to the camp he kept beyond +the circle of firelight. Hurriedly he rolled up +in his blankets for the night, muttering something +about his head and his need of rest for the next day’s +work. The others accepted the explanation without +question. They formed a cheerful domestic group +about the fire from which he was shut out by his passion.</p> +<p>The ladies withdrew into the tent at an early hour. +Blake strolled around the camp until after nine o’clock, +but finally came with his blankets and companionably +rolled up near Ashton. He was soon fast asleep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +But Ashton lay tossing until after midnight. Weariness +at last weighed down the lids of his hot eyes and +numbed his tortured brain. He sank into a feverish +sleep haunted with evil dreams.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_BLIND_LOVE' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_BLIND_LOVE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>BLIND LOVE</h3> +</div> +<p>At sunrise the harassed dreamer awoke to find +Gowan gazing down at him somberly.</p> +<p>“You––you here?” he exclaimed, starting up on +his elbow. “What is––” He checked himself and +muttered brokenly, “I’ve been dreaming––horrible +nightmares.”</p> +<p>“He’s down there overhauling his outfit,” said +Gowan. “Hope you’ve thought the matter over.”</p> +<p>“My answer must be the same. I cannot do it, I +cannot!” replied Ashton. He spoke hurriedly, as if +afraid to linger on the thought.</p> +<p>“You can’t––not to save her and have me give +her to you?” asked Gowan.</p> +<p>Ashton clenched his hands and bent over in an agony +of doubt and indecision.</p> +<p>“You devil!” he groaned.</p> +<p>“What! Because I’m willing to give her up, in +order to see her saved?”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you shoot him, if you’re so anxious?” +queried Ashton.</p> +<p>“And hang for it,” retorted the puncher. “You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +can do it with an accident, and no risk. Anyway, +that’ll make things easier for his wife––to have him +meet a natural death. Won’t be anything said about +why he was taken off. She hasn’t begun to suspect +what’s going on between him and––”</p> +<p>Gowan paused, looked at the tent, and concluded: +“I’ve done my part. I won’t say any more. But +just you remember what I’ve told you. You won’t +run any risk. Mr. Knowles hasn’t come back yet. +There’ll be only them and me along, and we won’t +be able to see you do it. Just remember what it will +mean to her––just remember that––when you get +him where a shove or a loosened spike––Savvy?”</p> +<p>He went to loosen the diamond hitch of the packs +that he had brought with him from the ranch. Ashton +sank back and lay brooding until the girl came from +the tent and called to inquire how he felt. Too +wretched to care about his appearance, he rose and +went over to her.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed at sight of his haggard face. +“You are ill!”</p> +<p>“Only an attack of indigestion and loss of sleep––something +I often have,” he lied. “A cup of coffee +will set me up. Don’t worry. I’m strong––head +doesn’t bother me at all this morning, except a numb +feeling inside.”</p> +<p>“I shall dress the wound at once, while the coffee is +boiling,” she replied. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>He would have objected. She silenced him with a +look that acted on his chafed spirit like oil upon a +burn. Her kind, almost tender voice and the soft +touch of her fingers on his head soothed his anguish +and seemed to counteract the poison instilled by Gowan. +He began to doubt the puncher and the witness of his +own eyes.</p> +<p>When Blake and his wife came to breakfast, Ashton +was so cheerful that they hardly noticed the traces +of haggardness that yet lingered in his face. Blake at +once centered the attention of all by explaining his +plans for the exploration of the cañon. In addition +to the surveyor’s chain, a hammer, and the rope and +spikes,––which were to be used only in making the +descent,––he and Ashton were to carry the level and +rod and a quantity of food. At the suggestion of Isobel, +he agreed to take her father’s revolver and fire it +at intervals, on the chance that the watchers above +might see the flash of the shots and so be able to follow +the progress of the explorers down in the depths.</p> +<p>Genevieve quickly thought out signals to be given +in response. If at night, a torch was to be cast down +into the chasm; if in the daytime, a white flag, made of +a sheet sent by Yuki, was to be waved out over the +brink. As the explorers might become confused in +the gloom of the cañon bottom, the point of the bend +opposite Dry Fork Gulch was to be marked by a beacon +fire built on the verge of the cañon wall. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></p> +<p>Blake had already arranged everything that he and +Ashton were to take down with them. Immediately +after breakfast the outfit was fastened on the packhorses, +together with food, water and blankets for +those who were to remain on the heights. The ladies +were determined to keep above the explorers at all +points where the rim of the cañon could be approached. +Gowan was to fetch and carry for them and take the +horses down to the pool for water at night.</p> +<p>Within half an hour after breakfast the party was +jogging away from camp, fully equipped for the great +undertaking. Gowan was afoot. His horse, as well +as the regular pack animals, was heavily loaded with +stores. He walked with Isobel, who had insisted that +Ashton should ride her pony. Blake strode along at +his wife’s stirrup, carrying his son in a clasp as tender +as it was strong.</p> +<p>The engineer was the only cheerful member of the +party. Even Thomas Herbert, that best tempered of +babies, was peevish and fretful. He was instinctively +reflexing the suppressed nervousness and anxiety of his +mother. Gowan and Ashton were as gloomy in look +and speech as the shadowy depths of the cañon. Isobel +bravely sought to respond to Blake’s confidence in +the favorable outcome of the survey; but her smile, +like Genevieve’s, was forced and her eyes were +troubled.</p> +<p>They reached the point of attack as the rays of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +morning sun were beginning to strike down into the +side gorge. This was as Blake had planned. He at +once began to direct the preparations for the descent, +himself doing the lion’s share of the work.</p> +<p>A long detour to a point higher up the ravine offered +an easy descent of its bottom to the place where it +pitched steeply into the cañon. Blake preferred to +take a short cut down the almost vertical side of the +gulch. The three pieces of rope, each a hundred feet +long, were knotted together and used to lower a grass-padded +package containing all the equipment of the +explorers except the level. The bundle was lodged +on a broad shelf of rock, over two hundred and fifty +feet down.</p> +<p>“Our first measurement,” remarked Blake, as he +subtracted from three hundred feet the length of the +line left above the edge of the cliff. He jotted down +the remainder in his notebook, and nodded to Ashton, +who, with Gowan and Isobel, was holding the end of +the rope. “You see why I had Mr. Gowan bring +gloves and chaps and your leggins. We will make +the line fast around that rock, and follow our outfit.”</p> +<p>Ashton stared, slack jawed. “Really, you cannot +mean––?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Why not?” asked Blake. “There’s nothing +to a slide like this except the look of it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Tom!” breathlessly cried Genevieve. “Are +you sure––quite sure!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></p> +<p>“Sure I’m sure, little woman,” he replied. +“There’s not the slightest danger. This is a new +manila rope, and the package, with all those spikes in +it, weighs as much as I do. That gives us a sure test.”</p> +<p>“I might have known!” she sighed her relief.</p> +<p>“Still it does look a bit stiff for a start-off,” he +admitted. “If Lafe prefers, he can go around and +come down the ravine bed. I shall slide the line and +be getting the outfit in shape for shooting the chutes.”</p> +<p>“How about the rope?” asked Isobel.</p> +<p>“You are to drop it to me as soon as I get down +and stand from under,” directed Blake. He examined +with minute care the loop and knot with which Gowan +and Isobel had made the rope fast around the point +of rock. Having satisfied himself that the knot was +perfectly secure, he turned to his wife and opened his +arms. “Now, Sweetheart! Wish us good luck and +a quick journey!”</p> +<p>Gowan and Ashton drew back and looked away as +Genevieve flung herself on her husband’s broad chest, +unable to restrain her tears.</p> +<p>“Now, now, little woman,” he soothed, patting her +shoulder. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, and you +know it.”</p> +<p>“If––if only we could see you down there!” she +sobbed.</p> +<p>“You will, part of the time, with your glasses. +And you’ll be sure to see the flash of some of my shots. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +That’s all that I’m worrying about––you’ll be skirting +along the cañon rim. Promise me you’ll not go +near the edge except where the footing is perfectly +safe.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Dear. I shall have Thomas to remind me +to be careful. But you?”</p> +<p>“I shall have the thought of you both to keep me +from being rash. Remember that.”</p> +<p>“You will not be rash, I know,” she answered, smiling +up at him bravely. “You will go and come back +to us soon. Now kiss me and Thomas. I shall not +detain you from your work.”</p> +<p>“Spoken like my partner,” he quietly praised her.</p> +<p>Both by tone and manner he was plainly seeking to +ease the parting to the calmness of an ordinary farewell. +His wife responded to this, outwardly at least. +Not so Isobel. From the moment he had turned to +Genevieve, the girl had betrayed a rapidly increasing +agitation.</p> +<p>He went to kiss his baby, who had fallen asleep +during the last half mile of the trip and lay sprawled +in the shade of a bowlder. As he came back, Genevieve +lingered beside the child, as if half fearful of watching +her husband begin his dizzy descent of the rope.</p> +<p>Isobel was standing close to the verge, her bosom +heaving with quick-drawn breaths, her excited face +flushing and paling in rapid alternation. Blake had +pulled on his left glove, but had kept his right hand +bare for her. As he held it out he looked up from +the taut rope at his feet and saw her excessively agitated +face.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-004.jpg' alt='' title='' width='412' height='610' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“You have something to tell me––your voice––your eyes––”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span></div> +<p>“Why, Miss Chuckie!” he remonstrated, “you’re +not going to break down now. You see how Jenny +takes it. There’s nothing to fear.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but, Tom!” she panted, “you––you don’t +understand! you don’t know! It’s not merely the danger! +It’s the dreadful thought that if you––if you +should not––come back––and I hadn’t told you!”</p> +<p>“Told me?” he echoed in hushed wonderment as +her anguished soul looked out at him through her wide +eyes and he sensed the first vague foreshadowing of +the truth. “You have something to tell me––your +voice!––your eyes!––”</p> +<p>“You see it! You know me!” she gasped, and she +flung herself into his arms. Straining herself to him +in half frantic ecstasy, she murmured in a broken whisper: +“Yes! I am––am Belle! It is wicked and +selfish to tell you; but to have you go down there without +first––I could not bear it! Yet I––I shall not +drag you down––disgrace you. Never that! I’ll +go away!... Oh, Tom! dear Tom!”</p> +<p>He had stood dumfounded by the revelation of her +identity. At first he could not speak; hardly could he +think. His eyes stared into hers with a dazed look. +But before she could finish her impassioned declaration +of self-abnegation he roused from his bewilderment, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +and his great arms closed about her quivering +body. He crushed her to him and pressed his lips +upon her white forehead.</p> +<p>“Belle!––poor little Belle!... But why? Tell +me why? All this time, and you never showed by a +single word or look!”</p> +<p>“I did!” she sought to defend herself from the +tender reproach. “I did, but I––I was afraid to +tell.”</p> +<p>“Afraid?”</p> +<p>The girl’s face flamed scarlet with shame. She +sought to draw away from him. “Let me go, Tom! +oh, please, let me go! I am a selfish, wicked girl! I +have done it! I have done it! Now there is no help +for it! She must be told––all!”</p> +<p>“All?” he questioned.</p> +<p>“Yes, all, Tom! I cannot deny Mary! She saved +me! I believe she is in Heaven. She could not help +doing what she did. She could not help it, Tom––and +she saved me! I must give you up––go away; +but I can never, never deny my sister!”</p> +<p>Blake swung half around with the quivering girl, +and looked over her downbent head at his wife. Genevieve +stood almost within arm’s-length of them. He +met her gaze, and immediately pushed the girl out towards +her.</p> +<p>“Listen, Belle,” he said. “It is all right. Here +is Jenny waiting for you. She understands.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></p> +<p>Gowan, watching rigid and tense-lipped, with his +hand clenched on the hilt of his half-drawn Colt’s, was +astonished to see Mrs. Blake step forward and clasp +Isobel in her arms. But Ashton did not see the strange +act that checked the puncher’s vengeful shot. While +the girl was yet clinging to Blake, he had turned and +fled along the edge of the ravine, for the moment +stark mad with rage and despair.</p> +<p>He rushed off without a cry, and the others were +themselves far too surcharged with emotion to heed +his going until he had disappeared around a turn in +the ravine. When at last, almost spent with exertion, +he staggered up a ridge to glare back at those +from whom he had fled, his bloodshot eyes could perceive +only three figures on the brink of the gorge. +They were kneeling to look over into the ravine.</p> +<p>His thoughts were still in a wild whirl, but the heat +of his mad rage had passed and left him in a cold +fury. He instantly comprehended that Blake had +swung over the edge and was descending the rope down +the almost sheer face of the ravine wall.</p> +<p>Now was the time! A touch of a knife-edge to +the rope, and the girl would be saved. Would Gowan +think of it?... Of course he would think of it. But +he would not do it. He would leave the deed to be +done by the man to whom he had relinquished Miss +Chuckie. It was for that man to save her––to destroy +the tempter and break the spell of fascination +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +that was drawing her over the brink of a pit far deeper +than any earthly cañon. He, Lafayette Ashton––not +Gowan––was the man. He must save her––down +there in the depths, where no eye could see.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-005.jpg' alt='' title='' width='364' height='563' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV_THE_DESCENT_INTO_HELL' id='CHAPTER_XXV_THE_DESCENT_INTO_HELL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>THE DESCENT INTO HELL</h3> +</div> +<p>Dangling like a spider on its thread, with a +twist of the rope around one of his legs, Blake +had gone down into the ravine, hand under hand, with +the agility of a sailor. The tough leather of his +chapareras prevented the rope from chafing the leg +around which it slipped, and he managed with his free +foot to fend himself off from the sharp-cornered ledges +of the cliff side. In this he was less concerned for +himself than for his level, which he carried in a sling, +high up between his shoulders.</p> +<p>He was soon safe at the lower end of the rope, on +the shelf beside the bundled outfit. He waved his hat +to the down-peering watchers, and climbed a few yards +up the ravine, to creep in under an overhanging rock. +A few moments later the loosened rope came sliding +down the steep descent, the last length whipping from +ledge to ledge with a velocity that made it hiss through +the air.</p> +<p>Blake was not disturbed by this proof of the cumulative +speed of falling bodies. He came down and +coolly set about his preparations for the descent of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +gorge bottom. He unlashed the bundle and divided +its contents. This done, he took a vertical measurement +by going out towards the cañon along a horizontal +shelf on the side wall of the gorge, until he +could drop his surveying chain down the sheer precipice +to a shelf almost a hundred feet below him.</p> +<p>Unaware of Ashton’s mistake and furious flight, the +engineer was proceeding with his work in the expectation +that he would soon be joined by his assistant. He +was not disappointed. As he returned along the shelf, +after entering the measurement in his notebook, Ashton +came bounding and scrambling down the ravine +bottom at reckless speed. He fetched up on the verge +of the break, purple-faced and panting. His mouth +twitched nervously and there was a wild look in his +dark eyes. But Blake attributed all to the excitement +and exertion of the headlong rush down the ravine.</p> +<p>“No need for you to have hurried so, Lafe,” he +said. “I suppose you had to go farther around than +I thought would be necessary. But I’d rather you had +kept me waiting an hour than for you to have chanced +spraining an ankle.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you need me in your business!” scoffed Ashton.</p> +<p>“Your employer’s business,” rejoined the engineer. +He straightened up from the packs that he was lashing +together and gazed gravely at his scowling assistant. +“See here, Mr. Ashton, this is no time for you to raise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +a row. We shall have quite enough else to think about +from now on, until we are up again out of the cañon.”</p> +<p>“I’ve enough to think about––and more!” muttered +Ashton.</p> +<p>“Understand? I’m not asking anything of you for +myself,” said Blake. “You are doing this survey for +your employer.”</p> +<p>“I’m here because of <i>her</i>!” retorted the younger +man. “I’m here to make it certain that no harm is +to come to <i>her</i>!”</p> +<p>Blake smiled. “Good for you! I hardly thought +you were here for the fun of it. You are going to +prove to us that you have the makings. We’re both +working for her, Lafe. I don’t mind telling you now +that I am planning to do something big for her.” He +looked up the ravine wall, his eyes aglow with tenderness. +“Belle! dear little Belle! To think that after +all these years––”</p> +<p>“Shut up!” cried Ashton. “Stop that! stop it, +and get to work! I know what you’re planning to +do! Don’t talk to me!”</p> +<p>Blake stared in astonishment. “Didn’t think you +were so sore over that old affair. I told you I had +nothing to do about your father’s––”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk to me! don’t talk to me!” frantically +cried Ashton. “You ruined me! Now her!”</p> +<p>“Lord! If you’re as sore as all that!” rejoined +Blake, his eyes hardening. “Look here, Mr. Ashton, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +we’ll settle this when we get up on top again. Meantime, +I shall do my work, and I shall see to it that you +do yours. Understand?”</p> +<p>“Get busy, then! I shall do <i>my</i> work!” snarled +Ashton.</p> +<p>Blake pointed to one of the three bundles that he +had tied together. “There’s half the grub, the tripod +and the rod. I can manage the rest. I’ve dropped +a measurement to the foot of the first incline.”</p> +<p>He swung one of the other bundles on his back, +under the level. The third, which was made up of +railroad spikes and picket-pins, he sent rolling down +the steep slope, tied to one end of the rope. He had +driven a spike into a crevice of the rock. Hooking the +other end of the rope over its head with an open +loop, he grasped the line and started to walk down +the gorge bottom. As he descended he dragged the +loose lengths of rope after him.