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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9662e0a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68279 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68279) diff --git a/old/68279-0.txt b/old/68279-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 11ab6bb..0000000 --- a/old/68279-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8831 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The well in the desert, by Adeline -Knapp - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The well in the desert - -Author: Adeline Knapp - -Release Date: June 10, 2022 [eBook #68279] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WELL IN THE DESERT *** - - - - - - THE WELL IN THE DESERT - - - BY - ADELINE KNAPP - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1908 - - - - - Copyright, 1908, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - _Published August, 1908_ - All rights reserved - - - THE DE VINNE PRESS - - - - - TO - - A. L. C. - - IN MEMORY OF DESERT DAYS - AND GREEN PASTURES - - - - - BOOK ONE - THE VALLEY OF BACA - - - - - THE WELL IN THE DESERT - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -Blue Gulch was relaxing after the ardors of its working-day. From the -direction of the Cheerful Heart Dance Hall issued sounds of mirth and -festivity, and a weaving fantasy of shadows on its canvas walls -proclaimed to those without that the cheerful hearts were in executive -session. - -A man coming furtively along Upper Broadway made a detour to avoid the -bar of light that shone through the open door of the hall. He passed -behind the building, and around the big fandango, where the trip of feet -mingled with the tinkle of a guitar and the whirr and thump of a wheel -of fortune. - -“It can’t be anywhere along here,” he muttered, coming back to the road -and pausing to survey the starlit scene. - -Blue Gulch had but one street, the two sides of which lay at different -levels, separated by the wide yawn of the gulch itself, thrusting into -the mountain from the desert below. From where the man stood he -commanded a very complete view of the place. In nearly every house was a -light, and the shadows thrown upon the canvas walls gave a fair clue to -the occupations of those within; so that during the early part of each -evening at least neither half of the town need be in any doubt as to how -the other half was living. - -The life and gaiety of the community in relaxation seemed to gather upon -the upper plane. Across the gulch Lower Broadway lay in comparative -darkness. - -The man drew back again as a couple of shadowy forms came wavering down -the road. One of these carried a lantern, which hung low at his side, -revealing the heavy miners’ boots of the pair, and casting grotesque -shadows up the mountain-side. - -“Where’s Westcott? Why ain’t he along?” one asked, as they passed. - -The skulking figure in the shadow strained his ears to listen, one hand -pressed upon his mouth to keep back the cough that would have betrayed -him. - -“He’s back at his office, digging,” was the careless response. “Westcott -ain’t a very cheerful cuss.” - -The two laughed lightly, and disappeared within the dance-hall. - -When they were out of sight the man came forth again, hurrying past the -glowing windows of the Red Light Saloon, stopping beyond it to muffle -with his shapeless hat the cough that took toll of his strength. He -leaned panting against a boulder, waiting to regain his breath. - -The way was more dimly lighted now. He was nearing the civic center of -the place, the one bit of level ground in the gulch. Here, a faint light -showing from one window, was the mining company’s hospital. Beyond this -the man passed a big, barn-like structure of wood, that announced -itself, by a huge, white-lettered sign, showing faintly in the -starlight, as an eating-house. Next it was the low adobe hotel of the -place, and farther on, beyond a dark gap, was a small building, boasting -a door and two windows in its narrow front. - -The visitor regarded this place consideringly. He thought it more than -likely that it was what he sought. Light streamed from both windows and, -stepping close, the prowler looked within. - -What he saw was a man writing at a rough pine desk. The room was not -large. One or two chairs, a couch, and some rude shelves, where a few -law books leaned; a small earthen-ware stove, now glowing with heat, -completed its furnishings. The watcher’s eyes yearned to that stove. He -was shivering in the chill autumn night, and he wore no coat. With a -muttered curse he opened the door and stepped quickly into the room. - -The man inside looked up from his writing, peering past the lamp the -better to see his visitor. For a moment he stared, incredulous, then, as -recognition was confirmed, he softly slid a hand toward one drawer of -his desk. The new-comer noted the movement. - -“You can stow that,” he snarled, scornfully, “I haven’t got any gun.” - -The other’s fingers had already closed upon the handle of a revolver -that lay in the drawer. With the weapon in his hand he crossed quickly, -from one window to the other, and carefully pulled down the shades. The -intruder had stepped into the full glare of the lamp, and now bent -forward, his hands upon the desk. - -As he stood thus, gaunt, haggard, panting, he seemed little calculated -to awaken fear. The hands that clutched the table’s edge were trembling -and emaciated, and of a curious, waxy pallor. This same pallor was in -his drawn, sunken face, and from out the death-like mask of its -whiteness the man’s deep-set eyes gazed, heavy with despair. - -“I haven’t got any gun, Westcott,” he repeated. “You needn’t be afraid. -You played a damned, dirty trick on me, three years ago, but that’s all -done with. I ain’t here to throw it up against you; but I want you to do -me a favor.” - -The lawyer had turned the key in the lock and stood near the door, -watching him intently, noting the close-cropped head, the thin, pallid -face, the nondescript garments of the wayfarer. - -“You managed to escape,” he finally said, slowly. - -“Yes, I did.” The man coughed, clutching the table for support. - -“I got away last week,” he explained, panting. “Yes—and I stole the -clothes,” with a glance at the sleeves of his rough gray shirt. “I’m a -thief, now, just like you, Westcott.” - -The other made an inarticulate sound in his throat. - -“We’ll let all that pass,” the intruder said, with a toss of one gaunt -hand. “I’m up to no harm, but I’ve got to have help. I’ve got out of -that hell you left me in at Phoenix; but it won’t do me any good. I’m -dying!” - -Another fit of coughing shook him, until he reeled. Westcott pushed a -chair toward him and he sank into it, still gripping the table. - -“I’m dying,” he said again, when the cough had spent itself, “and I want -to get back and die in God’s country.” - -Westcott sat down opposite him, still watching him, intently. - -“I can’t walk back,” the man went on, “and I ain’t fit to beat