</p> +<p>Ashton stood rigid, staring at the spike and loop. +If the loop should slip or the spike pull out, he need +only climb back out of the ravine––to her. But +Blake’s work was not the kind to slip or pull out. The +watcher looked at the powerful figure backing rapidly +down that roof-like pitch. One of the toes of the level +tripod under the taut loop would easily pry the rope +off the spike-head. He turned his pack around to get +at the tripod––and paused to look upwards at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +three tiny faces peering down over the brink of the +cliff.</p> +<p>He slung the pack over his shoulder and grasped +the rope to follow his leader, who had come to the +narrow shelf from which another measurement must be +taken. He made the descent no less rapidly and easily +than had the engineer. He was naturally agile, and +now he was too full of his purpose to have any thought +of vertigo. Yet quickly as he followed, when he +reached the shelf he found that Blake had already lowered +the bundle of spikes over the cliff below and was +reënforcing with a spike a picket-pin that he had driven +deep into a crevice.</p> +<p>“Drop over the chain at that point,” curtly ordered +the engineer. “Think you can climb back up this slope +without the rope?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Ashton, still more curtly.</p> +<p>Blake lifted the line and sent up it a wave that +carried to the upper end and flipped the loop from the +spike-head. He jerked the freed end down to him +and knotted it securely to the picket-pin, while Ashton +was making the third vertical measurement. He then +lowered everything except the level in loops of the line, +and wrapped a strip of canvas around the line where +it bent over the sharp edge of the cliff.</p> +<p>Ashton laconically reported the measurement. +Blake noted it in his book, and promptly swung himself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +out over the edge of the cliff. Again his assistant +looked at the fastening of the rope; again he looked +upwards at the three tiny down-peering faces; and again +he followed his leader. The sun was glaring directly +down into the gorge. Later they would descend into +the shadows where no eye could perceive from above +the loosening of the rope.</p> +<p>Blake cut off the line at the foot of the cliff and left +it dangling. They would require it for their ascent. +Another Titan step took fifty feet more of the rope.</p> +<p>There followed a series of steep pitches, which they +descended like the first, unlooping the rope from spike-head +after spike-head. The only real difficulty of this +part of the descent was the tedious task of carrying +the vertical measurement down the slopes at places +where even Blake could not find footing to climb out +horizontally on either wall of the gorge to obtain a +clear drop.</p> +<p>Always, as they descended, the engineer scanned +the rocks both above and below, calculating where the +gorge bottom could be reascended without a line. +Whenever he considered the incline too smooth or too +steep for safe footing, he drove in spikes near enough +together to be successively lassoed from below with a +length of line.</p> +<p>Had not the nature and condition of the rock provided +frequent faults and crevices that permitted the +driving of spikes, the descent must soon have become +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +impracticable. But the engineer invariably found some +chink in which to hammer a spike with his powerful +blows. As, time after time, he overcame difficulties +so great that his companion could perceive no possible +solution, Ashton began to feel himself struggling +against a feeling of reluctant admiration.</p> +<p>All his hate could not blind him to the extraordinary +mental and physical efficiency displayed by the engineer. +Never once did the steely muscles permit a slip or +false step, never once did the cool brain miscalculate +the next most advantageous movement.</p> +<p>They were now so deep that Blake had to shout +his infrequent directions, to be heard above the booming +reverberations of the cañon. Half way down they +came to a forty-foot cliff. Blake made his preparations, +and swung over the edge. Here was an opportunity. +Ashton instantly bent over the knot of the +rope.</p> +<p>Close before his eyes he saw the clearly outlined +shadow of his head. He hesitated and straightened +on his knees to stare up at the top of the gorge. He +could no longer discern the three down-peering faces, +but he knew that they were still there. And the sunrays +still pierced down to him between the walls of +the gorge. The shadows were farther down, in the +lower depths. He must follow and wait.</p> +<p>When he slid to the foot of the cliff, Blake silently +cut off the rope. There was still nearly a hundred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +and fifty feet left for them to use below. But they +went down more than a thousand feet before they +again had need of it. As Blake had foretold, the +lower half of the descent was far less precipitous than +the upper. In places the vertical measurements were +carried down by rod readings, the level being set without +its tripod on the points of rock where the previous +readings had been taken. At other places Blake +marked out horizontal points ahead on the gorge wall, +and climbed to them with the chain.</p> +<p>All the time the reverberations of the cañon were +becoming louder. Dark shadows began to gather +along one wall of the gorge. The sun was no longer +directly in line with the ravine, and they were now far +down in the lower depths. Ashton’s knees were beginning +to tremble with weakness. They had brought +no water, for they were descending to the river. The +torment of thirst was added to the torment of his hate. +He began to look with fierce eagerness for the opportunity +to do his work––to accomplish the deed for +which he had descended into this inferno. Then he +could go up again, out of the roaring, reverberating +hell about him, away from the burning hell within him.</p> +<p>The shadows were creeping out at him from the +side of the gorge. The sunshine was going––it was +flickering away up the opposite precipices. Now it had +gone. All the gorge was somber with shadows. And +below were the blue-black depths of the cañon bottom. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +Dread crept in upon his smoldering hate to sweep +across its white-hot coals with chill gusts of fear.</p> +<p>But now they were come to another sheer cliff––the +last in the descent. From its foot the gorge bottom +inclined easily down the final three hundred feet +to its mouth, where the river of the deep roared past +along the cañon bed, its foam flashing silvery white +through the gloom.</p> +<p>Here at last was the opportunity for which he had +waited––here down in these dark shadows where no +eye could see––here where no shriek or cry could +pierce up to the outer world of light and sunshine +through the wild uproar of the angry waters. He +awaited the moment, aflame with pent-up fury, shivering +with cold dread.</p> +<p>Blake dropped his chain from the cliff-edge and took +the last vertical measurement––fifty-three feet. He +smiled. The hardest part of the work was almost accomplished. +He swung over the edge.</p> +<p>Ashton flung himself on his knees beside the triple +knot that held the line fast to its spike. This time +he did not hesitate, but began to tug at the rope end +with fierce eagerness. He loosened one knot. The +next was harder to unfasten. Blake had tied it with +utmost secureness. At last it yielded to the tugging +of his gloved fingers. He started to loosen the third +knot. Suddenly the taut line slackened. With a +stifled cry of rage, he paused to peer over the edge. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +Blake had slipped down the line so rapidly that he was +already at the foot of the cliff.</p> +<p>Reaching back, Ashton jerked the rope from the +spike-head, to cast it down on the engineer. A glimpse +of the flashing water in the cañon bottom gave momentary +check to his vengeful impulse. If only he had +a drink of that cool water! He was parched; his lips +were cracking; in his mouth was the taste of dust. +Must he stay up here on the dry rock while Blake went +on down beside the foaming river to drink his fill?</p> +<p>As he paused, a doubt clutched his heart in an icy +grip. All the way down that devil’s stairway he had +been witness to Blake’s extraordinary resourcefulness +and tremendous strength. What if he should find a +way to clamber up the precipices? He had lowered +everything before descending. There was nothing to +fling down upon him––no loose rock or stone to topple +over and crush him.</p> +<p>Chilled by that doubt, Ashton hesitated, his hands +alternately tightening and relaxing their grip on the +rope. What if the man should contrive to escape? +There seemed no bounds to his ingenuity.... No, +he must be followed on down into the cañon and destroyed, +else he would escape––he would come up +out of this inferno, like the demon he was, and destroy +<i>her</i>. He must be followed!... And the water––the +cool, refreshing water!</p> +<p>His thirst now seized upon Ashton with terrible intensity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +Rage, no less than the laborious exertion of +the descent, had dried up his body with its feverish +fire. Almost maddened with the torment of his craving, +he looped the rope on the spike-head with reckless +haste and slid down over the edge of the cliff.</p> +<p>As the line tautened with his weight it gave several +inches, but he was too nearly frantic to heed. He +slipped down it so swiftly that the strands burned his +hands through the tough palms of his gloves. In a +few moments his feet were on a level with Blake’s +head. He clutched the rope tighter to check his fall. +An instant later he dropped heavily on the rock shelf +at the cliff foot, and the rope came swishing down after +him.</p> +<p>“God!” shouted Blake. Involuntarily he flung +back his head and stared up the great gorge to the faraway +heights where were waiting his wife and child.</p> +<p>But Ashton neither paused nor looked upward. Rebounding +from his fall, he rushed down the slope to the +river, with a gasping cry––“Water! water!”</p> +<p>For a time the engineer stood as if stunned, his big +fists clenched, his broad chest heaving laboriously. +Yet he was far too well seasoned in desperate adventure +to give way to despair. Soon he rallied. He +lowered his gaze from the heights to examine the cliff +and the adjoining walls of the gorge. All were alike +sheer and unscalable. The lines about his big mouth +hardened with grim determination. He picked up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +rope and began winding it about his mid-body above +the low-buckled cartridge belt.</p> +<p>He arranged the coils with such care that he did +not notice the condition of the end of the line until +he had drawn in over eighty feet. Then at last he +saw. Though he had not forgotten to wrap the line +with canvas where it passed over the cliff edge, he had +thought the strands must have been frayed through on +a sharp corner of rock. Instead, he found himself +staring at the clean-cut string-wrapped rope end that +he had knotted to the spike.</p> +<p>For several moments he stood looking at it, his forehead +creased in thought. What had become of the +knot?... He could think of only one solution to +the puzzle. He turned and gazed down through the +gloom at the dim figure crouched beside the edge of +the swirling water.</p> +<p>“Locoed,” he said pityingly––“Locoed.... Poor +devil!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI_IN_THE_GLOOM' id='CHAPTER_XXVI_IN_THE_GLOOM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>IN THE GLOOM</h3> +</div> +<p>When the engineer came down to the river, Ashton +still crouched low, his dripping head close +over the water, as if he was afraid even to look away +from it. Blake rinsed out his mouth and stood up to +sip slowly from his hat, while looking about at the +awesome spectacle of the cañon bottom.</p> +<p>His first glance was at the swift-flowing stream. His +eyes brightened and the furrows in his forehead +smoothed away. The river was not as formidable as +its tumult and foam had threatened. It could be descended +by wading at the places where ledges and +bowlders along the base of the cañon walls failed to +afford safe footing. He glanced up the stupendous +precipices at the blue-black ribbon of sky, but only for +a moment. His present thought was not of escape +from the depths.</p> +<p>He bent over to grip the crouching man by the shoulder +and lift him to his feet. Ashton writhed about +and glared at him like a trapped wolf.</p> +<p>“Let go!” he snarled. “It was an accident! I +didn’t mean to do it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></p> +<p>“Of course not,” replied Blake, releasing his grip +but standing close that he might not have to shout. +“It’s all right, old man––my fault. The knot +slipped.”</p> +<p>“You own it! You own it’s your fault!” cried +Ashton. “You’ve brought me down here into this +hell-pit! We can’t get out! Lost! All your fault––yours!”</p> +<p>He made a frantic snatch and jerked the revolver +from Blake’s holster. The engineer caught his wrist +in an iron grasp and wrenched the weapon from him.</p> +<p>“None of that, old man,” he admonished with a +cool sternness that chilled the frenzy of the other like +a dash of ice water. “You’re here to do your work, +and you’re going to do it. Understand?”</p> +<p>“My work!” repeated Ashton wildly.</p> +<p>“Yes, your work,” commanded Blake, his face as +hard as iron. “We’re going to survey Deep Cañon +down to the tunnel site. Your work is to carry rod. +Do you get that?”</p> +<p>“Down the cañon?––deeper!”</p> +<p>“We can’t get back up here. There’s a place down +there beyond the tunnel site where perhaps we can make +it up the cañon wall.”</p> +<p>“A place where we––?” shrilled Ashton. “A +place––Good God! and you stand here doing nothing!”</p> +<p>He whirled to spring out into the swirling water. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +Blake was still swifter in his movements. He caught +the fugitive by the arm and dragged him back.</p> +<p>“Wait!” he commanded. “We must first carry +the levels down to the tunnel site. You hear that? +Stick by me, and I’ll pull you through. Try to run, +and, by God, I’ll shoot you like a dog!”</p> +<p>The captive glared into the steel-white eyes of the +engineer, anger overcoming his panicky fear.</p> +<p>“Let go!” he panted. “Don’t worry! I’ll do my +work––I’ll do my work!”</p> +<p>“If you don’t, you’ll never get out of this cañon,” +grimly rejoined Blake. He released his hold, and +started up the slope, with a curt order: “Come along. +We can rod down the slope.”</p> +<p>Ashton followed him, silent and morose. The instrument +was screwed to its tripod, and a line of levels +from the foot of the last vertical measurement was +carried down the slope to the cañon. The last rod +reading was on a ledge, three feet above the water, +at the corner of the gorge. Blake considered the reading +worthy of permanent record. They had measured +all the many hundreds of feet down from the top +of High Mesa to these profound depths. With his +two-pound hammer and one of the few remaining +spikes, he chiseled a cross deep in the surface of the +black rock.</p> +<p>That mark of the engineer-captain, scouting before +the van of man’s Nature-conquering army, was the sign +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +of the first human beings that had ever descended alive +to the bottom of Deep Cañon.</p> +<p>When he had cut the cross, Blake took out his Colt’s, +and, gazing up the heights, began to fire at slow intervals. +Confined between the walls of gorge and +cañon, each report of the heavy revolver crashed out +above the tumult of the river and ran echoing and reechoing +up the stupendous precipices. Yet long before +they reached the rim of those towering walls they +blurred away and merged and were lost in the ceaseless +reverberations of the waters.</p> +<p>Blake well knew that this would happen. But he +also knew that the flash of the shot would be distinctly +discernible in the gloom of the abyss. As he fired, he +scanned the verge of the uppermost precipices. After +the fourth shot he ceased firing and flung up his hand +to point at the heights.</p> +<p>“Look!” he shouted. “They see! There is the +flag!”</p> +<p>Ashton stared up with wide, feverish eyes. From +an out-jutting point of rock on the lofty rim he saw +a tiny white dot waving to and fro against the blue-black +sky. The watchers above had seen the flash of +the revolver shots and were fluttering the white flag +in responsive signal. Though on the world above the +sun beat down its full mid-afternoon flood of light, +the two men in the abyss could see stars twinkling in the +dark sky around the waving fleck of white. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<p>Blake fired two shots in quick succession, the agreed +signal that told the flag was seen. He then calmly +seated himself and began to add together the vertical +measurements taken during the descent of the gorge. +But Ashton groaned and flung himself face downward +on the rough stone.</p> +<p>Blake soon finished his sum in addition, and the result +brought a smile to his serious face. He checked +the figures with painstaking carefulness, and nodded, +fully satisfied. Replacing book and pencil in the deep +pocket of his shirt, he opened one of the packages of +food. When he had laid out enough for a hearty +meal, he looked at Ashton. The prostrate man had +not stirred.</p> +<p>“Come, Lafe,” he called encouragingly. “Time to +eat.”</p> +<p>Ashton lay still and made no response.</p> +<p>Blake raised his voice––“Come! You’re not going +to quit. You’re going to eat. You must keep +your strength to fight your way through and up out of +here––to <i>her</i>!”</p> +<p>Ashton sullenly rose and came to sit down on the +rock beside the outspread food. He was silent, but +he ate even more heartily than his companion. When +they had finished, Blake swung his pack and level on +his shoulder, fired one shot, and stepped out into the +swift but shallow river. Wading as far downstream +as he could see to read the rod in the twilight of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +depths, he set up the tripod of his instrument on a +rock and took the reading given him by Ashton.</p> +<p>The survey of the cañon itself had begun. Unappalled +by the awful height of the mighty precipices on +either side, undaunted by the uncertainty of escape, +heedless of the gloom of the deep, of the tumult and +rush and chill of the icy waters, the engineer boldly +advanced to the attack of this abysmal stronghold of +Primeval Nature, his square jaw set in grim determination +to wrest from these hitherto inviolate depths +that which he sought to learn. Whatever might follow, +he must and would unlock the secret of the hidden +waters. Afterwards might come death by slow +starvation or the quick dashing down from some half-scaled +precipice. That mattered not now. First must +the engineer perform his work,––first must he execute +the task that he had set himself for the conquest of the +chasm that was likely to prove his tomb.</p> +<p>Vastly different in purpose, yet no less resolute than +the engineer, Ashton joined zealously in the grim battle +with the abyss––for battle it soon proved to be. +Only in places was the subterranean river shallow and +easy to wade. More often it foamed in wild fury +down steep rapids, to fling itself over ledges into black +pools; or, worst of all, it swirled deep and arrowy-swift +between fanged rocks where the channel narrowed.</p> +<p>Wading, swimming, leaping from rock to rock, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +scrambling up and down the steep precipice foot, creeping +along narrow shelves,––stubbornly the explorers +fought their way deeper through that wild passage. +Chilled by the icy waters and bruised by many a +slip on loose stones and wet, water-polished rocks, ever +they carried the line of levels down alongside the torrent, +crossing over and back from side to side, twisting +and turning with the twists and bends of the chasm. +And at every stand Blake jotted down the rod readings +in his half-soaked book with his pencil and figured +the elevation of each turning point before “pulling +up” his instrument to move on downstream to the next +“set up.”</p> +<p>At the end of every half hour he fired a single shot +to signal their progress in the depths to the watchers +above. But never once did he stop to look up for the +flag. Occasionally he was required to help Ashton +through or over some unusually difficult passage. For +the most part, however, each fought his own way. +The odds were not altogether in favor of the older +man. He was hampered by the care of the instrument, +which must be shielded from all blows or falls. The +rod, on the contrary, served as a staff and support to +Ashton, alike in the water and on the rocks.</p> +<p>Some time before sunset the waning light in the +cañon bottom became so dim that Blake was compelled +to cease work. He took a last reading on a broad +shelf of rock well above the surface of the water, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +joined Ashton on the shelf, and began firing the revolver +at five-minute intervals. After the fifth shot he +at last perceived the white dot of the flag far above +on the opposite brink of the chasm. He fired two +shots in quick succession, and calmly sat down to open +one of the soaked packages of food.</p> +<p>Ashton did not wait to be bidden to supper. He +fell to on the food and ate ravenously. Blake did not +check him, though he himself took little and carefully +gathered up and returned to the package every scrap +of food left at the end of the meal. As Ashton lay +back on the rock he squirmed from side to side and +groaned. His bruises were so numerous that he could +not find a comfortable position.</p> +<p>“Cheer up!” grimly quoted Blake. “The worst is +yet to come.”</p> +<p>He stretched himself out on the rock-shelf and, regardless +of the sullen resistance of the younger man, +drew him into his arms. Chilled to the marrow by his +frequent icy drenchings, Ashton was shivering in the +cold wind which came down the cañon with the approach +of night. But Blake’s massive body and limbs +were aglow with abundant vitality. Warmed and +sheltered from the wind, the exhausted man relaxed +like a child in the strong arms of his companion and +quickly sank into the deep slumber of overtaxed nature.</p> +<p>Blake lay awake until the narrow strip of sky that +showed between the vast walls of rock deepened to an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +inky blackness thickly sprinkled with scintillating stars. +The light of a watchfire flamed red far above on the +opposite rim of the chasm wall. To the man below +it was like the glow of human love in the chill darkness +of the Unknown. With a gesture of reverent +passion and adoration, he put his fingers to his lips and +flung a kiss up out of the abyss. Then he, too, relaxed +on the hard rock and sank into heavy sleep.</p> +<p>Ashton was the first to waken. The wind had +changed, and he was roused by the different note in the +ceaseless roar of the river. He stared up at the star-jeweled +sky. It was still intensely black; yet the gloom +of the depths was lessened by a vague pale illumination, +a faint shadow of light that might have been the +ghost of a dead day. He thought it was the gray +dawn, and sought to roll over on his rock bed away +from the sheltering embrace of Blake. The engineer +was still deep in profound slumber. His big arm +slipped laxly from across the moving man’s breast.</p> +<p>The change of position wrung a groan from Ashton. +Every muscle in his body was cramped, every bruise +stiff and sore. Not until he had turned and twisted +for several moments was he able to rise to his feet. +The vague ghost light about him brightened. He +gazed upwards. He did not notice the tiny flame of +the fire that told of the anxious watchers above. Out +over the monstrous black wall of the abyss was drifting +a burnished silver-white disk. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span></p> +<p>“The moon!” he groaned. “Only the moon! +To wait here––with him!––with him!”</p> +<p>He looked down at the big form of the sleeping man, +and suddenly all his pent-up rage burst its bounds. It +poured through his veins in streams of fire. He stared +about in fierce eagerness in search of a weapon. Blake +lay upon the hilt of the revolver; the level rod lacked +weight and balance. But the heavy hammer––a blow +on the upturned temple of the sleeper!––</p> +<p>With the cunning stealth of madness, Ashton took +up the hammer and crept around back of Blake’s head. +He straightened on his knees, and peered down at the +calm, powerful face of the engineer.</p> +<p>What if he was a veritable Samson, this conqueror +of cañons? Where now was his power? Sleep had +bound fast his steel muscles, had numbed his indomitable +will and locked his keen intellect in the black +prison of unconsciousness.</p> +<p>The avenger hovered over him, gloating. Now at +last was come the opportunity––the perfect opportunity, +down in these uttermost depths, in the secret night +time. The world above slept––and he slept. Never +should he waken from that sleep; never should he +rouse up in his evil strength to escape out of the abyss +and bring ruin to her!</p> +<p>Lightly the hammer swung over and downward, +measuring the curve of the stroke. It lifted and +poised. Again it swung down; and again it lifted and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +poised. The blow must be certain––there must not +be the slightest chance of missing.</p> +<p>Each time the heavy steel head stopped a full two +inches short of the upturned temple––but each time +its shadow fell across the eyes of the sleeper. He +stirred. The hammer whirled up, gripped in both +hands of the kneeling man. The sleeper turned flat +on his back, with his face full to the light. A quiver +ran through the tense muscles of the avenger. Had +the eyes of the sleeper opened, had their lids so much +as fluttered, the hammer must have crashed down.</p> +<p>But it was the sleeper’s lips that moved. As it were +by a miracle of acuteness, the tense nerves of the +other’s ear caught the whispered words through the +roaring of the river––“<i>Jenny! Son!</i>”</p> +<p>The hammer hurled away out into the swirl of the +foam-flecked waters. The avenger flung himself +about, face downward on the rock.</p> +<p>“God!” he sobbed, in an agony of remorse. +“Forgive me, God! I cannot do it! I am weak––unfit!... +Not even to save her!––not even to save +her!”</p> +<p>He writhed in the anguish of his love and rage and +self-abasement. He had failed; he was too weak to do +the deed. But God––Would God permit that evil +should befall her?</p> +<p>He struggled to his feet and flung up his quivering +hands to moon and stars and black sky in passionate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +invocation––“O God! You say that vengeance is +Yours; that You will repay! Take me, if You will––I +give myself! Only destroy him too! Save her! +save her!”</p> +<p>Again Blake stirred, and this time he opened his eyes. +Ashton had sunk down in a huddled silent heap. +Blake gazed up at the watchfire on the heights, smiled, +and turned over to again fall asleep.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII_LOWER_DEPTHS' id='CHAPTER_XXVII_LOWER_DEPTHS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>LOWER DEPTHS</h3> +</div> +<p>Beetling precipices shut off the direct light of +the moonbeams and left the abyss again in dense +darkness long before the coming of the laggard dawn. +Blake slept on, storing up strength for the renewal of +the battle. Yet even he could not outsleep the reluctant +lingering of night. He awoke while the tiny +flame of the watchfire still flickered bright against the +inky darkness of the sky.</p> +<p>Ashton had fallen into a fitful doze. The engineer +stood up and silently groped his way to and fro on the +shelf of rock, stretching and limbering his cramped +muscles. He wasted no particle of energy; the moment +he had relieved his stiffness he stretched out again. +He lay contemplating that flame of love on the heights +until it faded against the lessening blackness of the sky +and the rays of the morning sun began to angle down +the upper precipices.</p> +<p>He rose to take out two portions of food from the +single pack in which he had bound up all the provisions. +The portion for Ashton was small; his own was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +smaller. He roused the dozing man and placed the +larger share of food in his hand.</p> +<p>“Don’t drop it,” he cautioned. “That’s all I can +let you have. We must go on rations until we can see +a way out of this hole.”</p> +<p>Ashton ate his meager breakfast without replying. +The fire within him had burned to ashes. He was cold +and dull and dispirited. He had failed. He would +have been willing to sit and brood, and wait for God +to answer his prayer.––But his waiting was not to be +an inert lingering in the place where he had failed.</p> +<p>The moment the down-creeping daylight so lessened +the gloom of the depths that Blake could take rod readings, +he plunged over into the stream, with a curtly +cheerful command for Ashton to prepare to follow. +Too dejected even to resist, the younger man silently +obeyed. When Blake signaled to him through the +dimness, he held the rod on the last turning-point of +the previous day, and lowered himself from the shelf +down into the stream.</p> +<p>The evening before, the water at this point had come +up to his waist. It was now only knee-deep. His +surprise was so great that in passing Blake he broke +his sullen silence to remark the fact and ask what could +have caused the change.</p> +<p>“Melting of the snow on the high range,” the engineer +shouted in explanation. “Takes time for it to +run down the cañon all these miles. River probably +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +still falling. Will begin to rise about noon. Faster +we get along now, the easier it will be. Hustle!”</p> +<p>Ashton responded mechanically to the will of his +commander. For the time being his own will was almost +paralyzed. The reaction from his long-sustained +rage had left him dazed and nerveless. He had sunk +into a state of fatalistic indifference. He moved +quickly downstream from turning-point to turning-point, +driven by Blake’s will, but with a heedless recklessness +that all Blake’s warnings could not check.</p> +<p>Within the first hour he twice stumbled and went +under while wading deep reaches of the river, and once +he fell from a ledge, bruising himself severely and +knocking a splinter from the rod. Half an hour later +he lost his footing in descending a swift and narrow +place that would have been impassable at high water. +Had not Blake been below him he would never have +come out alive.</p> +<p>The engineer leaped in and dragged the drowning +man to safety, after a desperate struggle with the torrent. +But in the wild swirl, both the food-pack and +the rod went adrift. The moment he had rescued his +companion, Blake rushed away downstream, leaping +like a goat from rock to rock. He at last overtook +the rod, caught in the eddy of a pool. Of the pack he +could find no trace. He returned to Ashton and silently +handed him the rod.</p> +<p>There was no need for him to admonish. The loss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +of all the food and the narrowness of his escape had +sobered the younger man. He resumed his work with +a cautious swiftness of movement that avoided all +needless risks yet never hesitated to encounter and rush +through the dangers that could not be avoided. In +this he copied Blake.</p> +<p>All the time they were advancing down the angry +torrent, deeper and deeper into its secret stronghold,––creeping, +crawling, leaping, wading, swimming––step +by step, turn after turn, wresting from the abyss that +which the engineer was resolved to learn, even though +he should learn, only to perish.</p> +<p>The day advanced. Steadfastly they struggled on +down the bed of the river, twisting and crossing over +with the winding course of the chasm; now between +beetling precipices that shut out all sight of the blue-black +sky; now in more open stretches where the Titanic +walls swung apart and the glorious hot sun rays +pierced down into the very depths to warm their +drenched bodies and lighten their heavy spirits.</p> +<p>Ashton had long since lost all count of time. His +watch had been smashed in his first fall of the day. +But Blake seemed to have an intuitive sense of time. +At fairly regular intervals he fired a shot to tell the +watchers above the extent of their progress. Sometimes +the answering flag-signal could be seen waving +from the rim of the cañon. But in many places those +above could not come near the brink to look over. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></p> +<p>The approach of midday found the bruised and +weary fighters struggling through one of the narrowest +reaches of the cañon. The precipices jutted out so far +that the lower depths seemed more cavern than chasm, +and the river swirled deep and swift between sheer, +narrow walls. Twice Ashton was swept past what +should have been the next turning-point, and Blake, unable +to see the figures on the rod, had to guess at his +readings.</p> +<p>At last the precipices swung apart and showed the +sky at a twist in the cañon’s course that was the sharpest +of all the turns the explorers had as yet encountered. +As Blake came wading down past Ashton, along the +inner curve of the bend, he stopped and pointed skywards. +Ashton raised his drooping head and peered +up at the rim of the opposite wall. From the brink a +dense column of green-wood smoke was rising into the +indigo sky.</p> +<p>“One more set-up,” shouted Blake.</p> +<p>Three minutes later he took a reading on the water +and on a point of rock at the angle of the cañon-side +around which the river swung in its sharp curve. +Three more minutes, and the two battered fighters +stood together on the last bench of that tremendous +line of levels, with torn and rent clothing, sodden, gaping +boots, bodies bruised from head to foot––bleeding, +weary, but victorious! They had finished the +work that Blake had set out to do. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p> +<p>He held up the now-soaked notebook for Ashton to +see the last penciled elevation on the wet paper.</p> +<p>“Two thousand, forty-five!” he shouted. “Over +five hundred feet above that bench in Dry Greek Gulch! +Water, electricity!––Dry Mesa shall be a garden!”</p> +<p>Ashton stared moodily into the exultant face of the +engineer.</p> +<p>“Are you sure of that?” he asked. “How do you +know that God will let you climb up out of this hell of +stone and water?”</p> +<p>“There’s the saying, ‘God helps those who help +themselves,’” replied Blake. “I’m going to put up +the best fight I can. If that doesn’t win out, I shall +at least have the satisfaction of not having quit. If +you wish to pray, do so. The sooner we start the better. +From now on, the water will be rising.”</p> +<p>“I prayed last night,” said Ashton. He added +somberly, “And now we are both going to the +devil.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Blake, with no less earnestness. +“There is no devil––there is no room for a devil in +all the universe. What man calls evil is ignorance,––his +ignorance of those primeval forces of nature which +he has yet to chain; his ignorance of those higher qualities +in his own nature which, if known, would prevent +him from wronging others and would enable him to +bring happiness to himself and others.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></p> +<p>“You say that!” cried Ashton. “You can mock! +You do not believe in hell!”</p> +<p>Blake smiled grimly. “What do you call this?––But +you mean a hell hereafter. I believe this: If, +when we pass into the Unknown, we continue to exist +as individual consciousnesses, then we carry with us +the heaven and the hell that we have each upbuilt for +ourselves.”</p> +<p>“God will not let you escape,” stated Ashton. +“You will pass from this hell of water into the hell of +fire and brimstone.”</p> +<p>“Have it your own way,” said Blake. “I lived +one summer in Death Valley. The other place can’t +be much hotter.”</p> +<p>He climbed up the ledges and planted the level firmly +on its tripod above the high-water mark of the spring +floods. He called down to Ashton: “Hate to leave +the old monkey up here; but it will serve as a memento +of our present visit, when we come down again to locate +the tunnel head.”</p> +<p>“How can it be that we shall ever come down +again?” replied Ashton. “It is impossible––for we +shall never go up.”</p> +<p>Blake jumped down the ledges to him and pointed +to the column of smoke on the lofty heights.</p> +<p>“Look there,” he said. “That is where we are going, +if there is any possible way to go. An optimist +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +would stand here and wait, certain that wings would +soon sprout for him to fly up; a pessimist would sit +down and quit. An optimist is a fool; a pessimist is a +worse fool.”</p> +<p>“And which are you?” asked Ashton.</p> +<p>“I am neither. I am a meliorist. I am going to +face the facts, and then fight for all I’m worth. +What’s more, you’re going to do the same. Come! +We’ve still got some clothes left, the rod for you to +use as a staff, this rope, the revolver, and seventeen +cartridges. It’s fortunate we have any. We’ve got +to signal that we are going on down the cañon, instead +of back up.”</p> +<p>“We may as well stay and die here. But since you +prefer to keep moving, I have no objections,” said Ashton, +with ironical politeness.</p> +<p>Blake promptly stepped into the water and led the +way to the next shelf of rock. Here he fired a shot. +Going a few yards farther along the rocks, he fired +again. Three times he fired, at intervals of two minutes. +Then the white dot of the flag appeared on the +precipice brink directly up across from him.</p> +<p>“Once more, and we’re sure they understand,” he +said.</p> +<p>Advancing a full hundred yards on down the cañon, +he fired the fourth shot. Very soon the fleck of white +flaunted on the rim a little way beyond them.</p> +<p>“They understand!” cried Blake. “Trust Jenny +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +to use her head! Now catch your breath and tighten +up. We’re going to move!”</p> +<p>He started, and Ashton followed close behind. It +was the same rough, fierce game of leaping, crawling, +wading, swimming,––battling with the river, the rocks, +the ledges. But now they were no longer checked and +halted by the alternate stoppings for set-ups and turning-points, +and no longer was Blake encumbered with +the care of the level. There was nothing now to +hinder or delay them except the natural obstacles of +their wild path down the bed of the torrent.</p> +<p>Blake could give all his thought to picking the best +and quickest way through rapids and falls, over the +water-washed rocks and along the side ledges. And +he could give all his great strength to helping his companion +past the hard places. In return Ashton gave +such help as he could to the engineer, many times when +a steadying hand or the outstretched rod rendered +easier a descent or the fording of some swift mill race +in the stream.</p> +<p>At the end of the first quarter-mile Blake had fired +a shot, and again at the second quarter. After that +he waited longer intervals. He considered it advisable +to husband the few remaining cartridges.</p> +<p>The river was now rapidly rising. But every inch +of added depth found the two fugitives much farther +down the cañon. In two hours they advanced thrice +the distance that they had covered in the same time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +before noon, and this despite the increasing depth and +force of the river.