it back. -You’re welcome to the fifteen hundred you got off me; but can’t you—for -the love of God, _won’t_ you—give me the price of a ticket back to -Iowa?” - -His dull, sunken eyes were akindle, and he leaned forward, an agony of -eagerness in his eyes. The prison-born look of age fell from him for the -moment and it became apparent that he was not only a young man, but must -once have been a comely one, with a powerful frame. - -“I heard you were attorney for the Company here,” he went on, as -Westcott still kept silent. “You ought to be able to do that for me. You -had fifteen hundred of mine.” - -The attorney flinched, ever so slightly, then he rose, dropping the -revolver into his coat-pocket, and took a turn about the room. - -“I—I wasn’t such a beast as it looks,” he finally said, speaking with -difficulty. “I’ve been ashamed of myself: I meant to stay and try to -clear you. I don’t know how I came to do it; but Jim Texas swore’t was -you; and I lost the money playing faro at Randy Melone’s.” - -The brief glow in the sunken eyes had burned itself out. The man -surveyed Westcott, apparently without interest. - -“Jim Texas lied,” he said, apathetically, “and now _you’re_ lying. You -paid some of that money to Raoul Marty for a horse; and you got away -with most of the rest of it in your clothes. You can hear things, even -in jail.” This was said with a weary laugh, in which was no mirth. - -“You don’t always hear ’em straight,” the attorney replied, with studied -gentleness. - -“I _was_ ashamed, Barker,” he went on, quickly. “I’ve been sorry ever -since.” - -“Then you’ll give me the price of a ticket?” Hope gleamed again, in the -dull eyes. Westcott considered. - -“I haven’t got the money here,” he mused; “but I think I can raise some -by to-morrow. How would you get down to the railroad?” - -“I’ll take care o’ that—” another siege of that racking cough. Barker -leaned back in his chair, faint and gasping. Westcott drew a flask and -poured some of its contents into a tin cup. The other drained it, -eagerly. - -“That’ll help,” he murmured, handing back the cup. “I ain’t always so -weak as this; but I’ve been hitting the trail for a week, without much -grub.” - -“Did anyone see you come in?” Westcott asked, with apparent irrelevance. - -“No. I kept out of sight.” - -“Good!” The other nodded. “That’s what you’ll have to keep doing.” - -“I’ve got to go out and see what I can do about that money,” he -continued; “and you’ve got to have something to eat. I guess I’ll have -to lock you in here while I’m gone, in case anyone should come along. -You needn’t be afraid but that I’ll come back,” he added, as the other -looked up, in quick suspicion. “It’s safer so, and I want you to have -something to eat.” - -“I sure need it,” was the reply. “Mighty bad.” - -“I know you do; I’ll bring it soon’s I can.” Westcott moved toward the -door. “You lay low till I get back.” - -“You’re not going back on me?” Barker still studied him. - -“Going back on you?” Westcott laughed, shortly. - -“Lord!” he exclaimed, “Do you think I didn’t have enough of that?” - -He threw some lumps of coal into the little stove. “I’ll have to douse -the glim,” he explained, “since I’ll be out around town, and someone -might wonder who’s here. You can lie down there.” - -He waved a hand toward the couch and Barker nodded. - -“I’m pegged out,” he said, wearily. “I’ll just sit here by the fire. -Lord! How long is it since I’ve been warm?” - -He drew his chair nearer and bent to the glow. Westcott lowered the -light and blew out the flame. - -“I’ll lock the door on the outside,” he said, “And don’t you worry, -Barker: I’ll take care of you. Just trust me.” - -“I guess I’ve got to trust you,” was the helpless reply, “I can’t do -anything else.” And Westcott stepped out into the night, locking the -door behind him. - -Once outside he walked along the plaza to the head of the gulch and -stood looking down upon the town. The varied sounds of a mining -settlement at night came plainly to his ears. A new dancer from over the -border was making her first appearance at Garvanza’s that evening, and -the Mexicans were gathered in force. There was a crowd of miners in the -Red Light Saloon. He could hear their voices. - -“How I hate it all,” he muttered. “I wish I was out of it!” - -The post-office was on Lower Broadway in the Company’s store, where a -single light burned, dimly. Farther down was the school-house, where the -school-teacher labored by day, with the half-dozen white children of the -town, and twice as many young Papegoes. Behind the gulch, climbing -heavenward, verdureless, copper-ribbed, austere, lay the mountain, where -the mines were. - -Westcott had been in Blue Gulch for more than a year. He had drifted out -of Phoenix after the Barker affair, glad to get away, where he was sure -no one knew of the matter. - -There had been no question about Barker’s guilt. Jim Texas swore to -having seen him knife Lundy. He couldn’t have saved him if he had -stayed, Westcott told himself. He had never understood why they had not -hung the fellow, instead of sentencing him for life. - -“Better have done it outright than to kill him by inches in their hell -of a jail,” he thought. - -But now what was to be done with the man? Westcott stood scowling at a -house down the gulch. There was a light inside that threw upon the -canvas side-wall the gigantic figure of a woman, coughing. It reminded -him unpleasantly of Barker. - -“Damn the fellow,” he muttered. “Wha’d he come up here for, anyway? -He’ll never live to get back east.” He walked on, turning up the collar -of his coat. “It’s coming winter. The cold’ll kill him.” - -Again he stood pondering, while one by one the lights down the gulch -went out. Then he bethought himself of his errand and went stumbling -down Lower Broadway in the dark. - -The storekeeper was just closing up, but the young fellow turned back to -wait upon him. - -“I won’t keep you more’n a minute, Farthing,” he said, and proceeded to -buy bread and cheese, a tin of meat and a couple of bottles of beer. A -little package of tea was an after-thought. - -“Going prospecting, Mr. Westcott?” the clerk asked, as he made up the -packages. - -“Maybe,” was the reply. - -Westcott was at the door as he spoke. Young Farthing was putting out the -light. - -“Oh, Johnnie,” the attorney said, with the air of just remembering, “I -want to telephone ... ‘long distance.’ I’m afraid it’ll take some time.” -He half hesitated. - -The boy looked disappointed; he had planned to get over to the fandango -in time to see the new dancer. He spoke cheerfully however. - -“That’s all right, Mr. Westcott,” he said, and turned up the lamp again. - -“Why can’t I lock up, Johnnie?” Westcott asked; “I’ll bring the key up -to the hotel when I come.” - -“If you wouldn’t mind—” Farthing looked relieved, “Everything’s all -right but just turning out the light,” he added. - -“All right.” Westcott gave him a little push; “You go on,” he said, -cordially; “I can lock the door as hard as you!” - -“I guess that’s true, Mr. Westcott,” the boy laughed, and with a -relieved “good-night,” he departed, as Westcott was turning toward the -telephone-booth. - -Half an hour later the attorney was in his own office, boiling water in -a tin pail, on top of the little stove, while Barker, warmed and -cheered, made great inroads upon the bread and cheese and the tinned -meat. Presently Westcott made tea in the pail. - -“Seems like old prospecting days, don’t it?” he said with ostentatious -cheerfulness, as he filled the tin cup. “I dare say you’ve had your -share of them?” - -“Some.... A-a-h!” Barker drank, blissfully, of the strong, scalding -brew. - -“I located a good claim once,” he said, setting down the cup. “But it -was jumped. All I ever got was—” - -He paused, in some embarrassment, and changed the subject. “Great stuff, -that tea,” he said, and Westcott refilled the tin cup. - -“I’ve done better for you than I hoped to,” he volunteered presently. “I -couldn’t raise the money in the town—too near pay-day; but I got a pal -of mine on the ’phone. He can let me have the cash, and I’ll get it -to-morrow. Don’t you worry, Barker.” He answered the question, in the -other’s eyes, “I’m looking out for you all right. You don’t need to -worry.” - -“I’m a pretty sick man,” Barker answered, his white face flushing. “I -know I’m done for; but I want to die in the open.” - -“Don’t you talk about dying.” Westcott went about the place making it -secure for the night. “You’ll be snug as can be here,” he added, “By -seven o’clock to-morrow morning this town’ll be practically empty. All -the men’ll be at the mine. Sime’s going down to the plain to meet the -stage, and the school-teacher’ll be busy. We’ll get you off in good -shape.” - -He took some papers from the desk and put them in his pocket. - -“I wouldn’t show myself, though,” he said. “Keep the curtains down, and -lay low. Lock the door after me, and take out the key.” - -At the last words the man’s look of anxiety vanished. - -“All right,” he replied. “I’ll sure lay low. I haven’t slept much in a -week. I’ll be glad enough to take the chance.” - -“So long, then,” Westcott said, slipping out. - -“So long,” and the key turned in the lock. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Having secured the door, Barker took the key from the lock and hung his -hat upon the knob. - -“Don’t want anyone peeking in,” he murmured, as he resumed his seat by -the fire. He was no longer cold, but there was companionship in its -glow. - -The meager little office was a palace compared with the cell from which -he had escaped, he thought as he looked about him in the dim light from -the open door of the stove. - -“If he plays me any more tricks—” His mind reverted to Westcott, and the -cold sweat stood upon his forehead at the idea of possible treachery. - -“Pshaw!” he muttered. “There’s nothing more he can do. He’s done it all. -God! To think I swore to kill him at sight, and here I am begging favors -of him.” - -The angry snarl in his voice changed to a cough, and ended in a whimper. - -“I couldn’t do anything else,” he pleaded, as though arguing with -someone. “I want to get back east. I want to die in the open. Hell! I -was going mad in that hole.” - -He rested his head between his fists, torturing himself with memories of -the days before he crossed the Divide, the youngest chain-man in the -surveyors’ gang of a projected new railroad. He had come from Iowa, and -boy-like he sang the praises of his native state all across the alkali -plains, until, in derision, his fellows dubbed him “the Iowa barker.” - -The name stuck. In Nevada he was plain “Barker.” The others seemed to -have forgotten his real name, and as Barker, when he left the outfit, he -drifted down into Arizona. He blessed the easy transition when the -trouble came that fixed the killing of big Dan Lundy on him. He had kept -his real name secret through all that came after. - -What had it all been about? What was he doing here to-night? Why hadn’t -he killed Westcott, instead of sitting here by his fire? - -He passed a wavering hand before his eyes. Oh, yes. Now he remembered. -Westcott was going to send him east—to God’s country. Meanwhile, he was -dead for sleep. He caught himself, as he lurched in his chair, and -rising heavily, he threw himself upon the couch. - -It was past noon when he woke. The sun lighted the yellow curtains; the -door stood open, and Westcott bent over him, shaking him by the -shoulder. - -“Barker! Barker!” the attorney called. - -“Barker! Wake up! Time to get out of this. I’ve got a chance to send you -down to the railroad.” - -By degrees he struggled to consciousness, and sat up. Westcott had -brought him a big cup of steaming coffee. - -“Drink this,” he said, not unkindly. - -“My friend came up with the money,” he went on, as Barker drank, sitting -sidewise on the couch. “He’s going to take you down in his buggy. He’ll -fix you up all right.” - -Barker was still dazed with sleep. His ears rang, and the lawyer’s voice -sounded strange and far away. The coffee made him feel better. It -soothed the cough that had racked him the moment he sat up. - -“Now eat some grub,” Westcott said. - -He had brought food from the hotel. Barker was still too far off to -wonder at this. He had no desire for food, but he ate, obediently. - -Westcott, meantime, had gone outside. In front of the hotel stood a big, -rangy bay horse, hitched to a light road-wagon. Near the outfit lounged -a tall, determined-looking man, who came forward when he saw the -attorney. - -“I’ve got to be getting a move on soon,” he said. “It’ll be late night, -as ’tis, before we get there.” - -“He’ll be ready in the shake of a horn,” the other replied. - -“Say, Frank,” he continued. “He don’t know who you are. I’ve let on -you’re a friend of mine, going to take him down. Let him think that till -you get out of town.” - -“Must be a dead easy one,” the man addressed as Frank said. - -“Well, you see,” Westcott laughed, nervously, “I doped him pretty well -last night—the poor devil coughed so,” he added, in explanation, and the -deputy sheriff gave a grunt that might mean anything. It brought a flush -of embarrassment to Westcott’s face. - -“Come on,” he said, shortly, turning toward his office. The deputy -climbed into his buggy and drove after him. - -“Got to hurry, Barker,” Westcott called, opening the door. - -He escorted his charge briskly outside. - -“This is Mr. Arnold,” he mumbled, beside the wagon. “A friend of mine -that’ll see you fixed all right.” - -The man holding the reins scrutinized Barker closely as the latter -climbed up beside him. - -“All right,” he decided, finally, speaking to Westcott, and handed the -attorney a folded paper. - -“That’s what you were after,” he said, briefly. “So long.” - -A word to the bay colt and they were swinging down Upper Broadway at a -pace that made Barker catch his breath as he noted the narrow road, and -the steep cañon-side. - -“It’d sure be a long fall,” his companion said, answering his look, “But -we ain’t goin’ to take it. You can bank on the