</p> +<p>The pace was so hot that Ashton was beginning to +stumble and slip, but Blake kept by him and helped him +along by word and deed. He asserted and repeated a +dozen times over, that they were nearing the place +where an ascent of the precipices might be possible. +At last they rounded a turn in the winding chasm, and +Blake was able to point to a break in the sheer wall on +the Dry Mesa side, where the precipices were set back +one above the other in a Cyclopean stepladder and +their steeply-pitched faces were rough with crevices and +shelves.</p> +<p>“Look!” he cried. “There’s the place––there’s +our ladder up from hell to heaven!”</p> +<p>Ashton soon lowered his weary head. He stared +dully downstream to where a fifty-foot cliff extended +across from side to side of the cañon like a dam.</p> +<p>“Part of the wall slid in,” he stated with the simplicity +of one who is nearing exhaustion.</p> +<p>“That shall be our bridge to the ladder,” shouted +Blake. “It’s all sheer cliff along here at the foot of +the break, but the ledges run down sideways to the top +of the cross cliff. We shall soon be lying up there, +high and dry, getting our second wind for the run up +the ladder.”</p> +<p>The engineer spoke confidently, and felt what he +spoke. But as they struggled on down the turbulent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +stream to the cross cliff, the light left his face. From +wall to wall of the cañon the great mass of fallen rock +stretched across the bottom in a sheer-faced barrier, +broken only by a tunnel barely large enough to suck in +the swelling volume of the river.</p> +<p>Blake came down close to the intake, scanning every +foot of the cliff face for a scalable break or crevice. +There was none to be found. He climbed along the +cliff foot to a low shelf beside the roaring tunnel, and +stood staring at the opening in deep thought. Even +while he looked, the swelling volume of the river filled +the tunnel to its roof. Blake peered at the fresh watermark +twenty feet up the face of the cliff, and bent down +beside Ashton, who had stretched out to rest on the +shelf of rock.</p> +<p>“There’s only one thing to it, old man,” he said. +“We must dive through that tunnel.”</p> +<p>“Through that hole?” gasped Ashton. “No! +I’ve done enough. I shall stay here.”</p> +<p>“To drown like a rat in a rainwater barrel!” rejoined +Blake. “Look at that watermark. The tunnel +is now running full. Inside a quarter-hour the +river will be up over this ledge. It will keep rising +till it reaches that mark, and it will not fall until after +low water.”</p> +<p>“What do I care?” said Ashton hopelessly. “Go +to the devil your own way. I’d rather drown here +than in that underground hole. Leave me alone.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></p> +<p>Blake considered a full half minute, looked up the +cliff face, and replied: “Perhaps it’s as well. I shall +do the best I can. But first I want to tell you I’ve +wiped out all that past affair. You are another person +from that Lafayette Ashton. We stand here almost +face to face with the Unknown. One or both of us +may soon go out into the Darkness. As we may never +meet again, I wish to tell you that you have proved +yourself, even more than I hoped when I saw you come +rushing down the ravine to join me. You have proved +yourself a man. Good-by.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand. But Ashton turned his face +to the wall of rock and was silent. After a time he +heard the sound of Blake’s worn heels on the outer +end of the shelf. His ears, attuned to the ceaseless +tumult of the waters, caught the click of the protruded +heel-nail heads. There was a brief pause––then the +plunge. He looked about quickly and saw Blake’s hands +vanish in the down-sucking eddy where the swollen +waters drew into the now hidden intake of the tunnel.</p> +<p>A cry of horror burst from his heaving chest. +Blake had gone––Blake the iron-limbed, iron-hearted +man. He had conquered the river––and now the +wild waters had seized him and were mauling and +smashing and crushing him in the terrible mill of the +cavern. Beyond that underground passage, it might +be miles away, the victor would fling up on some fanged +rock a shapeless mass that once had been a man.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII_LIGHT_IN_THE_DARKNESS' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII_LIGHT_IN_THE_DARKNESS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS</h3> +</div> +<p>Ashton again turned his face to the rock and +groaned. God had answered his prayer. Now +must he pay the price. If only he could force himself +to lie still while the rising waters brimmed up over the +ledge and up over his head and face. He was tired––tired! +It would be so peaceful to lie and rest under +the quiet waters.</p> +<p>But the first ripple that crept over the surface of the +shelf brought him to his feet with the chill of its icy +touch. He climbed to a shelf higher up and again +stretched himself full length on the rock. To lie still +and rest was heavenly.... It was too good to last. +The water crept after him up the ledge. This time he +could climb no higher.</p> +<p>He sat erect and waited, still resting, until the flood +rose to his chin. Then he stood up, leaning on the +battered level rod. The water rose after him, creeping +with relentless stealth from his thigh to his waist, +from his waist to his chest. It would soon be lapping +at his throat, and then––he must begin to swim. +Life was far stronger within him than he had thought. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +His strength had come back. Blake was right. A +man should fight. He should hold fast to hope, and +fight to the very last.</p> +<p>Something swept from side to side along the face +of the cliff above him. It tapped the rock close over +his head. He looked up and saw a rope. He could +not see over the rounded brink of the cliff, but he had +no need. There was a rescuer above him who knew +his desperate situation. Could it be Blake? Surely +not! He must have perished in the frightful vortex +of the tunnel.</p> +<p>The rope swung lower. Now it was within reach. +Ashton made a clutch as it swept over him and caught +its end. He gave a tug. At once the line slackened +down to him. He felt something in his palm, twisted +between the rope strands. He looked and saw that it +was a piece of folded paper. He opened it and found +written a terse sentence in Blake’s bold clear hand:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Tie rod to line and climb.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Why should he tie the splintered level rod to the +rope? Of what possible use could it be in climbing the +precipices? But even while Ashton asked himself +the questions he obeyed Blake’s directions. The water +lapped up over his chin as he tied the knot. He pulled +heavily on the rope. It gave a little way, and then +tautened. He reached up and began to climb, hand +over hand, with desperate speed.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/depths-006.jpg' alt='' title='' width='411' height='615' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +Another desperate clutch at the rope––still another<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></div> +<p>Thirty feet above the water his strength was almost +outspent, but he struggled to raise himself one more +time, and then another. To pause meant to slip back +and perish. Another upward heave. The rope here +bent in over the rounding cliff. Hardly could he force +his fingers between it and the rock. Yet if only he +could get his knee up on the sharp slope! He heaved +again, his face purple with exertion, the veins swelling +out on his forehead as if about to burst.</p> +<p>At last! his knee was up and braced against the +rock. Another desperate clutch at the rope––another +heave––still another. The cliff edge was rounding +back. Every upward hitch was easier than the one before. +Now he was scrambling up on toes and knees; +now he could rise to his feet.</p> +<p>The line led across a waterworn ledge and downward. +Ashton peered over, and saw the senseless +body of Blake wedged against the other side of the +ledge. About it, close below the arms, the line was +knotted fast.</p> +<p>Ashton stared wonderingly at the still, white face +of the unconscious man. It was covered with cold +sweat. A peculiar twist in the sprawling left leg +caught his attention. He looked––and understood. +Panting with exertion, he staggered down the ledges of +the lower side of the barrier to where the river burst +furiously out of the mouth of the tunnel.</p> +<p>Hurled by that mad torrent from the darkness of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +gorged cavern straight upon a line of rocks, all Blake’s +strength and quickness had not enabled him to save +himself from injury. Yet he had crept up those rough +ledges, dragging his shattered leg. Atrocious as must +have been his agony, he had crept all the way to the +top, had written the note, and flung down the rope to +rescue his companion.</p> +<p>There was no vessel in which Ashton could carry +water. He had no hat, his boots were full of holes, +he must use his hands in scrambling back up the ledges. +He stripped off his tattered flannel shirt, dipped it in +a swirling eddy, and started back as fast as he could +climb.</p> +<p>Blake still lay unconscious. Ashton straightened +out the twisted leg, and knelt to bathe the big white +face with an end of the dripping garment. After a +time the eyelids of the prostrate man fluttered and +lifted, and the pale blue eyes stared upward with returning +consciousness.</p> +<p>“I’m here!” cried Ashton. “Do you see? You +saved me!”</p> +<p>“Colt’s gone,” muttered Blake. “But cartridges––fire.”</p> +<p>“You mean, fire the cartridges to let them know +where we are? How can I do it without the revolver?”</p> +<p>“No, build a fire,” replied the engineer. He raised +a heavy hand to point towards the high end of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +barrier. “Driftwood up there. Bring it down. +I’ll light it.”</p> +<p>“Light it––how?” asked Ashton incredulously.</p> +<p>“Get it,” ordered Blake.</p> +<p>Ashton hurried across the crest of the barrier to +where it sloped up and merged in the precipice foot. +The mass of rock that formed the barrier had fallen +out of the face of the lower part of the cañon wall, +leaving a great hollow in the rock. But above the hollow +the upper precipices beetled out and rose sheer, on +up the dizzy heights to the verge of the chasm. Contrasted +with this awesome undermined wall, the +broken, steeple-sloped precipices adjoining it on the +upstream side looked hopefully scalable to Ashton. +He marked out a line of shelves and crevices running +far up to where the full sunlight smiled on the rock.</p> +<p>But Blake had told him to fetch wood for a fire, that +they might signal the watchers on the heights. He +hastened up over the rocks to the heaps of logs and +branches stranded on the high end of the barrier by the +freshets. Every year the river, swollen by the spring +rains, brimmed over the top of this natural dam.</p> +<p>Yet not all the heaps lying on the ledges were driftwood. +As Ashton approached, he was horrified to see +that the largest and highest situated piles were nothing +else than masses of bones. Drawn by a gruesome +fascination, he climbed up to the nearest of the ghastly +heaps. The loose ribs and vertebræ scattered down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +the slope seemed to him the size of human ribs and +vertebræ. He shuddered as they crunched under his +tread.</p> +<p>Then he saw a skull with spiral-curved horns. He +looked up the cañon wall, and understood. The high-heaped +bones were the skeletons of sheep. In a flash, +he remembered Isobel’s account of Gowan, that first +day up there on the top of the mesa. Not only had +the puncher killed six men; he had, together with other +violent men of the cattle ranges, driven thousands of +sheep over into the cañon––and this was the place.</p> +<p>Sick with horror and loathing, Ashton ran to snatch +up an armful of the smaller driftwood and hurry back +down to the center of the barrier. He found Blake +lying white and still. But beside him were three +cartridges from which the bullets had been worked out. +At the terse command of the engineer, Ashton ground +one of the older and drier pieces of wood to minute +fragments on a rock.</p> +<p>Blake emptied the powder from one of the cartridges +into the little pile of splinters, and holding the +edge of another shell against a corner of the rock, +tapped the cap with a stone. At the fifth stroke the +cap exploded. The loosened powder of the cartridge +flared out into the powder-sprinkled tinder. Soon a +fire of the dry, half-rotted driftwood was blazing +bright and almost smokeless in the twilight of the +depths. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></p> +<p>“Now haul up the rod,” directed Blake, and he lay +back to bask in the grateful warmth.</p> +<p>Ashton drew up the level rod and came back over the +ledge. He found that the engineer had freed himself +from the last coils of the rope and was unraveling the +end that had been next his body. But his eyes were +upturned to the heights.</p> +<p>“Look––the flag!” he said.</p> +<p>“Already?” exclaimed Ashton.</p> +<p>“Yes. No doubt one of them has been waiting +on that out-jutting point.––Now, if you’ll break the +rod. We’ve got to get my leg into splints.”</p> +<p>The crude splints were soon ready. For bandages +there were strips from the tattered shirts of both men. +Unraveled rope-strands, burnt off in the fire, served to +lash all together. Beads of cold sweat gathered and +rolled down Blake’s white face throughout the cruel +operation. Yet he endured every twist and pull of +the broken limb without a groan. When at last the +bones were set to his satisfaction and the leg lashed +rigid to the splints, he even mustered a faint smile.</p> +<p>“That beats an amputation,” he declared. “Now +if you can help me up under the cliff, where you can +plant the fire against a back-log––I want to dry out +and do some planning while you’re climbing up for +help. I’ve an idea we can put in a dynamo down +here, with turbines in the intake and in the mouth of +the tunnel––carry a wire up over the top of the mesa +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +and down into the gulch. Understand? All the +electric power we want to drive the tunnel, and very +cheap.”</p> +<p>“My God!” gasped Ashton. “You can lie here––here––maimed, +already starving––and can plan +like that?”</p> +<p>“Why not? No fun thinking of my leg, is it? As +for the rest, you’re going up to report the situation. +They’ll soon manage to yank me out of this blessed +hole.”</p> +<p>Ashton’s face darkened. “But that’s the question,” +he rejoined. “Am I going to go up? Am I +going to try to go up?”</p> +<p>Blake looked at him with a steady, unflinching gaze. +“There’s something queer about all this. Isn’t it +time you explained? When the rope came off that last +cliff in the gorge and I saw that you had untied it before +sliding down, I thought you were off your head. +And two or three times today, too. But since we +landed here––”</p> +<p>“Your broken leg,” interrupted Ashton––“it made +me forget. You had saved me with the rope. I had +to help you. Now I see how foolish I have been. I +should have left you to lie here, and flung myself back +over into the water.”</p> +<p>“Why?” calmly queried Blake.</p> +<p>“Why! You ask why?” cried Ashton, his eyes +ablaze with excitement, his whole body quivering. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +“Can’t you see? Are you blind? What do I care +about myself if I can save her from you? I shall not +try to escape. You shall never go up there to work +her harm!”</p> +<p>“Harm her? You mean put through this irrigation +project?”</p> +<p>“No!” shouted Ashton. “Don’t lie and pretend, +you hypocrite! You know what I mean! You know +she could not hide how you were enticing her!”</p> +<p>Blake stared in utter astonishment. Then, regardless +of his leg, he sat up and said quietly: “I see. I +thought you must have understood when she told me, +there at the last moment before we started. She is my +sister.”</p> +<p>“Sister!” scoffed Ashton. “You liar! You have +no sister. Your sisters died years ago. Genevieve +told me.”</p> +<p>“That was what I told her. I believed it true. +But it was not true. Belle did not die––God! when +I think of that! It has helped me through this fight––it +helped me crawl up here with that leg dangling. +Good God! To think of Jenny waiting for me up +there, and Son, and little Belle too––little Belle whom +all these years I thought dead!”</p> +<p>Ashton stood as if turned to stone. “Belle––you +call her Belle? She told me––Chuckie only a +nickname!” he stammered. “Adopted––her real +name Isobel!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p> +<p>“We always called her Belle––Baby Belle! She +was the youngest,” said Blake.</p> +<p>“But why––why did you not––tell me?”</p> +<p>“I did not know. She did––she knew from the +first, there at Stockchute. I see it now. Even before +that, she must have guessed it. Yes, I see all now. +She sent for me to come out here, because she thought +I might be her brother.”</p> +<p>“You did not tell me!” reproached Ashton, his face +ghastly. “How was I to know?”</p> +<p>“I tell you, I did not know,” repeated Blake. “At +first––yes, all along––there was something about her +voice and face––But she had changed so much, and +all these years––eight, nine years––I had thought +her dead. She gave me no sign––only that friendliness. +I did not know until the very last moment, there +on the edge of the ravine. I thought you saw it; that +you heard her tell me. It seemed to me everybody +must have heard.”</p> +<p>“I was running away––I could not bear it. I +think I must have been crazy for a time. If only I had +heard! My God! if only I had heard!”</p> +<p>“Well, you know now,” said Blake. “What’s +done is done. The question now is, what are you going +to do next?”</p> +<p>Instantly Ashton’s drooping figure was a-quiver with +eagerness.</p> +<p>“You wish first to be taken up near the driftwood,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +he exclaimed. “Let me lift you. Don’t be afraid to +put your weight on me. Hurry! We must lose no +time!”</p> +<p>Blake was already struggling up. Ashton strained +to help him rise erect on his sound leg. Braced and +half lifted by the younger man, the engineer hobbled +and hopped along the barrier crest and up its sloping +side. His trained eye picked out a great weather-seasoned +pine log lying directly beneath the outermost +point of the cañon rim. An object dropped over +where the flag still flecked against the indigo sky, would +have fallen straight down to the log, unless deflected +by the prong of a ledge that jutted out twelve hundred +feet from the top.</p> +<p>“Here,” panted Blake, regardless of the great pile +of skeletons heaped on the far end of the log. “This +place––right below them! Go back––bring fire and +rope.”</p> +<p>Ashton ran back to fetch the rope and a dozen blazing +sticks. Driftwood was strewn all around. In a +minute he had a fire started against the butt end of the +log. He began to gather a pile of fuel. But Blake +checked him with a cheerful––“That’s enough, old +man. I can manage now. Take the rope, and go.”</p> +<p>When Ashton had coiled the rope over his shoulder +and under the opposite arm, he came and stood before +his prostrate companion. His face was scarlet with +shame. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></p> +<p>“I have been a fool––and worse,” he said. “I +doubted her. I am utterly unfit to live. If I were +alone down here, I would stay and rot. But you are +her brother. If it is possible to get up there, I am +going up.”</p> +<p>“You are going up!” encouraged Blake. “You +will make it. Give my love to them. Tell them I’m +doing fine.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand.</p> +<p>“No,” said Ashton. “I’d give anything if I could +grip hands with you. But I cannot. You are her +brother. I am unfit to touch your hand.”</p> +<p>He turned and ran up the precipice-foot to the first +steep ascent of the steeple-sloped break in the wall of +the abyss.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX_THE_CLIMBER' id='CHAPTER_XXIX_THE_CLIMBER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>THE CLIMBER</h3> +</div> +<p>A day of anxiety, only partly relieved by those +tiny flashes of light so far, far down in the awful +depths; then the long night of ceaseless watching. +Neither Genevieve nor Isobel had been able to sleep +during those hours when no flash signaled up to them +from the abysmal darkness.</p> +<p>Then at last, a full hour after dawn on the mesa +top, the down-peering wife had caught the flash that +told of the renewal of the exploration. As throughout +the previous day, Gowan brought the ladies food +and whatever else they needed. Only the needs of the +baby had power to draw its mother away from the +cañon edge. Isobel moved always along the giddy +verge wherever she could cling to it, following the unseen +workers in the depths.</p> +<p>On his first trip to the ranch, the puncher had +brought Genevieve’s field glasses––an absurdly small +instrument of remarkable power. Three times the +first day and twice the second morning she and Isobel +had the joy of seeing their loved ones creeping along +the abyss bottom at places where the sun pierced down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +through the gloom. They missed other chances because +the cañon edge was not everywhere so easily +approachable.</p> +<p>Many times the flash of Blake’s revolver passed unseen +by them. Sometimes they had been forced away +from the brink; sometimes the depths were cut off from +their view by juttings of the vast walls. Yet now and +again one or the other caught a flash that marked the +advance of the explorers.</p> +<p>Towards midday a last flash was seen by both above +the turn where the cañon curved to run towards Dry +Fork Gulch. Between this point and the sharp bend +opposite the gulch the precipices overhung the cañon +bottom. Carrying the baby, the two hastened to the +bend, to heap up and light a great beacon fire of green +wood.</p> +<p>Gowan followed with the ponies, cool, silent and +efficient. From the first he had seldom looked over +into the cañon. His part was to serve Miss Chuckie +and her friend, and wait. Like Ashton, he had failed +to surmise the real significance of that tender parting +between Blake and Isobel. His look had betrayed +boundless amazement when he saw the wife of the man +take the sobbing girl into her arms and comfort her. +But he had spoken no word of inquiry; and every moment +since, both ladies had been too utterly absorbed +in their watch to talk to him of anything else.</p> +<p>At last the exploration was nearing the turning point. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +Genevieve and Isobel lay on the edge of the precipice +near the beacon fire, peering down for the flash that +would tell of the last rod reading.</p> +<p>Slowly the minutes dragged by, and no welcome +signal flashed through the dark shadows. The usual +interval between shots had passed. Still no signal. +They waited and watched, with fast-mounting apprehension. +Could the brave ones down in those fearsome +depths have failed almost in sight of the goal? or +could misfortune have overtaken them in that narrow, +cavernous reach of the chasm so close to their objective +point?</p> +<p>At last––“There! there it is!”</p> +<p>Together the two watchers saw the flash, and together +they shrieked the glad discovery.</p> +<p>Genevieve rose to go to her crying baby. Before +she could silence him, Isobel screamed to her: “Another +shot!––farther downstream! What can it +mean?”</p> +<p>Genevieve put down the still-sobbing baby and ran +again to the verge of the precipice. Two minutes +after the second flash there came a third, a few yards +still farther along the cañon.</p> +<p>“They have changed their plans. They are going +downstream,” said Genevieve.</p> +<p>She caught up the long pole of the flag and ran to +thrust it out opposite the point where she had seen the +flash. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></p> +<p>Gowan was preparing for the return trip up along +the cañon to the starting point. At Isobel’s call, he +silently turned the ponies about the other way and followed +the excited watchers. As he did so, the girl +perceived a fourth flash in the abyss, a hundred yards +farther downstream. She hastened with the flag to a +point a little beyond the place.</p> +<p>When Genevieve had quieted the baby and overtaken +Isobel, the latter was ready with a question: +“You know Tom so well. Why is he going on down? +He said that he would at once return after reaching the +place where the head of the tunnel is to be.”</p> +<p>“He must have seen the beacon,” replied Genevieve. +“He could not have mistaken that. Something has +forced him to change his plans. It may be they were +swept down some place in the river that he knows they +cannot re-ascend.”</p> +<p>“Oh! do not say it!” sobbed the girl. “If they +cannot get back––oh! what will they do? How +will they ever escape?”</p> +<p>“Is there no other place?” asked Genevieve. +“Think, dear. Is there no break in these terrible +precipices?”</p> +<p>“There’s a place where the wall slopes back––but +steep, oh, so steep! Yet it is barely possible––” +The girl’s voice sank, and she glanced about at Gowan. +“It is just this side of where more than five thousand +sheep were driven over into the cañon. That was four +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +years ago. I have never since been able to go near the +place.”</p> +<p>“Tom said that he rode all along the cañon for +miles. You say it may be possible to climb up at that +place. He must have seen it, and he has remembered +it.”</p> +<p>“Then you think––?”</p> +<p>“I know that if it is possible for anyone to climb +the wall, Tom will climb it––and he will bring up +Lafayette with him.”</p> +<p>“Dear Genevieve! You are so strong! so full of +hope!”</p> +<p>“Not hope, dear. It is trust. I know Tom better +than you. That is all.”</p> +<p>“Another flash!” cried Isobel. “So soon, yet all +that long way from the last! They are traveling far +faster!”</p> +<p>“Yes, they have finished with the levels,” divined +Genevieve. “We must hasten.”</p> +<p>Isobel called the news to the silent puncher, and all +moved along to overtake the hurrying fugitives below. +Though both parties went so much faster, Blake’s frequent +shots kept the anxious watchers above in closer +touch than at any time before.</p> +<p>At last they came to that Cyclopean ladder of precipices, +rising one above the other in narrow steps, and +all inclined at a giddy pitch far steeper than any house +roof. Yet for a long way down them the field glasses +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +showed their surfaces wrinkled with shelves and projecting +ledges and creased with faults and crevices.</p> +<p>The party went past this semi-break in the sheer +wall, and halted on the out-jutting point of the rim +where the luckless flock of sheep had been driven over +to destruction. No reference was made to that ruthless +slaughter of innocents. Gowan calmly set about +preparing a camp. The ladies lay down to watch in +the shade of a frost-cracked rock on the verge of the +wall.</p> +<p>Already the time had come and gone for the regular +signal of the revolver shot. The watchers began +to grow apprehensive. Still their straining eyes saw +no flash in the depths. A half hour passed. Their +apprehension deepened to dread. An hour––they +were white with terror.</p> +<p>Suddenly a tiny red spot appeared––not a flash that +came and went like lightning, but a flame that remained +and grew larger.</p> +<p>“A fire!” cried Isobel. “They have halted and +built a fire.”</p> +<p>Genevieve brought the flag and thrust it out over +the edge. The inner end of the pole she wedged in +a crevice of the split rock.</p> +<p>“They have stopped to rest,” she said. “It may +be that Lafayette is worn out. But soon I trust they +will be coming up.”</p> +<p>She looked through her glasses. The fire was burning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +its brightest. She discerned the prostrate figure +beside the ledge. She watched it fixedly. Soon another +figure appeared in the circle of firelight. It bent +over the first, doing something with pieces of stick.</p> +<p>“Look,” whispered Genevieve, handing the glasses +to her companion, “Tom is hurt. Lafayette is binding +his leg. It is broken or badly strained.––Oh! +will your father never come?”</p> +<p>“Tom hurt? It can’t be––no, no!” protested +Isobel. But she too looked and saw. After a time +she added breathlessly: “It can’t be so bad! Lafe +is helping him to rise.... They are starting this +way––to the foot of the wall! They will be climbing +up!”</p> +<p>“But if his leg is injured!” differed Genevieve.</p> +<p>Again they waited. Presently the fire scattered, +and a streak of flame traveled across the cañon to a +point beneath them. Soon the red spot of a new fire +glowed in the shadows so directly under them that a +pebble dropped from their fingers must have grazed +down the precipices and fallen into the flames.</p> +<p>After several minutes of alternate peering through +the glasses, Genevieve handed them back to Isobel for +the third time, and rose to go to her baby.</p> +<p>“It is Tom alone,” she said, divining the truth. +“Lafayette has helped him to the best place they could +find, and now he is coming up to us for help.”</p> +<p>When she had fed the baby and soothed him to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +sleep, she laid out bandages and salve, set a full coffeepot +on the fire started by Gowan, and examined the +cream and eggs brought back by the puncher on his +second night trip to the ranch.</p> +<p>Nearly an hour had passed when Isobel called in +joyous excitement: “I see him! I see him! Down +there where the sunlight slants on the rocks. Oh! how +bravely! how swiftly he climbs!”</p> +<p>Genevieve went to take the glasses and look. Several +moments were lost before she could locate the tiny +figure creeping up that stairway of the giants. But, +once she had fixed the glasses upon him, she could see +him clearly. Isobel had well expressed it when she +said that he was climbing swiftly and bravely. Running +along shelves, clambering ledges, following up +the crevices that offered the best foothold, the tattered +climber fought his dizzy way upwards, upwards, ever +upwards!</p> +<p>Rarely, after some particularly hard scramble, he +flung himself down on a shelf or on one of the steps +of the Titanic ladder, to rest and summon energy for +another upward rush. His good fortune seemed as +marvelous as his endurance and daring. He never +once slipped and never once had to turn back from an +ascent. As if guided by instinct or divine intuition, +he chose always the safest, the least difficult, the most +continuously scalable way on all that perilous pitch.</p> +<p>So swift an ascent was beyond the ordinary powers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +of man. It could have been made only by a maniac +or by one to whom great passion had given command +of those latent forces of the body that enable the +maniac to fling strong men about like children. Long +before the climber reached the top of that terrible ladder, +his hands were torn and bleeding, the tattered +garments were half rent from his limbs and body, his +eyes were sunk deep in their sockets.</p> +<p>Yet ever he climbed, ledge above ledge, crevice after +crevice, until at last only one steep pitch rose above +him. A rope came sliding down the rock. A voice––the +sweetest voice in all the wide world of sunshine +and life––called to him. It sounded very far away, +farther than the bounds of reality, yet he heard and +obeyed. He slipped the loop of the rope down over +his shoulders and about his heaving forebody. Then +suddenly his labor was lightened. His leaden body +became winged. It floated upwards.</p> +<p>When he came to himself, a bitter refreshing wetness +was soothing his parched mouth and black swollen +tongue; gentle fingers were spreading balm on his torn +hands; the loveliest face of earth or heaven was downbent +over him, its tender blue eyes brimming with tears +of compassion and love. Softly his head and shoulders +were raised, and hot coffee was poured down his throat +as fast as he could swallow.</p> +<p>He half roused from his daze. The swollen, +cracked lips moved in faintly muttered words: “Leg +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +broken––sends love––doing fine––project feasible––irrigation––no +food––must rest––go down +again.”</p> +<p>The eyes of the two ministering angels met. Genevieve +bent down and pressed her lips to the purple, +swollen-veined forehead. The heavy lids closed over +the sunken eyes; but before he lapsed into the torpid +sleep of exhaustion that fell upon him, the two succeeded +in feeding him several spoonfuls of raw egg +beaten in cream. He then sank into utter unconsciousness.</p> +<p>Flaccid and inert as a corpse, he lay outstretched on +the grassy slope while they bound up the cuts and +bruises on his naked arms and shoulders and cut the +broken, gaping boots from his bruised feet. His legs, +doubly protected by the tough leather chapareras and +thick riding leggins, had fared less cruelly than his +arms, but his knees were raw and bleeding where the +chaps had worn through on the rocks.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXX_LURKING_BEASTS' id='CHAPTER_XXX_LURKING_BEASTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<h3>LURKING BEASTS</h3> +</div> +<p>The moment that he had helped haul the climber +to safety Gowan had ridden away with the horses +to the camp. He now came jogging back with the +tent and all else that they had not been carrying with +them in their skirting of the cañon edge. He unloaded +the packs and hastened to pitch the tent.</p> +<p>As he was finishing, Isobel called to him sharply. +“What are you doing there, Kid? That can wait. +Come here.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Miss Chuckie,” he replied with ready obedience. +But when he came down the slope to the little +group, his mouth was like a thin gash across his lean +jaws. He stared coldly at Ashton between narrowed +lids. “Want me to help tote him up by the fire?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“No!” she replied. “It is Tom! He is down +there––his leg broken––and no food! You must go +down to him.”</p> +<p>“Go down?” queried the puncher. “What good +would that do? I couldn’t help him with that climb. +He weighs a good two hundred.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span></p> +<p>“You can take food down to him and let him know +that help is coming. You must!”</p> +<p>Gowan looked sullenly at the unconscious man. +“Sorry, Miss Chuckie. It’s no go. I ain’t a mountain +sheep.”</p> +<p>“But <i>he</i> came up!”</p> +<p>“That’s different. It’s a sight easier going up +cliffs than climbing down. No, you’ll have to excuse +me, Miss Chuckie.”</p> +<p>The girl flamed with indignant anger. “You coward! +You saw him come up, after all that time down +in those fearful depths––after fighting his way all +those miles along the terrible river––yet you dare not +go down! You coward! you quitter!”</p> +<p>The puncher’s face turned a sickly yellow, and he +seemed to shrink in on himself. His voice sank to +a husky whisper: “You can say that, Miss Chuckie! +Any man say it, he’d be dead before now. If you +want to know, I’ve got a mighty good reason for not +wanting to go down. It ain’t that I’m afraid. You +can bank on that. It’s something else. I’ll go quick +enough––but it’s got to be on one condition. You’ve +got to promise to marry me.”</p> +<p>“<i>Marry you?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes. You know how I’ve felt towards you all +these years. Promise to marry me, and I’ll go to +hell and back for you. I’ll do anything for you. I’ll +save him!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span></p> +<p>“You cur! You’d force me to bargain myself to +you!” she cried, fairly beside herself with righteous +fury. “I thought you a man! You cur––you cowardly +cur!”</p> +<p>Gowan turned from her and walked rapidly away +along the cañon edge, his head hunched between his +shoulders, his hands downstretched at his thighs, the +fingers crooked convulsively.</p> +<p>“Oh!” gasped Genevieve. “You’ve driven him +away! Call him back! We need him! He must go +for help!”</p> +<p>The words shocked the girl out of her rash anger. +Her flushed face whitened with fear. “Kid!” she +screamed. “Come back, Kid! You must go to the +ranch––bring the men!”</p> +<p>The cry of appeal should have brought him back +to her on the run. It pierced high above the booming +reverberations of the cañon. Yet he paid no heed. +He neither halted nor paused nor even looked back. +If anything, he hurried away faster than before.</p> +<p>“Kid! dear Kid! forgive me! Come back and help +us!” shrieked the girl.</p> +<p>He kept on down along the cañon rim, his chin sunk +on his breast, his downstretched hands bent like claws. +She ran a little way after him; only to flutter back +again, wringing her hands, distracted. “What shall +we do? what shall we do?”</p> +<p>“Be quiet, dear––be quiet!” urged Genevieve. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +“You’ve driven him away. We must do the best we +can. You must go yourself. I can stay and watch––”</p> +<p>“No, no!” cried Isobel. “The way he looked at +Lafe!––I dare not go! He may come back––and I +not here!”</p> +<p>She knelt to place her trembling hand on Ashton’s +forehead.</p> +<p>Genevieve looked at the setting sun. “There is no +time to lose,” she said. “Saddle my horse while I +nurse Baby. I cannot take him with me down the +mountain, in the dark.”</p> +<p>“Genevieve! You dare go––at night?”</p> +<p>“Someone must bring help, else Tom––all alone +down in that dreadful chasm––!”</p> +<p>“But you may lose the way! I will go!”</p> +<p>“No, no, you must stay, Belle. I saw his eyes. +He may come back. I could not protect Lafayette, +but you––There is no other way. I must leave +Baby, and go.”</p> +<p>Wondering at the courage of the young mother, +Isobel ran to saddle the oldest of the picketed horses. +He was the slowest of them all, but he was surefooted +and steady and very wise. When she brought him +down the ridge, Genevieve placed the newly fed baby +in her arms and went with the glasses to peer down the +sheer precipices. There in the blackness so far beneath +her the glowing fire illuminated an outstretched +form. It was her husband, lying flat on his back and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +gazing up at the heights. Almost she could fancy that +he saw her as she saw him.</p> +<p>But she did not linger. Time was too precious. +She dropped him a kiss, and ran to spring upon the +waiting pony. She did not pause even to kiss the big-eyed +baby. The thirsty pony needed no urging to +start at a lively jog up the slope of the first ridge. +As he topped the crest and broke into a lope the sun +dipped below the western edge of High Mesa. A few +seconds later horse and rider disappeared from Isobel’s +anxious gaze down the far side of the ridge.</p> +<p>“Old Buck knows the trail,” murmured the girl. +“He knows he is headed for the waterhole. Yet if––if +he <i>should</i> lose the trail!”</p> +<p>A spasm of fear sent her hand to the pistol hilt under +the fold of her skirt and twisted her head about. She +glared along the cañon rim. Gowan was still striding +away from her. She watched him fixedly, her hand +clutched fast on the hilt of her pistol, until he disappeared +around a mass of rocks.</p> +<p>The whinnying of the horses after their companion +at last drew her attention. They had not been watered +since the previous evening. Cuddling close the frightened +baby, the girl fetched a basin and one of the water +cans, to sponge out the dusty nostrils of the animals +and give each two or three swallows.