colt. He’s sure-footed as -a deer.” - -“I ain’t afraid,” Barker responded. The fresh, sweet air was beginning -to clear his brain and he sat up straighter, a touch of color coming -into his death-like face. The other man avoided his glance, giving all -his attention to the colt, who was swiftly putting distance between them -and the town. The exigencies of the steep, rough road made such -attention necessary and neither man spoke again until they had traversed -the narrow pass, and were out of the gulch. A sudden turn of the way -brought them among the foothills, the broad, yellow expanse of -cactus-dotted plain before them. - -“Doesn’t seem as far as it did when I footed it in last night,” Barker -said at last, with an attempt to smile, and Arnold nodded. The bay colt -was a good traveler, and they were on the level now, following the road -that wound its spiritless, grey way among the cacti. The colt took it in -long, free strides, that promised to get them somewhere by daylight. - -“Good horse you got there,” Barker said, with a country-bred man’s -interest in animals. “Mighty good shoulders.” - -“You bet!” was the deputy’s hearty response. “Good for all day, too.” - -“I raised him myself,” he went on, “and he’s standard bred, too, -Daystar, out’n an Alcantara mare.” He spoke with proper pride, as the -owner of a good horse may. - -“They raise some fine stock back in Iowa,” Barker remarked, and his -companion’s fount of speech seemed suddenly to run dry. Barker waited, -expectant, for some little time. - -“Where are we going to hit the railroad?” He asked, at last. - -“The railroad?” Arnold looked puzzled. - -“Westcott said you’d land me where I could get the train east,” the -other explained. “He said you had the price of a ticket for me. It’s all -on the level, ain’t it?” he demanded, his voice going higher. - -“Oh—Oh! yes, yes! It’s all fixed. Don’t you worry none.” The bronze of -the deputy’s face crimsoned. - -“Don’t you worry none,” he repeated, with a glance at the sky. - -An ominous cloud lowered, overhead. The sun was hidden, and the air had -grown chill. A fit of coughing had followed Barker’s flash of -excitement, and he crouched in his seat, shivering slightly. - -“Look here,” Arnold exclaimed, “you ain’t dressed warm enough. They’s -some kind of weather breeding.” - -He reached beneath the wagon-seat and pulled forth his own coat. - -“Put this on,” he directed. “I’ve got my sweater on, and don’t need it.” - -Barker pushed it back. - -“I’m all right,” he said. “You’ll need that yourself.” - -“You do what I tell you,” the deputy insisted. “Put it over your -shoulders. The wind’s at your back.” - -He thrust the garment across his companion’s wasted shoulders and Barker -drew the sleeves across his chest. - -As he did so his hand touched something hard, under one lapel. He -glanced down at it, and started. - -“What’s that?” he cried, turning the metal badge up for closer -inspection. - -A groan of horror escaped him as he recognized the object. - -He sprang to his feet, his long, gaunt hands reaching for the deputy’s -throat. Arnold swept him back with one motion of his powerful arm. - -“Don’t you do anything like that,” he said, with rough kindness. “You’d -be just a skeeter if I took hold of you, and I don’t want to. Suffering -snakes!” he pleaded, “Don’t look like that! I’m sorry, man; by Heaven, -I’ve hated this job like blue poison, ever since I laid eyes on you.” - -The words died away in his throat before the dumb misery in the other -man’s face. The wasted figure was slumped forward in an abandon of -despair. All the man’s pride and courage died in the face of his fearful -disappointment. - -“Oh, God! Oh, God!” he moaned. “And I thought I was going to die in the -open.” - -He turned to the deputy, a sudden hope lighting his woe. - -“Let me get out,” he begged. “Let me get out right here. I can’t get -anywheres: I’m bound to die; but it’ll be out in the open. Please let me -out.” - -“I can’t.” The words came through Arnold’s set teeth. - -“Why not? I never killed Dan Lundy. Before God, I never laid a finger on -him.” Barker spoke fast and thick, in his eagerness. - -“I went to his shack and found him there, knifed to death. And Jim Texas -swore he saw me do it. Swore it, mind you; when Hart Dowling and I both -knew Texas had threatened Lundy time and again.” - -A fit of coughing interrupted him, but he went on as soon as he could, -his hoarse voice breaking now and then. - -“And Westcott came sneaking ’round to see what there was in it for him. -He was just starting in then, and I’d heard he was a smart fellow. I -told him of the fifteen hundred dollars dust I had hid in my shack. He -was to find Dowling. Dowling ’d gone up into Wyoming. Westcott was to -get him down here as a witness. And the damned coyote was to have my -fifteen hundred.” - -Again the racking cough, and his voice trailed off in a choking struggle -for breath. He was shrieking when he continued. - -“And Westcott took the money! Took it out of my shack, and never came -near me again. Left me to die. They’d ha’ hung me, sure, if some of the -jury hadn’t believed Jim Texas lied.” - -The deputy’s face was twisted with pity and shame; the man was so -horribly broken. - -“They’s a flask in the pocket o’ that coat,” he said. “Take a pull; -it’ll brace you up.” - -“I don’t want it,” Barker snarled. “It chokes me more.” - -He had drawn the coat about him, the sleeves tied across his chest. - -“And Westcott went back on me this time, too.” He took up the pitiful -tale again. “He couldn’t be satisfied, the devil, with what he’d done. -He had to do it over. But what for? What for? I say? I never did _him_ -dirt.” - -The deputy gave a start of surprise. - -“Why Westcott got—” he began, then pity kept him silent. If Barker had -not guessed he would not tell him. - -“Westcott ... hell!” He spat savagely out upon the desert, shaking his -head with pity, as he glanced again at the huddled figure. - -“Westcott’s a damned side-winder,” he muttered. - -They were descending into an arroyo, once the bed of a creek; dry, now, -for more than a year. The road crossed it, here. - -“We’re going to get our weather, quick,” the deputy said, as he noticed -that the bottom of the arroyo held tiny pools of water. - -Even as he spoke a little stream came trickling down. - -“It’s us for the level! Quick!” he shouted, urging the bay. - -In an instant darkness was upon them. A sudden flash of steely blue rent -the sky; almost with it a quick roll of thunder was all about them and a -bellowing rush of water came tearing along the arroyo. - -The bay colt squealed with terror, plunging sidewise, heedless of whip -and voice. The deputy tried to turn him back to where the bank sloped, -but already they were sweeping along with the torrent. - -“A cloudburst,” Arnold shrieked, and with the words he was wrested from -his seat. - -The shafts of the light vehicle snapped short at the gear. The colt, -plunging, open-mouthed, was hurled forward in a fearful somersault, and -went under, just as the wagon and its