</p> +<p>Then, when she had soothed the fretful child to +sleep, she laid him in a snug nest of blankets between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +a rock and a fallen tree, and went to watch beside Ashton. +He lay as she had left him, in a stupor of sleep +and exhaustion.</p> +<p>Gradually the twilight faded. Stars began to twinkle +in the cloudless sky. She watched and waited while +the dusk deepened. When she could barely see objects +a few yards away, she stooped over the unconscious +man and, putting out all her supple young strength, +half dragged, half carried him up the slope to a hiding +place that she had chosen, in under an overhanging +ledge. There she spread pine needles and blankets +on the soft mold and lifted him upon them, so that +nothing hard should press against his wounds.</p> +<p>The fire had burned low. It was a full hundred +yards away from the hiding place. She went to replenish +it and take a hasty look down at that outstretched +form in the depths. But soon she stole back +to the sleeping man under the rock, going, as she had +come, by a roundabout way in the darkness.</p> +<p>Night settled down close and dense over the plateau. +The girl crouched beside the sleeper, her eyes peering +out into the blackness, the drawn pistol ready in her +hand. She could see only a few feet in the dim starlight. +But her ears, accustomed to the dull monotone +of the booming cañon, heard every sound––the click +of the horses’ hoofs, even the munching of the nearest +one, the hoot of the owls that flitted overhead, the +distant yelps and wails of coyotes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></p> +<p>An hour passed, two hours––a third. She crept +around to replenish the fire. When she returned she +heard the baby fretting. Swiftly she groped her way +to him and carried him to the hiding place, to quiet his +outcry. He sucked in a little of the beaten egg and +cream that she had ready for Ashton. It satisfied +his hunger, and he fell asleep, clasped against her soft +warm bosom. She crouched down with him in her lap, +her right hand again clasped on the pistol hilt, ready +for the expected attack.</p> +<p>She waited as before, silent, motionless, every sense +alert. Another hour dragged by, and another. Midnight +passed. Suddenly, on the ridge slope above her, +one of the horses snorted and plunged. She raised +the pistol. The horse became quiet. But something +came gliding around the rocks, a low form vaguely +outlined in the darkness. It might have been a creeping +man. It turned towards the hiding place. The +girl found herself looking into a pair of glaring eyes. +She thrust out the pistol, with her forefinger pointing +along the barrel. The darkness was too deep for her +to aim by the sights.</p> +<p>Before she could press the trigger, the beast bounded +away, with a snarl far deeper, far more ferocious than +any coyote could have uttered. The girl did not fire. +The wolf had seen the glint of her pistol barrel and +had fled. He would not return. But she shuddered +and drew the sleeping baby close as she thought of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +what might have happened had she left him alone in +the nest between the rock and the tree.</p> +<p>The precious, helpless child! He was of her own +blood, the son of her strong, splendid brother ... of +her brother, lying down there in those awful depths, +helpless––in agony!...</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXI_CONFESSIONS' id='CHAPTER_XXXI_CONFESSIONS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<h3>CONFESSIONS</h3> +</div> +<p>A groping hand touched her arm; bandaged +fingers sought to feel who she was. Behind her +sounded a drowsy incoherent murmur. The snarl of +the wolf had roused the sleeper from his torpor.</p> +<p>“Hush––hush!” she whispered. “It is all well. +I am here by you. Lie still.”</p> +<p>“Isobel!” he murmured. “Isobel!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear!” she soothed. “I am here. Rest––go +to sleep again. All is well.”</p> +<p>“All is––?” He roused a little more. “You +say––Then he is safe! They have brought him up––out +of that hell!”</p> +<p>She could not lie outright. “He will soon be safe. +By morning help will have come to us. As soon as +the men can see to go down, they will descend for him. +They will bring him up the way that you have shown +us!”</p> +<p>Her voice quivered with pride of what he had done. +She drew up his hand and pressed her lips tenderly +upon the bandages.</p> +<p>Had the caress been a burn, he could not have more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +quickly snatched the hand away. He sought to rise, +and struck his head against the overhanging rock.</p> +<p>“Where am I? Let me out!” he said.</p> +<p>“No, you must not! Lie still! You must not!” +she remonstrated.</p> +<p>“Lie still?” he repeated. “Lie still! with him +down there––alone!”</p> +<p>“But it is night––midnight. It will be hours before +even the moon rises.”</p> +<p>“And he down there––alone! Help me make +ready. I am going down to him.”</p> +<p>“Going down? But you cannot! It is midnight!”</p> +<p>“There is a lantern. I shall take that. It will +be easier than in the daytime, for I shall not see those +sickening precipices below.”</p> +<p>He sought to creep out past her. She clutched his +arm.</p> +<p>“No, no! do not go! There is no need! Wait +until they come. You have done your share––far +more than your share! Wait!”</p> +<p>“I cannot,” he replied. “I must go down to him. +I have no right to be up here, and he still down there.”</p> +<p>“You must!” she urged, clinging tighter to his arm. +“You may fall. I am afraid! I cannot bear it! Do +not go! Stay with me––say that you will stay with +me––dearest!”</p> +<p>“Good God!” he cried, tearing himself away from +her, “To let you say it––say it to me!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p>“Dearest!” she repeated. “Dearest, do not go! +There is no need! I cannot bear it! Do not go!”</p> +<p>“No need? My God! When I could fling myself +over, if it were not for him! To have let you say it––to +me––to a liar! thief! murderer!”</p> +<p>“Dearest!” she whispered. “Hush! You are +delirious––you do not know––”</p> +<p>“It is you who do not know!” he cried. “But you +shall––everything––all my cowardly baseness!” +The confession burst from him in a torrent of self-denunciation––“That +trip to town, when we went to +fetch them, I lied to you about those bridge plans. +It was not true that I found them. He handed them +to me. He took no receipt. I looked at them and +saw how wonderful they were. I stole them. My +father had threatened to cast me off if I did not do +something worth while. I was desperate. So I stole +your brother’s plans. I copied them––”</p> +<p>“You know about Tom!” she interrupted. “But +of course. You saw me tell him, there at the ravine.”</p> +<p>“I saw you put your arms about his neck and kiss +him; but I did not hear––I did not see the truth. I +believed––that is the worst of it all––I believed +it possible that you––<i>you</i>––!... That devil Gowan.... But +that is no excuse. Had I not already doubted +you.... And I went down––down into hell, with +only one purpose––to make certain that he never +should come up again!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></p> +<p>“Dear Christ!” whispered the girl––“Dear +Christ! He has gone mad!”</p> +<p>“No, Isobel,” he said, his voice slow and dead with +the calm of utter despair, “I am not mad. I have +never been mad except for a little while after you put +your arms about his neck. No––For years I was a +fool, a profligate fool, wasting my life as I wasted +all those thousands of dollars that I had not earned. +I turned thief––a despicable sneak thief. At last the +dirty crime found me out. I received a small share +of the punishment that I deserved. Then you took +me in––without question––treated me as a man. +God knows I tried to be one!”</p> +<p>“You were!––you are!” she broke in. “This is +all a mistake––a cruel, hideous mistake!”</p> +<p>“I tried to go,” he went on unflinchingly. “You +urged me to stay. I was weak. I could not force myself +to leave you.”</p> +<p>“Because––because!” she murmured.</p> +<p>“All the more reason why I should have gone,” he +replied. “But I was weak, unfit. I lied to you and +won your pity. You gave me the chance to stay and +prove myself what I am. Down there, when he told +me what I should have guessed––what I must have +guessed had not my own baseness blinded me to the +truth––when he told me he was your brother, I saw +myself, my real self,––my shriveled, black, hellish +soul. Now you see why I must go down again. I can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +never make reparation for what I have done. But I +can at least go down to him.”</p> +<p>“You take all the blame on yourself!” she protested. +“What if I had confessed my secret, there +at the first, when Tom sprang down from the car and I +knew him.”</p> +<p>“If you had told, then I should not have been +tempted to doubt you, and I should have gone on, it +might have been forever, with that lie and that theft +between us––and I should not have been forced to +see, as I now see, my absolute unworthiness of you.”</p> +<p>“Of me!” she cried shrilly, and she burst into wild +hysterical laughter. It broke off as abruptly as it began. +“Unworthy of me––of me? the daughter of +a drunken mother, the sister of a girl who––” A sob +choked her. She went on desperately: “You have +told me all. But I––do you not wonder why I kept +silent––why I denied Mary by my silence? You say +you sought to harm Tom––down there. You did +not know he was my brother. You thought he would +harm me. Is it not so?”</p> +<p>“I doubted you!”</p> +<p>“Why? Because I failed to tell the truth. I +feared to hurt him––to make trouble between him +and his rich, high-bred wife. As if I should not have +known better the moment I saw Genevieve! Dear sister! +she knows all. But you––Either I should have +spoken, or I should have hidden all my fondness for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +him. But I could not hide my love for him––and I +was ashamed to tell.”</p> +<p>“Ashamed––you?”</p> +<p>“We lived in the slums. They told me my father +was a big man, a man such as Tom is now. He was +a railroad engineer. He was killed when I was a baby. +Then we sank into the slums. My mother––she died +when I was twelve. There was then only Mary and +I and Tom. He could make only a little, working at +odd jobs. Mary and I worked in a factory. Even +she was under age. When I was going on fourteen +there came a terrible winter when thousands were out +of work. We almost starved.”</p> +<p>“You––starved!” murmured Ashton. “Starved! +And I was starting in at college, flinging away money!”</p> +<p>“Tom tried to force people to let him work,” the +girl went on drearily. “He was violent. They put +him in jail. Soon Mary and I had nothing left. There +was no work for us. We had sold everything that +anyone would buy. The rent was overdue. They +turned us out––on the streets.... I was too young; +but Mary.... She found a place where I could stay. +They were decent people, but hard....</p> +<p>“The weather was bitterly cold. She was taken +sick. When the people with whom I was staying +heard what she had done, they refused to help. I +begged in the street. I was very small and thin. The––the +beasts did not trouble me. Then, when Mary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +was very sick, I met Daddy. I begged from him. He +did not give me a nickel and pass on. He stopped and +made me talk––he made me take him to Mary.</p> +<p>“He had her moved to the best hospital.... It +was too late.... I also had pneumonia. They said I +would die. But Daddy brought me home just as soon +as I could be moved. The railroad was then a hundred +miles from Dry Mesa. But he kept me wrapped +in furs, and all the way he carried me in his arms. Do +you wonder why I love him so?... That is all. +You see now why I shrank from telling––why I denied +Mary.”</p> +<p>“She is in Heaven,” said Ashton––“in Heaven, +where some day you will go. But I––I––” She +could see no more than the vague blotch of his white +face in the darkness, but his voice told her the anguish +of his look. “He was right––your brother. He +told me that we always take with us the heaven or the +hell that we each have made for ourselves.... I have +lost you.... You know now why I am going down +to do the little that I can do.”</p> +<p>“You are going down?” she asked wonderingly. +“You still say that you are going down? Yet I have +told you about––Mary!”</p> +<p>“If you were she, I still would be utterly unfit to +look you in the face. I shall go to the camp for the +lantern. There were other gloves and some of my +clothing.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span></p> +<p>“They are all here.”</p> +<p>“Show me where they are, and get ready the lantern +and bandages and a sack of food.”</p> +<p>“You are going down,” she acquiesced. “You are +going to Tom. And you are coming up with him––to +me!”</p> +<p>“That is too much. I doubted you. Where are +those things? He is waiting down there alone.”</p> +<p>“Here is his child, my nephew,” she said. “Hold +him while I go for what you need. Here is my pistol. +The man who shot you, who twice tried to murder you––he +is somewhere up here. He will not harm me. +But you––If he comes creeping in on you here, shoot +him as you would shoot a coyote.”</p> +<p>“The man who shot me? He is up here?”</p> +<p>“You have seen him every day since that first day +I met you,” replied the girl. “His name is Gowan.”</p> +<p>“<i>Gowan?</i>”</p> +<p>“Kid Gowan, murderer! I saw his eyes as he +looked at you, lying down there on the brink. Then I +knew.”</p> +<p>“But––if he––Where is Genevieve? I cannot +go and leave you alone.”</p> +<p>“You can––you must! He is a coward. He dare +not follow you down that terrible place. No harm +will come to me if you are gone. But if he comes back +and finds you––do you not see that if he kills you, he +must also kill me? But in the morning, when the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +others come––Oh, why hasn’t Daddy come? All +this long time since you went down into the depths, +and he not with us! If only he were here!”</p> +<p>“Genevieve?” again inquired Ashton.</p> +<p>“She has gone. She started down the mountain +for help when Kid went away. I’m so afraid for you, +dear! He may be creeping back now––he may be +waiting already, close by here, in the darkness. But +if he has not heard our voices, he will go first to where +you came up, and then to the tent. Keep quiet until I +return. Wait; here is cream and egg. Drink it all.”</p> +<p>When he had drained the bowl that she held to his +lips, she crept away. Ashton sat still, the warm, soft +little body of the sleeping baby in his arms, the pistol +in his bandaged right hand. In her excitement Isobel +had forgotten his bound fingers. If Gowan had come +on him then, he would have put the baby back in under +the rock, and faced the puncher’s revolver with a smile. +What had he now to live for? He had lost her. She +had not yet grasped the baseness of what he had +thought and done. As soon as she realized ... And +he could never forgive himself.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXII_OVER_THE_BRINK' id='CHAPTER_XXXII_OVER_THE_BRINK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<h3>OVER THE BRINK</h3> +</div> +<p>Isobel came back to him, noiselessly gliding around +through the darkness. She set down the bundle +she was carrying, and hung blankets over the entrance +of the little cave. She then lighted the lantern. He +held out his bound hands. She unbound them enough +for him to use his fingers, and taking the baby and the +pistol, crouched down, with her ear close to the screening +blankets, while he exchanged his tattered clothes +for those she had brought to him.</p> +<p>There were also his change of boots and a pair of +Blake’s gauntlet gloves, into which he was able to force +his slender fingers without removing the remaining +bandages. Isobel had already bound up into a kind +of knapsack the food and clothing and first-aid package +that he was to take down to her injured brother. +He slung it upon his back, and whispered that he was +ready.</p> +<p>She nestled the baby in the warm blankets on which +he had lain, wrapped a blanket about the lantern, and +led him cautiously down to the brink of the chasm. +Dark as was the night about them, it was bright compared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +with the intense blackness of that profound +abyss. The girl caught his arm and shrank back from +the edge.</p> +<p>“You will not fall? you are certain you will not +fall?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“I cannot fall,” he answered with calm conviction. +“He needs me. I am going down to him. Besides, +it will be easier with the lantern than if I could see below.”</p> +<p>“Do not uncover the light until you are down over +the edge.––Wait!”</p> +<p>She stooped to knot the rope that he had brought +up from the depths, to the lariats with which he had +been dragged up the last ledges. She looped the end +about his waist.</p> +<p>“There,” she said. “I shall at least be able to help +you down the first fifty yards.”</p> +<p>“God bless you and keep you! Good-by!” he murmured +in a choking voice, and he hastily crept down +to slip over the first ledge of that night-shrouded Cyclopean +ladder.</p> +<p>“Lafe!” she whispered. “Surely you do not mean +to go without first telling me––I cannot let you go +until––If you should fall! Wait, dearest! Kiss +me––tell me that you––Oh, if you should fall!”</p> +<p>“I will not fall; I cannot. Good-by!”</p> +<p>The dim white blotch of his face disappeared below +the verge. The line jerked through the girl’s hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span> +She clutched it with frantic strength and flung herself +back with her feet braced against a point of rock. +After a moment of tense straining, the rope slackened, +and his voice came up to her over the ledge: “Pay +out, please. It’s all right. I’ve found a crevice.”</p> +<p>She eased off on the line a few inches at a time, +but always keeping it taut and always holding herself +braced for a sudden jerk. At last the end came into +her hand. She had to lie out on the rim-rock and +call down to him. He called back in a tone of quiet +assurance. The line slackened. He had cast it loose. +The lantern glowed out in the blackness and showed +him standing on a narrow shelf.</p> +<p>As Isobel bent lower to gaze at him, a frightful +scream rang out above the booming of the cañon. It +was a shriek such as a woman would utter in mortal +fear. The girl drew back from the verge, her hair +stiffening with horror. Could it be possible that Genevieve +had lost her way and was wandering back to +camp, and that Gowan––</p> +<p>Again the fearful scream pierced the air. Isobel +looked quickly across towards the far side of the cañon. +She could see nothing, but she drew in a deep sigh of +relief. The second cry had told her that it was only +a mountain lion, over on the other brink of the chasm.</p> +<p>When she again looked down at Ashton he was descending +a crevice with a rapidity that brought her +heart into her mouth. Yet there was no hurry in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +quick movements, and every little while he paused on +a shelf to peer at the steep slope immediately below +him. Soon the circle of lantern light became smaller +and dimmer to the anxious watcher above. Steadily +it waned until all she could see was a little point of light +far down in the darkness––and always it grew smaller +and fainter.</p> +<p>Lying there with her bosom pressed against the hard +stone, her straining eyes fixed on that lessening point +of light, she had lost all count of time. Her whole +soul was in her eyes, watching, watching, watching lest +that tiny light should suddenly shoot down like a meteor +and vanish in the darkness. Many times it disappeared, +but never in swift downward flight, and always +it reappeared.