remaining occupant rolled over and -over, as a boulder might roll, in the churn of maddened water. - - -It was far into the night when, amid a matted drift, half-way up one -bank of the arroyo, something stirred, faintly. Caught in a web of -debris, and a tangle of mesquite roots that thrust far out from the -soil, a man strove feebly to disentangle his head from a smother of -something that enwrapped it. When at last he partly succeeded he looked -up at the calm stars, lamping the sky in solemn splendor. Below him he -could still hear the rush of water, but above all was peaceful. - -Long he lay, more dead than alive, trying to remember what had happened. -By the bright starlight he managed to make out that the body of the -light wagon had caught upon an out-thrust web of mesquite roots. He was -lying on his side in the wagon box, one arm thrust, to the shoulder, -through something that he could not see. About his neck and head was a -tangle of cloth which he made out to be the deputy’s coat, and a long -thong of leather, probably one of the harness reins. This was wound, as -well, about what remained of one of the seat braces. - -Slowly, by agonizing degrees, the man began to work himself loose from -the tangle. Then he discovered that the thing binding his shoulder was -the strap of a horse’s nose-bag, and the bag itself. It was caught over -a long, splintered fragment of the reach, which had broken through the -bottom of the wagon box. The bag seemed to be about half full of oats. - -Inch by inch he cleared himself, and laying hold upon the mesquite -roots, rose slowly, until he stood up. Every movement was pain, but he -persisted doggedly, climbing little by little up the bank, clinging now -to a root of mesquite, now to a point of rock, pausing for breath, or to -ease the strain upon his tortured muscles. At last he grasped the trunk -of a mesquite and dragged himself out upon the desert, where he fell -helpless upon the sand. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -The shadowy bulk of distant mountains changed to pale blue as the purple -of night slowly lightened. The stars faded, one by one, and a spectral -moon slipped wearily down the sky. Beyond the scant mesquite fringing -the arroyo the desert lay still and gray, like a leaden sea. - -The man woke, and moved slightly, groaning as his wrenched and stiffened -body protested. Consciousness strengthened, and he struggled to his -knees to stare about him. The chill of early morning had him by the -bones, and he shook in its grip. After a little he got to his feet and -tried, painfully, to swing his arms. - -Away westward a subtle hint of color crept across the pale sky, -heralding a coming radiance in the east; but it brought no sense of -comfort. - -“There’s no one left alive but me,” the man whispered, as his gaze took -in the awful solitude. “No one but me, Gabriel Gard!” - -The sound of that name, spoken all unconsciously, made him start, and -look furtively about. The loneliness of the plain had betrayed his -jealously guarded secret. Then his mood changed. - -“I’ve a right to die with it, at least,” he muttered. “They can’t steal -that from me. Barker’s dead, already. Gabriel Gard goes next. Hear that, -Gabriel? You go next. Y-a-a-h.... God!” - -A sudden agony of pain shook him as he began to cough. Every muscle in -his body was sore. Then, as the racking grew less, he stood transfixed, -staring across the desert. - -A crimson glow from the coming sunrise flushed far across the eastern -sky, and coming toward him, touched by its glory, was a figure that his -astonished brain sought to define. - -It was no mirage. He knew the marks of that supreme cheat of the desert. -This was no trick of refraction or of reflection. He saw, as a man sees, -this creature silently, steadily drawing near. - -It was a strangely familiar shape; vague, uncouth, incredible, it -seemed; yet he recognized it. He recognized the slender, shuffling legs, -the swinging gait, the mis-shapen body, the ungainly, crooked neck and -high held head; but why, in the name of reason, should a camel be coming -to him, out of nowhere? - -Nearer and nearer the creature drew, the uncouth form now a wonder of -azure and crimson, as the light became stronger, and still the man -gazed, his bewildered mind refusing to accept the testimony of his eyes. - -He was filled with awe. It was true, then, what old prospectors had -lately declared, that this solitary wanderer was still in the desert, -sole survivor of the old Jeff Davis caravan.[1] Old man Dickson, and -again young Bennett, swore they had seen it. Dickson told, indeed, of -having had the creature about his camp for nearly a week. - -Footnote 1: - - When Jefferson Davis was Secretary of War he imported a caravan of - camels into the desert, to carry supplies for the army. The creatures - stampeded the army mules, whenever they appeared, and the soldiers - took to shooting them, on the sly. In time so many were killed that - not enough remained to form a caravan, so the survivors were turned - loose in the desert. Here they were hunted by tourists, who shot them - for “sport,” until it was supposed that all had perished. It is known - now, however, that one, at least, survives. This solitary one still - wanders about the desert, and the writer knows of more than one - prospector who has encountered it, very recently. - -On came the camel, looking neither to the right nor the left, its -shuffling stride getting it over the ground with curious swiftness. When -it was very near it stopped, under the mesquites, and seemed to wait for -the man to approach. Recovered somewhat from his amazement, Gabriel Gard -drew nearer and, reaching out a tentative hand, touched the creature’s -neck. - -The animal neither started nor flinched, but began cropping beans from -the mesquite trees, quite as if the man were not there. Gard, noting the -action, became aware that he was himself faint with hunger. - -On the desert, where he had thrown it in rising, lay the deputy’s coat, -and tangled with it Gard found his own canteen. He took this as a good -omen. - -“I may need you, yet,” he whispered, as he took it up. - -In one pocket of the coat was a nickle watch, made fast by a leather -thong, to a buttonhole. Another contained the deputy’s pipe, some loose -tobacco, and a water-tight box, in which were fourteen matches. Gard -counted them, carefully. - -He turned to the other side-pocket, with but faint hope that the flask -which he had scorned the day before would be in it yet. - -It was there, however, and beside it, in a greasy, crushed packet, a big -beef sandwich. The deputy, accustomed to provide against long rides in -the desert, had secured this before leaving the hotel. - -The man ate it eagerly, and took a swallow from the flask. The food, and -the fiery liquor, warmed him, and revived his courage. - -In the coat’s inner pocket were papers, a worn memorandum book, an -envelop covered with figures, another, longer one, containing a -document. As Gard turned them over a postal-card fell to the desert. - -He picked it up. On the back were a picture, and some printing. The man -read the latter through before he realized what the card was for. It -published his escape from jail, and the fact that five hundred dollars -reward was offered for his capture. - -Now he remembered the deputy’s unfinished sentence, and knew why -Westcott had betrayed him. - -Westcott had got that reward! He had sold him back to death as he had -sold him before. God! Why could he not have had his fingers upon that -lying throat just once? He would have found strength for the job that -needed doing! - -He stretched forth his wasted, jail-bleached hands, and regarded them, -snarling. Then he raised them, shaking them at the sky. - -“I’ll live to do it yet! Do you hear?” he shrieked, “I say I _will_ -live!” - -He beat the desert air with his clenched fists. - -“God—devil—whatever you are that runs this hellish world, you’ve got to -let me live. I’ll make that infernal side-winder wish he could hide in -hell’s mouth, before I die!” - -The torrent of his rage was stemmed by a vicious attack of that racking -cough. It tore his chest, and flecked his lips with blood. When it was -over he lay upon the sand for a long time, sobbing the dry, anguished -sobs of a man’s helpless woe. - -The sun, rising above the distant mountains, shone red upon him. The -camel left the mesquite’s thin shade for the warmer light and the pad of -its soft feet aroused Gard. He must not let the creature get away. - -He rose, painfully, and went to it, considering the brute carefully. A -plan was dawning in his brain. He took the strap that served him for a -belt, and buckled it around the camel’s neck. The animal followed him, -docile as a sheep, when he led it back to the mesquite. Then he -bethought himself of the oats, in the horse’s bag, below. - -Going to the edge of the arroyo he could see it in the wreck of the -road-wagon, and he made his way painfully down to it. As he was -clambering back he noticed that the back spring of the light rig still -clung to it by a single bolt. A slight wrench brought it away, and he -secured it, with a vague feeling that it might prove useful. - -The full horror of his position was becoming clear to him. He was alone -in the desert, without food or weapons. He put the thought away, -summoning all his faculties for the need of the moment. - -The camel was indifferent to the oats, turning from them to the -mesquite, after a tentative investigation. With his belt and the harness -rein, Gard proceeded to fashion a sort of rude hackamore, which he put -over the creature’s head. The great beast, as soon as it was adjusted, -settled itself, as by instinct, in an attitude of waiting, while Gard -proceeded to fill his canteen and to gather quantities of mesquite -beans, bestowing them in the feed bag, and in the pockets of Arnold’s -coat. - -He threw the coat across the camel’s back, the buggy-spring and the bag -secured by its knotted sleeves. Then he took the leading strap in his -hand, spoke to the animal, and they moved out upon the desert. - -Gard had no idea in which direction it was best to go, but he argued -that the camel knew the plain, and its fastnesses. For himself, he had -but one thought—to hide, to rest, to gather strength for vengeance. At -that thought he stifled the cough that rose in his throat. - -Once they were started he let the strap hang loose and gradually fell -behind. The camel went forward a few paces in the direction ahead of -them, but feeling no guidance, gradually deflected its course toward the -west. Gard followed every movement eagerly, until presently they were -going forward at a steady pace, as travelers with a definite aim. - -The sun was well up now, and its beams warmed the man’s chilled, sore -body. The desert was no longer gray, but a glowing yellow. Even the air -was warm-hued, suffusing the landscape with a roseate loveliness that -yet seemed less of life than of death. - -Everywhere were the desert growths, travesties of vegetation, twisted, -grotesque, ghostly gray and pale green in hues. A profound stillness, -insistent, oppressive, was upon everything. The yellow sand, the glowing -air, the cloudless dome of the sky, the far-off mountains, all seemed to -soak up sound. The world lay hushed in fierce, tense quiet, as though -waiting the appearance of some savage portent. - -The camel did not hasten. Gard, walking beside it, had a feeling that -the creature was very old. Its eyes were bright, its coat silky and -fine, but deep under the hair’s soft luxuriance the man’s fingers felt -the skin, wrinkled and folded over shrunken muscles. - -But there was neither feebleness nor hesitation in the forward progress -of the desert pilot. It moved forward with a sort of inexorableness, its -padded feet making no sound on the hard sand, its gaze bent steadily -ahead, its inscrutable visage wearing ever, a look of centuries-old -scorn for all things made. - -They passed a huge bull-snake sunning upon a rock, and here and there a -silent bird flitted to or from its home in some thorn-guarded cholla. -Once a coyote tossed lightly across their vision, a blown gray feather -along the horizon, but no other signs of animal life stirred the -death-like plain. - -The sand grew warmer in the sun’s rays, till permeating heat radiated -from it and hung over it everywhere, a palpable, shimmering mist of -lavender and gold, between earth and air. By mid-forenoon the sun’s rays -were oppressive, and they halted in the shadow of a giant suhuaro. - -The camel, when the man released the leading-strap, lowered itself -slowly to rest, doubling down its legs like the shutting of a -jack-knife, and settling upon the sand with the curious, sighing grunt -of old age. - -Gard, in the meantime, set about the preparation of a meal. He shelled a -handful of tree beans and crushed them between two stones, mixing them -with water from his canteen into a sort of paste, which he ate. The -suhuaro’s fruit was yet hanging upon its great branches, dried, -somewhat, by the autumn sun and wind, but palatable and nutritious -still. Gard found a long pole, once part of the frame of another giant -cactus, and with this succeeded in knocking down some of the fig-like -growths. - -When he had eaten them he stretched himself upon the sand, filled the -deputy’s pipe, and lighted it with one of the precious matches. The -unwonted luxury brought him comfort, and ease of mind. He smoked slowly, -making the most of it in delicious relaxation, his head in the shade, -his weary, sick body basking in the heat of desert and sunlight. - -Lying thus there presently spread out before his eyes the sudden vision -of a great, island-dotted sea. The surface of the water dimpled and -sparkled in the sun; the islands shone jewel-like with verdure, an -exquisite suggestion of rich color was over it all. - -His eye was not deceived, though his mind half accepted the vision. He -knew that it was a mirage, but he lay for a long time watching its -changing beauty, a half-amused