</p> +<p>Not until the moon came gliding up above the lofty +white crests of the snowy range did she think of aught +else than that speck of light and of him who was bearing +it down into the black depths. But the glint of +moonlight on a crystalline stone broke her steadfast +gaze. Before she could again fix it on the faint point +of lantern light a sound that had been knocking at the +threshold of her consciousness at last made itself +heard. It was an intermittent clinking as of steel on +stone.</p> +<p>She looked around, thinking that one of the horses +was walking along the ridge slope with a loose shoe. +But all were standing motionless in the moonlight, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +dozing. Again she heard the click, and this time she +located the direction from which it came. She looked +at the split rock on the edge of the sheer drop. From +beside it she had peered down through the field glasses +at the outstretched form of her brother, far beneath in +the cañon bottom.</p> +<p>The sound came from that rock. She stared at the +side of the frost-split fragment with dilated eyes. The +crack between the loose outer bowlder and the main +mass showed very black and wide in the moonlight. +Could it be possible that it had widened––that it was +slipping over? And her brother down there beneath +it!...</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>By setting wedge-shaped stones in the top of the cleft +rock and prying with the crowbar, Gowan had gradually +canted the top of the loose outer bowlder towards +the edge of the precipice. It had only to topple forward +in order to plunge down the cañon wall. He +was working as silently as he could, but with a fierce +eagerness that caused an occasional slip of the crowbar +on the rock.</p> +<p>Although the great block of stone weighed over two +tons, its base was small and rounded, and the mass behind +it gave him leverage for his bar. Every inch +that he pried it forward, the stones slipped farther +down into the widening crack and held the vantage +he had gained. Already the bowlder had been pushed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span> +out at the top many inches. It was almost balanced. +The time had come to see if he could not pry it over +with a single heave.</p> +<p>He did not propose to fall over after the rock. He +turned his face to the brink, set the end of the bar in +the crevice, and braced himself to heave backwards +on the outer end. He put his weight on it and pulled. +He could feel the rock give––the top was moving +outward. A little more, and it must topple over.</p> +<p>Close behind him spoke a voice so hoarse and low-pitched +with horror that it sounded like a man’s––“Drop +that bar! drop it!”</p> +<p>With the swiftness of a wolf, he bounded sideways +along the rim-rock. In the same lightning movement, +he whirled face about and whipped his Colt’s from its +holster. His finger was crooking against the trigger +before he saw who it was that confronted him. The +hammer fell in the same instant that he twitched the +muzzle up and sideways. The heavy bullet scorched +the girl’s cheek.</p> +<p>Above the crashing report rose a wild cry, “Miss +Chuckie––God!”</p> +<p>Through the blinding, stinging powder-smoke she +saw him stagger backwards as if to flee from what he +thought he had done. His foot went down over the +sharp edge. He flung up his hands and dropped into +the abyss.</p> +<p>She did not shriek. She could not. Her tongue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span> +clove to the roof of her mouth. Her heart stopped +beating. She crumpled down and lay gasping. But +the fascination of horror spurred her to struggle to her +knees and creep over to peer down from the place +where he had fallen.</p> +<p>Beneath her was only blank, utter darkness. No +sound came up out of the deep except only that ceaseless +reverberation of the hidden river. Twelve hundred +feet down, the falling man had struck glancingly +upon the smooth side of an out-jutting rock and his +crushed body had been flung far out and sideways. It +plunged into the rapids below the barrier and was borne +away down the cañon. But this the girl could not have +seen even in midday.</p> +<p>She looked for the red star of the distant fire where +she knew her brother was lying. She could not see +it. The point upon which the falling man had struck +shut off her view. The other side of the split rock +was where she and Genevieve had looked down through +the glasses and seen Blake. She failed to realize the +difference in the change of position. Her horror deepened. +She thought that Gowan had hurled straight +down to the bottom with all the terrific velocity of +that sheer drop, and that he had plunged upon the fire +and upon the dear form outstretched beside it, to crush +and mangle and be crushed and mangled. The thought +was too frightful for human endurance.</p> +<p>A long time she lay in a swoon, her head on the very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span> +edge of the brink. It was the wailing of the hungry, +frightened baby that at last called her back to life and +action. She dragged herself up around to the hiding +place. The neglected baby was not easy to quiet. The +cream had soured. There was nothing that she could +give him except water. All the eggs that were left +she had put in the knapsack that Ashton was carrying +down to her brother. The baby now showed the full +reflex of his mother’s long hours of anxiety and fear. +He fretted and cried and would not be comforted.</p> +<p>The chill of approaching dawn forced her to rebuild +the outburnt fire. The warm glow and the play +of the flames diverted the child and hushed his outcry. +Holding him so that he might continue to watch the +dancing tongues of fire, the girl sat motionless, going +over and over again in her mind all that had occurred +since the tattered, bleeding, purple-faced climber had +come straining up out of the depths.... It could not +have happened––it was all a hideous dream.... +Would they never come? Must she sit here forever––alone!</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIII_FRIENDS_IN_NEED' id='CHAPTER_XXXIII_FRIENDS_IN_NEED'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<h3>FRIENDS IN NEED</h3> +</div> +<p>Because of the moonlight she did not heed the +graying of the east. But the whinnying of the +picketed horses roused her from the apathy of misery +into which she had sunk. She stood up and looked +along the ridge. A small roundish object appeared +above the crest––then others. They rose quickly––the +heads of riders spurring their horses up the far +side of the ridge.</p> +<p>Singly, in pairs, in groups, the rescuers burst up into +view and came loping down to her, shouting and waving. +In the lead rode her father and the sheriff; in +the midst Genevieve, between two attendant young +punchers. In all, there were nearly two dozen eager, +resolute men, everyone an admiring friend of Miss +Chuckie, everyone zealous to serve her and hers.</p> +<p>The girl stood waiting beside the fire. She had tried +to run to meet them and found that she could not move. +The suddenness of their coming after all that fearful +night of waiting seemed to numb her limbs.</p> +<p>They rushed down upon her, waving, shouting questions. +Her father, on Rocket, was the first to reach +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +her. He sprang off and ran to put his arm about her +quivering shoulders.</p> +<p>“Honey! it’s all right now!” he assured her. +“We’re here with everything that’s needed. We’ll +soon yank him up out of that hole!”</p> +<p>The baby, frightened by the rush and tumult of the +off-leaping riders, began to scream. Someone took +him from the girl’s arms and handed him to his mother +as she was lifted down out of her saddle. Isobel +pressed her face against her father’s sweaty breast.</p> +<p>“Hold on, Miss Chuckie!” sang out one of the +men. “Don’t let go yet. Where’s Gowan––Kid +Gowan?”</p> +<p>She shuddered convulsively, yet managed to reply: +“He––was trying to––to roll the rock down. Tom, +my brother, is right below it. I heard and came to +see. His back was to me. I could not shoot––I +could not raise my pistol. When I spoke, he whirled +and shot at me. He––”</p> +<p>“Kid––shot at you?” cried Knowles. “At you? +’Tain’t possible!”</p> +<p>“He didn’t mean to. He fired before he saw who +I was. Then he saw. He forgot everything––everything +except that he had shot at me. He backed +off––there––over the edge!”</p> +<p>A sudden hush fell on the excited crowd. One man +went to peer down from the place to which the girl +had pointed. He came back softly. “Same place +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +where the last bunch of sheep went over,” he said. +“Rest of us were pretty sick––ready to quit. He +kept after them until the last ewe jumped. Said they’d +gone to hell, where they belonged.”</p> +<p>“He’s the one that’s gone there!” said the sheriff. +“Look at the way this bowlder is pried loose, ready +to roll over! Once heard tell that his real dad +was Billie the Kid. Some of you mayn’t have heard +tell of Billie. He was the coldest blooded, promiscuous +murderer of them days when we used to drive +from Texas to Montana and the boys used to shoot-up +towns and each other just for fun. Well, this Kid +Gowan has got Billie’s eyes and slit mouth. Can’t say +I ever took to him, but seeing as how he was a crack-up +puncher and Wes Knowles’ foreman––”</p> +<p>“That’s it! I can’t understand it––Kid has been +almost like a son to me all these years!” complained +Knowles perplexedly. He explained to his daughter. +“You’re wondering why I didn’t come sooner, honey. +Those Utes had been let go. We had to follow them +up a long ways. When we got them back and put +them on that trail from the waterhole, they found it +led straight across the flats to where the horses and +wagon had stood. There the tracks of the Indian +shoes ended, and the tracks of shod hoofs led off into +the brush. We followed them all the way ’round to +the lower waterhole and up the lower creek to the +ranch, and there they took us right to Rocket’s heels. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +The Jap said Kid had his saddle in the wagon when +he came back from town, and he had a new hat. Mr. +Blake did some hot shooting at that assassin on the +hill. So, putting two and two together––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Daddy, I know––I knew when I saw him +look at Lafe!”</p> +<p>“The––” Knowles choked back the epithet. +“Yes, Mrs. Blake told us about that––and about her +husband! Jumping Jehosaphat! Think of his being +your brother! You must have been plumb locoed, to +keep still about that! Why didn’t you tell us, honey?––leastways +me, your Daddy!”</p> +<p>“I––I––But about Genevieve? Tell me. You +could have come sooner if she––Was she lost? I +was sure that pony––”</p> +<p>“Better have given her a fast one. It came on so +dark before he was half down the mountain that she +was knocked out of the saddle by a branch. He went +on down to the waterhole. She tried to catch him––couldn’t. +Got lost and wandered all around before +she got down to the waterhole and caught him. We +had got to the ranch at dusk, and all the posse had +turned in for the night. She came loping down the +divide just after moonrise. We started as soon as +we could rake up all the picket-pins and rope. Wanted +Mrs. Blake to wait and come on later; but talk about +grit! We simply couldn’t make her stay behind.”</p> +<p>Isobel thrust herself free from her father’s arms +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +and darted out through the circle of rugged, earnest-faced +punchers and cowmen to where Genevieve lay +resting with the baby clasped to her bosom.</p> +<p>“Dear! you poor dear!” she murmured, kneeling +to stroke the head of the weary young mother.</p> +<p>“I shall soon be rested,” replied Genevieve. +“How about Tom? Have you kept watch of him? +Has he moved?”</p> +<p>The girl shrank back, unable to face her sister-in-law’s +eager look.</p> +<p>“No––I––The fire––it––it disappeared, and +I could not see.”</p> +<p>Genevieve smiled, and the reddening dawn lent a +trace of color to her pale face. “It was a good sign. +He could not have been suffering so much. He must +have slept, and the fire died down.”</p> +<p>“Oh! you think that was it?” sighed Isobel. “I +feared––”</p> +<p>She did not say what it was she had feared. As +she paused Genevieve looked up into her agitated face +and asked quickly: “But Lafayette? Is he still +sleeping?”</p> +<p>“Yes, where’s Lafe, honey?” inquired Knowles. +“We’ll have to roust him out to tell us just what way +he came up.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t I told you?” cried Isobel, her head still +in a whirl of conflicting emotions. Then, as tersely and +quietly as her father would have related it, she told +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +the bald facts of how Ashton had been wakened by the +snarl of the wolf, how he had insisted upon going back +to help her brother, and how he had gone down into +the darkness, the pack and lantern slung over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“By––James!” vowed Knowles, when she had +finished. “Any man on the Western Slope say that +boy’s not acclimated, he’d better look for another climate +himself.”</p> +<p>“Gentleman,” the sheriff addressed the exclaiming +crowd, “you heard tell what the little lady had to say +about her husband and this Lafe Ashton going down +into Deep Cañon, where no man ever went before. +Now Miss Chuckie has told us again how Ashton +climbed up here, where no man in this section had a +notion anything short of a mountain sheep could climb. +Well, what does the gritty kid do but turn round and +climb down again––in the dark, mind you! They’re +down there now, both of them––down in the bottom +of Deep Cañon. We called them tenderfeet, that day +when Mr. Blake honored our county seat by sidetracking +his palatial car. Boys, down there in that hole are +the two nerviest men I ever heard tell about. One of +’em has a broken leg. The other has broke the trail +for us. I ask for volunteers to go down with me and +yank ’em up out of there. Gentlemen, who offers?”</p> +<p>Instantly the crowd surged forward. Every man +shouted, whooped, struggled to thrust himself ahead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +of the others and force the acceptance of his services on +the sheriff.</p> +<p>“Hold on, boys!” he remonstrated. “Just hold +your hawsses. I didn’t ask for a stampede. You +can’t all go down. Last man over might get in a hurry +to catch the first, and start a manslide.”</p> +<p>“I vote we set a thirty-year limit,” put in one of the +younger punchers.</p> +<p>This raised a clamor of dissent from the older men.</p> +<p>“Tell you what,” shouted another. “Let Miss +Chuckie cut out the lucky ones.”</p> +<p>“That’s the ticket––Now you’re talking!” +Every man shouted approval, and fell silent as Isobel +sprang up from beside Genevieve.</p> +<p>“Friends!” she exclaimed, her eyes radiant, “it’s +such times as these that makes life grand! I believe +six of you would be enough, but I’ll make it ten. First, +I’m going to bar everyone who has a wife or children.”</p> +<p>“That doesn’t include me, honey,” hastily protested +her father.</p> +<p>“Then you come in the next––none over thirty-five +nor under twenty.”</p> +<p>A groan arose from some of the youngsters, but the +older men took their disappointment in stolid silence. +She went on with calm decisiveness: “Now those of +you that have done any considerable mountain climbing +afoot this summer, please step this way.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span></p> +<p>Two members of a recently disbanded surveying +party, four punchers who had tried their luck at prospecting +on the snowy range, and three wild horse hunters +sprang forward in response to the request.</p> +<p>“That’s enough,” said the sheriff. “I’ve got to +own up to being forty. But I’m leading this here +posse, and I’ll eat my hat if I can’t outclimb anything +on two legs in this county. String out your ropes, boys, +and pass over all them picket-pins. We’ll need a purchase +now and again, I figure, hauling up Mr. Blake. +Hustle! Here’s the sun clean up.”</p> +<p>Under the brusquely jovial directions of their leader, +the lucky nine divested themselves of spurs and cartridge +belts, tied themselves to the line at intervals of +several feet, and promptly started down the dizzy +ledges. The others helped them during the first fifty +yards of descent with the line that Isobel had drawn +up after it had been cast loose by Ashton. They then +gathered along the brink, enviously watching the descent +of their companions into the shadowy abyss.</p> +<p>Genevieve came to where Isobel and her father +crouched beside the others. “Thomas will not let +me put him down, Belle,” she said. “I see you left +the glasses beside the rock. If Lafayette has reached +the bottom safely––”</p> +<p>“If––safely!” echoed Isobel. “Daddy, you look––quick, +please!”</p> +<p>Knowles hastened to skirt along the brink to where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span> +the little field glasses lay at the near side of the split +rock. The two followed him, Genevieve smiling with +pleasant anticipation, Isobel trembling with doubt and +dread. The cowman stretched out on the rim shelf +and peered over.</p> +<p>“Um-m-m,” he muttered. “Can’t see anything +down there. Too dark yet.”</p> +<p>“Look straight below you,” said Genevieve.</p> +<p>“Hey?––Uh! By––James! Well, if that ain’t +a picture now! These sure are mighty fine little +glasses, ma’am. I can see ’em plain as day.”</p> +<p>“Them?––you say ‘them,’ Daddy?” cried Isobel.</p> +<p>“Sure. Come and look for yourself. Guess Lafe +is fixing Mr. Blake’s leg.––Which reminds me, honey, +that before we left the ranch, Mrs. Blake had me send +for that lunger sawbones that’s come to live at Stockchute. +He’ll be here, I figure, before or soon after +the boys get Mr. Blake up into God’s sunshine.”</p> +<p>“Brother Tom, Daddy––you mean my Brother +Tom!” joyfully corrected the girl as she took the +glasses.</p> +<p>“Well, you’ve got to give me time to chew on it, +honey. It’s come too sudden for me to take it all +in.” He stood up and gazed gravely at the smiling +mother and her comforted baby. “Hum-m-m. Then +that yearling is my Chuckie’s own blood nephew. +Well, ma’am, what do <i>you</i> think of it, if I may ask?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span></p> +<p>“Can’t you make it ‘Jenny,’ Uncle Wes?” asked +Genevieve.</p> +<p>He stared at her blankly. “But I didn’t adopt +him, ma’am––only her.”</p> +<p>“He is the brother of your dear daughter, and I +am his wife. Come now,” she coaxed, “you must admit +that brings me near enough to call you ‘Uncle +Wes.’”</p> +<p>“You’ve got me, ma’am––Jenny. I give in, I +throw up the fight. That irrigation project now––Chuckie’s +brother can have anything of mine he asks +for. Only there’s one thing––you’ve got to make +that yearling say ‘Granddad’ when he talks to me.”</p> +<p>“O-oh!” cooed Genevieve. “To think you feel +that way towards him! Of course he shall say it. +And I––Will you not allow me to make it +‘Daddy’?”</p> +<p>He could not resist her enticingly upturned lips. He +brushed down his bristly mustache, and bent over awkwardly, +to kiss his new daughter.</p> +<p>“Thought you were one of those super-high-toned +ladies, m’m––Jenny,” he remarked.</p> +<p>The cultured child of millions smiled up at him reproachfully. +“What! after I have been with you so +long, Daddy? But it’s true there was a time––before +Tom taught me that men cannot be judged by +mere polish and veneer, or the lack of polish and veneer.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span></p> +<p>Isobel, all her doubts and fears allayed, had risen +from the precipice’s edge in time to hear Genevieve’s +reply. She added eagerly: “Nor should men be +judged by what they have been if they have become +something else––if they have climbed up––up out of +the depths!”</p> +<p>“Belle! dear Sister Belle! Then he has proved +it to you? Oh, I am so glad for you! He has proved +to you that he has climbed––to the heights.”