sense of superiority to illusion -ministering pleasantly to his pride. The scene was so very like what it -seemed to be. - -Suddenly, from the surface of the sea rose a monstrous thing, huge, -formidable, portentous, and endowed with motion. Gard turned upon his -side, with a gasp. The mystic sea still wavered in the distance, but the -shape was no part of it. - -An instant he studied it, then sank back with a sigh of relief. The -apparition, upon scrutiny, had resolved itself into a little wild burro, -perhaps a quarter of a mile away, passing across the face of the mirage. -It was such a germane little shape, this familiar of the desert, that he -was cheered by the sight of it. The next instant he noted a tarantula, -hairy, vicious, glaring at him from a tiny eminence of sand. - -Acting upon impulse, Gard hurled at it the rounded stone with which he -had crushed the mesquite beans. The missile struck the sand close beside -the tarantula and the huge spider sprang upon it in a frenzy of stupid -ferocity. The man laughed silently, a laugh not good to see. - -A shadow floated across the plain, and then another. The man glanced -upward, to see three or four great black forms circling against the -blue. - -“You would, eh?” he shrieked, springing to his feet. “Yah! Not yet, you -devils! I’m not dead yet!” - -He shook his fist skyward at the huge, waiting birds. - -“I’m alive yet!” he yelled. “You don’t get me yet; not till I’ve had -_my_ meat.” - -The cough seized him, and ere it let go its hold the disappointed -vultures, with never a stroke of their wide wings, faded into the skyey -depths. - -But Gard had no heart to linger further. The sight of the desert -scavengers had shaken him sorely, he hastened to rouse his strange -fellow, and soon the pair were again threading that weary way from -nowhere to the unknown. - -All day they had moved steadily mountainward, and now they began to draw -nearer the range that ever since dawn had reared a jagged line along the -horizon. Gard had not known whether they would reach the mountains that -day. One does not predicate distances in the desert. They may be long, -or short; the lying air gives no clue. - -But as the afternoon shadows were turning to mauve and blue, what had -for hours looked like sloping foothills, leading gently toward further -heights, suddenly reared itself before them in a long stretch of high, -perpendicular wall. - -Straight toward it the camel went, never pausing or looking around at -the man beside him, and when another forward step would have found their -progress barred, the creature swerved to the left, to enter a narrow -pass that appeared as if by magic in the seemingly unbroken wall. - -Now the way wound upward along a dry wash, climbing almost -imperceptibly, at first, growing steeper, by degrees, though at no time -a sharp ascent. The shadows closed in upon them, and the air grew chill, -but still the camel walked on, and beside him, clinging, now, in his -weakness, to the animal’s long hair, toiled the man. - -More and more often he paused for breath, his lungs tortured by the -pace. He was faint with fatigue, chilled by the shadow-cooled air, but a -drink from the flask gave him brief strength, and he struggled on. - -An hour, and they were well within the mountains. The way wound now -among greasewood and scrub oaks, with only here and there a cactus. The -chaparral drew dense, and Gard could hear birds calling in its depths. - -The trail began to widen, and patches of coarse grasses cropped out, -here and there. The altitude was not particularly great, but it was -beginning to tell upon the man when his strange guide halted in a little -open glade, where the wash ended abruptly. - -Night was falling, and Gard could make out very little save that the -forest growth closed in the glade on all sides. Overhead he could just -get a glimpse of the purpling sky, where the stars were already out. Off -at one side he could see these reflected in water, and he could hear, as -well, the gentle splash of a stream. - -The camel stood beside him, wearily patient until, lifting a hand, he -removed its load and slipped the hackamore from its head. Freed, the -creature turned away, and presently Gard heard him drinking, not far -off. - -He followed the sound until he reached water, and passing beyond the -camel, knelt to drink his fill from a clear, cold fountain. - -Later he gathered such dry sticks as he could find and kindled a fire, -as much for protection as for warmth. He was too weary to think of food, -but crouched before the cheering blaze, alternately dozing, and rousing -to feed the flame. - -As often as he did the latter he could see, in the darkness beyond the -blaze, the gleaming eyes of small forest-prowlers, come to stare in -wonder at the strange thing by the pool. Nothing molested him, however, -and toward dawn he fell into a profound, restful slumber. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -The morning light did not confirm Gard’s impression that he was in the -deep woods. Beyond the thin region of growth fed by the pool the little -valley into which he had been led lay sandy and cactus-grown, like the -desert. The stream that should have watered it, that had probably, at -some time, made its way down the dry wash which he had traversed, now -found some underground outlet, and was swallowed up by the vampire plain -below. - -Above the glade was a steep, rockbound ravine, down which the stream -still flowed. The pool seemed to be its last stand against the desert. -Gard, tentatively exploring the lower end of this ravine for fuel, found -a few blackberries, drying upon the bushes, and ate them, eagerly, with -appetite still unsated by his breakfast of mesquite beans. The mesquite -grew here, too; with manzanita and scrub oak, arrow-weed, and black -willow. - -The man’s chief sensation was a vague surprise at finding himself still -alive. He was too sick—too weak—after his exertion and his rages of the -day before, to consider the problem of keeping himself alive. He was -chilled to the marrow, and yearned like a fire-worshipper toward the -warmth of his camp-glow. He tended the fire carefully. He dared not let -it go out; for that meant the sacrifice of another precious match. - -The elemental appetite awoke when, stooping to drink from the pool, he -saw fish darting about in its clear depths. He worked with the cunning -of a pre-historic man until, by means of the feed bag, which he emptied -of its contents, he succeeded in catching two of these. - -A long thorn of palo-verde served him for a knife in dressing them, and -he cooked them in the earth, with hot stones, laying each fish between -the split halves of broad lobes of the prickly pear. They were insipid, -and full of bones, but they served to satisfy his hunger. - -He decided to keep a record of the days that he should spend in this -place; by sticking palo-verde thorns into an out-reaching branch of -willow, near the pool. He would stick in a thorn for each day. He cursed -the first one, as he thrust it