</p> +<p>“To the very heights! I must tell Daddy. Give +me Thomas. See, he is fast asleep, the poor abused +little darling! Go and watch them, and our climbers. +They are going down like a string of mountain sheep.”</p> +<p>Genevieve placed the baby in his aunt’s outstretched +arms and went to look into the abyss through the field +glasses. Isobel drew her father away, out of earshot +of the down-peering group of men. She stopped behind +the tent, which Gowan had pitched part way up +the slope of the ridge.</p> +<p>“You want to talk with me about Lafe, honey?” +surmised Knowles, as the girl started to speak and hesitated.</p> +<p>Her cheeks flamed scarlet, but she raised her shyly +lowered eyes and looked up at him with a clear, direct +gaze. “Yes, Daddy. He––he loves me, and I––love +him.”</p> +<p>“That so?” said Knowles. His eyes contracted. +It was his only betrayal of the wrench she had given +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +the tender heart within his tough exterior. “Well, I +figured it was bound to come some day. I’ve been +lucky not to lose you any time the last four years.”</p> +<p>“You––you do not say anything about him, +Daddy.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you cut him out of the herd?” he dryly +replied. “That’s enough for me, long as I know +he’s your choice and is square.”</p> +<p>“He has nothing; he is very poor.”</p> +<p>“He’s got the will to work. He’ll get there, with +you pushing on the reins. That’s how I size him +up.”</p> +<p>“But, Daddy, he told me he had been bad, very +bad.”</p> +<p>Knowles searched the girl’s face, with a sudden up-leaping +of concern––that vanished as quickly before +what he saw in her clear eyes.</p> +<p>“Might have expected it of you, honey. You +stand by him. You’ve got sense enough to know what +it means when a man thinks enough of a girl to tell +her the wrong things he has done. I was wild, too, +when I was a youngster. There was a girl I thought +enough of to tell. She wasn’t your kind, honey. It +came near sending me to the devil for good. You +know better. No girl ought to be fool enough to +hitch up with a man to reform him. But if he has +already taken a brace and straightened the kinks out of +himself, that’s different.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span></p> +<p>“He has come up, Daddy––out of the depths.”</p> +<p>Knowles only half caught her meaning. “Sure he +climbed up. That proves he has the grit and the nerve. +He had proved that even better, going down at the +other place. Put any man down there, and he’d make +a try to get out. No, the real test was his going back +down again. He might have come up just for himself. +But going down again––that’s the proof of +what’s in him; that’s what proves he’s white!”</p> +<p>“Dear Daddy!... But I’m afraid. He thinks +he has been too bad ever to––to marry me. I’m so +afraid he’ll go away and leave me!”</p> +<p>The cowman straightened up, his eyes glinting with +righteous indignation.</p> +<p>“What! Go ’way and leave you?––when you want +him to stay? By––James! He’s going to stay! +Don’t you worry, honey. He’s going to stay, if I have +to rope and hogtie him for you!”</p> +<p>The girl stared into the frowning face of her father. +There was no twinkle in the corner of his eyes. He +was absolutely serious. For the first time in over two +days her dimples flashed. Her eyes sparkled with +merriment. Her lips parted. But she checked the +gay laugh before it could burst out.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she reproached herself. “How could I? +And they still down there––and Tom suffering!”</p> +<p>“Tom?” repeated Knowles. “Thomas Blake––your +brother! That’s why you got me started reading +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +all those reports and engineering journals. You +guessed it.”</p> +<p>“It did not seem possible. Yet I could not help +hoping.”</p> +<p>“Things do happen our way––sometimes,” qualified +Knowles. “Mrs. Blake––Jenny––says Lafe +brought up word that the project can be put through. +I meant to fight. But now––he is your brother, and +he has done something no man ever before thought +could be done––he has surveyed Deep Cañon. He +has me beat. I’ve told Mrs.––Jenny straight out.”</p> +<p>“I know he will do what is right by you, dear, dear +Daddy.”</p> +<p>“He’s your brother, honey. That settles it.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIV_RECLAMATION' id='CHAPTER_XXXIV_RECLAMATION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<h3>RECLAMATION</h3> +</div> +<p>Even with the mutual assistance that they could +give one another, and with the certain knowledge +that the descent was possible, the rescuers had no easy +task following the trail “broken” by Ashton. Their +very numbers prevented them from going down as +fast as he had gone. On the other hand, those on the +upper part of the life-line could steady their companions +over ledges and down the steeper crevices, while +the leaders helped the ones who followed by hammering +footholds in the rock and at the very worst places +driving in picket-pins to hold the extra ropes brought +down for the purpose.</p> +<p>Still, Deep Cañon was Deep Cañon––the ladder it +offered was a ladder of Titans. Many long hours of +waiting passed after the rescuing party disappeared +among the shadows less than a third of the way down +the steep-sloping precipices, before they came struggling +upwards again into view of the anxious watchers +on the brink. The sun had circled well over into the +western sky.</p> +<p>There was yet a thousand feet for the rescuers to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span> +clamber, hauling and pushing up in their midst the +heavy body of the injured engineer. All during the +first half of the ascent Blake had made the task as easy +as he could by the strenuous exertion of the great +strength still left in his arms and his sound leg. But +at last the bandages that bound his broken leg had +chafed in two on the rough ledges; and even his iron +nerve had not long been able to withstand the torture +of the twisting break.</p> +<p>He now dangled helpless in the sling by which they +had secured him. Half the time he was mercifully +unconscious; the other half his jaw was set rigid and +his lips were compressed to stifle his groans of agony. +Whenever possible Ashton climbed beside him, striving +to ease the roughness of the ascent.</p> +<p>A full hour before they reached the top, the thin-faced +consumptive surgeon arrived from Stockchute +with his splints and medical case. Waited upon by +Isobel and Genevieve, he was fully recovered from the +exertion of his ride when at last the panting rescuers +came toiling up to the brink.</p> +<p>Eager hands dragged the unconscious engineer to the +top and carried him to where the surgeon sat waiting. +A few of the watchers lingered to help the rescuers +over the rim; then they, too, hurried away to see if +Blake had survived that terrible ascent. For the last +two hundred feet he had looked like a dead man. +There was no cheering. Deep Cañon had been conquered; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +but it was yet to be seen whether the victory +had not been won at a disastrous cost.</p> +<p>The sheriff and his nine men sank down on the +grassy slope, gasping, outspent. Ashton collapsed in +their midst. He was more than outspent; he was utterly +exhausted. The instant he had seen Blake lifted +over the rim-rock, he had given way to the strain of his +frightful exertions. When a man sent by Isobel came +hurrying to the rescuers with water and coffee, Ashton +was unable to move or speak. The man had to hold +him up and pour the coffee down his throat.</p> +<p>One by one, the sheriff and the others staggered up +and went to join the silent group about Blake. No +one left that circle of watchers. They were waiting +for the result of the surgeon’s efforts to resuscitate the +unconscious man. It was a desperate fight. But the +surgeon had won a place in the forefront of his profession +before the white plague had driven him from +New York to this health-giving wilderness. He knew +all the latest, most wonderful methods of resuscitation. +And he had for assistants two who loved and were +loved by his patient.</p> +<p>When at last the announcement was made that the +engineer had come out of his swoon and probably +would live, the sheriff and all the members of the posse +not employés of Knowles prepared to ride down to +Plum Creek ranch for the night. The cowman ordered +his men to go down with the party, to water the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +horses and bring back food and water for the camp. +The surgeon had said that his patient could not be +moved for many days.</p> +<p>But before the party rode off, each man, from the +sheriff to the youngest of the punchers, came to where +Ashton was still lying on the grass, and took his limp +hand in theirs. They did not grip it, for the tattered +glove and shredded bandages were wet with blood; +nor did they put into speech what they thought of him. +A gruff word or two of fellowship and parting was all +they gave him. Yet he saw and knew that he had won +his place among these reddest blooded of all red-blooded +men.</p> +<p>When one of his fellow employés came to him, leading +Rocket, he sought to summon strength enough to +rise, but found that he could not even turn on his side. +He had driven his body to superhuman efforts. He +must now pay the price. At his request, he was lifted +up on Rocket, but he could not hold up his head, much +less his body. They laid him again on the grass, and +told Knowles his condition, before they rode off.</p> +<p>The cowman fetched the surgeon, who felt the pulse +of the exhausted man, gave him a pellet, and hastened +back to Blake. In a few moments Ashton’s feeble, +racing pulse became calm and slow, the wild whirl of +his thoughts lulled. He sank into profound slumber.</p> +<p>When he awoke the sun of another day was just +clearing the great white peaks of the snowy range. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392' name='page_392'></a>392</span> +was outstretched on a soft bed of blankets spread over +a thick layer of pine needles. Above his face sloped +the roof of a small tent. He had been cared for––but +there was no one watching at his bedside. He +thought he understood, and smiled in bitter resignation.</p> +<p>When he moved, racking pains shot through his +stiff muscles. Only the renewed life that surged +through his veins enabled him to turn and twist and +bend until the pains subsided to a dull aching and he +was able to command his limbs. His hands were +swathed fast in bandages. He tore them off with his +teeth until the fingers were free enough for use. After +much effort, he succeeded in forcing his swollen feet +into his boots.</p> +<p>In the midst Yuki, the Jap cook, appeared before the +low entrance of the tent and sank down on his knees +to set a trayful of food beside the occupant. He hissed +a pleasant, “Good morning, Mistah Lafe!” and was +gone before Ashton could reply. The aroma of hot +coffee and the savory smell of chicken broth forced +Ashton to forget all else than that he was famished. +Besides the coffee and broth, there was a nogg of eggs +and thick cream slightly flavored with whiskey. He +drank one liquid after the other with the greediness +of a starving man; nor did he stop until he had drained +the last drop of all three. He could have followed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span> +with a hearty meal of solids, but the fluids were enough +to stimulate him to renewed energy.</p> +<p>He crept out of his tent and looked around. Up +where they had carried Blake from the precipices stood +a larger tent. Near it, under a low-growing pine, the +surgeon lay rolled in a blanket, fast asleep. Some distance +away, in the other direction, Yuki and two of +the ranch hands were building a stone fireplace. Beyond +them were picketed three horses, the nearest of +which was Rocket.</p> +<p>Ashton stood up and started rapidly towards the big +rawboned horse. Within a few yards, however, his +pace slackened. He faltered and stopped to look back +at the larger tent. After a pause, he turned about and +slowly approached the tent.</p> +<p>As he drew near he heard a murmur of voices barely +distinguishable above the booming of the cañon. +Again he faltered and stopped and stood hesitating. +The open front of the tent faced at right angles to +his line of approach. As he hesitated, he saw Isobel’s +head appear, veiled in the loose meshes of her chestnut +hair. She looked about towards him, and drew back +with a startled little cry.</p> +<p>He turned away to go to Rocket. A quick heavy +step sounded behind him. Knowles had sprung out +of the tent and was striding to overtake the retreating +man. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span></p> +<p>“Hold on, Lafe,” he ordered. “Where you going?”</p> +<p>Ashton faced him with quiet resolution. His eyes +were dark with misery, but his once lax mouth was +strangely like Blake’s in its firm full lines.</p> +<p>“There’s only one thing for me to do, Mr. +Knowles,” he replied. “I am going away. Your +daughter will understand why.”</p> +<p>“How’re you going?” asked the cowman, his face +impassive.</p> +<p>“I traded with Miss––Miss Knowles for Rocket. +Didn’t she ever tell you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t matter if she did. Rocket wasn’t her +hawss to trade.”</p> +<p>“Then, unless my pony is up here, I shall walk +down as far as the ranch,” said Ashton. He added +with bitter humiliation: “It’s well I have learned +about Rocket in time. I’ve done enough, without adding +horse thief to the list. I would have started at +once, but I could not leave until I had asked about Mr. +Blake. I wished to thank him for all that he has done +for me.”</p> +<p>“All that he––!” echoed Knowles. “If you want +to know, it was a mighty narrow squeak. But we +pulled him through. He’s awake now and says he’s +doing fine. He wants to talk to you.”</p> +<p>“I should like very much to do as he wishes, Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +Knowles, but I––cannot bear to––meet her. You +may realize that it is hard enough at best.”</p> +<p>“<i>Sho!</i> If that’s all,” readily reassured the cowman, +“I’ll ask Chuckie to go out and hide in the +bushes.”</p> +<p>“But I could not allow that, you know.”</p> +<p>“Then I figure you’ve got to come anyhow. Can’t +let you go off without saying good-by to him and +Jenny.”</p> +<p>“Jenny?” repeated Ashton.</p> +<p>“It’s all in the family now,” explained Knowles. +“Tom has been telling us how he’s got that irrigation +project all figured out in his head. He was saying +what he and Jenny had planned to do for us even +before Chuckie let out her secret. Come on and hear +the rest.”</p> +<p>“I fear I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Knowles. +I––”</p> +<p>“No, you don’t,” rejoined the cowman. “After +what you’ve done you can’t make me believe you’re +afraid of anything. You’ll come and face it out before +you go.”</p> +<p>The misery in Ashton’s eyes deepened, and his lips +tightened.</p> +<p>“Very well. Since you put it that way, I shall do +as you wish, sir.”</p> +<p>When he followed Knowles around to the door of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span> +the tent, Isobel, who was hastily braiding her loose +hair, drew back into the far corner and averted her +face from him. But Genevieve met him with a radiant +smile and motioned him to kneel down beside her +husband.</p> +<p>Blake, with one thick arm crooked about his sleeping +son, lay with his eyes closed. His big square face +was drawn and pallid, but there was a smile lurking in +the corners of his mouth. As Ashton knelt beside him +he looked up and lifted his free hand.</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t take it––down there,” he said.</p> +<p>Ashton flushed. “You know why.”</p> +<p>“You’ll take it now,” said Blake, with quiet confidence.</p> +<p>“I will. I am going away,” replied Ashton as he +held out his bandaged hand.</p> +<p>The big palm closed over it in a clasp as gentle as +it was strong.</p> +<p>“No, Lafe. I’ve got hold of you now. I can’t +let you go. I need you in my business. We’re +organizing the Belle Mesa Irrigation and Development +Company.––How do you like my new name for Dry +Mesa? Mr. Knowles puts in the reservoir site in +exchange for water on his other land, a tenth share in +the company, and a royalty of half the gold we placer +out of the reservoir bed. As Jenny is to put up all +the capital, she and I will take the lion’s share. That +will leave a tenth for you and a tenth for Belle.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span></p> +<p>Ashton sought to draw his hand away. “It is very +good of you, Mr. Blake. But I cannot accept––”</p> +<p>“Yes, you can. You can’t help yourself. Besides, +I’ve an idea a man always does better by his work +when he has a stake in the undertaking. You’re to +be our Resident Engineer, you know.”</p> +<p>“Resident Engineer?” repeated Ashton, paling and +flushing. “Mr. Blake, I––I––It’s impossible +that you can mean––”</p> +<p>“Make it ‘Tom’! You’ll have to brush up on +mining engineering, too. There’s the bonanza.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Tom!” exclaimed Genevieve. “Tell +him about the gold mine.”</p> +<p>“I was going to keep still about it till I had the apex +located,” he said. He looked full at Ashton. “But +there’s no one here that the secret will not be as safe +with as it is with me. Besides, it’s all in the family. +I found the vein a thousand feet up the chute of Dry +Fork Gulch. We will name it the Genevieve Lode. +There are six of us here, counting Tommy. Each of +us gets a sixth interest.”</p> +<p>Ashton was now pale. “Mr. Blake––Tom, I cannot! +If I were fit to stay and work for you––as an +axman––anything!––”</p> +<p>Blake’s eyes twinkled. “Then your sixth will have +to go to Belle.”</p> +<p>“Mine too, Tom,” hastily put in Knowles.</p> +<p>Blake looked down solemnly at his youthful heir. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +“Hear that, Tommy? Guess we’ll have to pull out, +too, and make it half and half to the ladies." He +looked up at Ashton with a swift change from mock +to real gravity. “We’ve got to begin by installing a +turbine power-plant down here. Where will I find another +engineer with nerve enough to go down these +cliffs? I need you, Lafe.”</p> +<p>“I am very sorry, Tom.” Ashton drew his hand +from Blake’s wearied clasp, and rose.</p> +<p>Isobel slipped past him and stood with her arms outstretched +across the entrance of the tent. There was +a dimple in each of her blushing cheeks; her eyes were +radiant with tenderness and love.</p> +<p>“No, you can’t get away!” she declared. “Don’t +you see how we’ve got you corralled?”</p> +<p>“That’s what,” confirmed Knowles. “I promised +her to rope and hogtie you if you made a break.”</p> +<p>Ashton was gazing into the girl’s eyes, his own +shining with reverent adoration.</p> +<p>“Isobel?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“Let us go up on the ridge and look out over our +mesa,” she murmured.</p> +<p>“Wait a moment, dear,” interposed Genevieve. +“Lafayette, I wish to tell you that as soon as Tom and +I return to Chicago, we shall go to your father. I +feel certain that when he hears––”</p> +<p>“No, no!” begged Ashton. “You must wait. +Promise that you will wait. I have only begun to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span> +make a beginning. Wait until I see if I can––” He +straightened and looked at Isobel, his head well up, +his eyes as resolute as his mouth. “Wait until I have +proved what I am.”</p> +<p>“Come,” said Isobel. “We’re going to look at +our dry mesa that we are to reclaim and make into a +garden with the waste waters of the depths.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE DEPTHS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 29131-h.txt or 29131-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/9/1/3/29131">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/3/29131</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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