against the wood; because he felt -powerless to do anything else. - -Following, half sullenly, a mere human instinct to be busy about -something, he set about making a knife from the smallest plate of the -buggy-spring. He heated it in his fire till the paint came off, broke it -in two and spent the day working one thin end down to a cutting edge, on -a big, rough boulder. By night he had six inches of blade with one -rounded, sharp end. - -He used this, next day, to cut ocotilla-stalks, to make a bed, scraping -away the thorns with sharp stones. He worked all day; less because he -wanted a bed than because he dimly realized that sanity lay in -occupation. That night he set a snare, and before morning managed to -catch a cotton-tail which he dressed and roasted for his breakfast. - -He was getting over the feeling of being hunted. They would not search -for him now, he reasoned; they must feel satisfied that he had died in -the cloudburst. He bathed in the pool that day, when the sun was high, -and set about constructing a fireplace against the big boulder. This -would make fire-keeping easier. - -The days slipped into weeks. Little by little the man was adapting -himself to his environment. He learned to dry the mesquite beans and -grind them between stones into a coarse flour. This he made into little -cakes, which he baked upon a flat stone before the fire. Later, he -turned over a patch of earth, watered it, and sowed it with the oats he -had saved from the storm. Now, however, his food was the mesquite, the -prickly pear, the century plant, and the fish and small game that he -managed to catch. - -As he grew stronger he fashioned himself a bow of oak, shaping and -smoothing it with his rough knife, and stringing it with fibres from the -century plant. His shafts were those of the desert Indians, the arrow -weeds growing close at hand, and he tipped them with the cruel, -steel-hard dagger-points of the yucca. - -With this primitive weapon he gradually grew skilful; and at last he -shot a buck, as the creature came down to the pool one night, to drink. -He dried the meat, and used the skin, when he had made it ready, as a -covering for his bed. - -Twice, during the winter, the camel came back to the pool. The creature -went as it came, silent, inscrutable. Whither it went Gard did not know; -the pool was evidently one of its ports of call while going to and fro -on the mysterious business of being a camel. It accepted the man as a -matter of course, and left him, when ready, with the indifference of -fate, though Gard could have begged it on bended knees, to remain. - -He was horribly lonely, with nothing but his hate, and a sick longing -for vengeance upon life, to bear him company. There were days when he -cursed the chance that had kept his worthless hulk alive, while sending -Arnold, in all his strength, down to death. He had no doubt but that the -deputy had perished. Nothing could ever have come, alive, through the -rush of water into which he had been flung. - -The weeks became months. His oats were coming up, a little patch of cool -green on the yellow sand, and he had occupation to fend the field from -the small desert creatures that coveted it. He also worked at times at -making various utensils of the red clay that he found in the valley, -baking them in a rude kiln of his own fashioning. - -He came by degrees to love this work, and took great pleasure in it. He -even tried to contrive a potter’s wheel, but was balked by lack of -material. He had to content himself, therefore, with modeling the clay -into such shapes of use and beauty as his untaught hands could achieve. -In time he came to ornament his work as well, graving designs on the -edges of his plates and bowls. The camel’s counterfeit presentment -figured on one or two of the larger pieces, and upon the others, as the -impulse prompted, he put inscriptions, until the homely articles of his -daily use came to be a sort of commentary, seen by no eyes save his own, -of his moods, and the longing for their expression. - -He wrote thus upon other things as well. Lacking paper or implements -charcoal and sharpened sticks became his tools; the rocks and trees; his -broad earthen hearth; the plastic clay; even the yellow sand of the -desert, his tablets, and little by little all these became eloquent of -his lonely thoughts. - -He put them down upon whatever served, for the mere comfort of seeing -them; scraps of lessons conned in the old brick school-house; sums; -fragments of the multiplication table; roughly drawn maps and sketches -of boyhood scenes; lines from half-remembered poems and hymns; familiar -Bible verses that his mother had taught him. They came back to him bit -by bit, in his solitude. And one and all his soul found them camps by -the way on its long journey up from despair. - -From one of his excursions into the valley he brought home the empty -shell of a desert turtle. This he split, and fashioned the upper half -into a bowl to contain the palo-verde thorns of his record. They were -already crowding the willow branch, and but for them he could scarcely -have realized the passage of days. - -There were a hundred and forty-seven thorns on the day that he -transferred them to the new receptacle. Gard could not be sure that he -had one for each day in the desert, but he knew that each one there -actually represented a day. - -“I’ve had every one of that lot,” he told himself, talking aloud, as a -solitary man gets to do. “Had ’em in the open, in spite of the law -sharks.” - -He still lived from day to day, however, despite his vows, and his -threats of vengeance. He had known, when he sought Ashley Westcott, -begging the price of a ticket east, that he was a doomed man. - -“It’s all borrowed time,” he muttered, shaking the turtle-shell. - -His face darkened. - -“’T ain’t either,” he cried. “It’s time won back. They stole it from me -down there. They robbed me of three years, the filthy thieves! What’s a -hundred and forty-seven days against that?” - -He remembered an occasion when to get away from the wood-pile that was -his special charge, in his boyhood, he had heaped a scant supply of -split wood over a pile of chunks yet untouched by the axe, and -exhibiting the result as his finished task had escaped with his fellows -upon some expedition of pleasure. He had meant to return in time to -complete his work before the cheat should be discovered, but he forgot -it. - -His father had first thrashed him well for his wickedness, then lectured -him tenderly about it. The wicked, he had told him, would not live out -half their days. Gard’s laugh as he recalled the words was more nearly a -snarl. - -“He was a good man all right,” he said, “but he didn’t know it all; not -by an eternal lot.” - -He tormented himself with other boyish memories: the broad grassy -stretches of the prairie came up before him; the woods that neighbored -his father’s farm; the pleasant fields, and occasional low hills that -had seemed to him so high, before he had seen mountains; the -swimming-pool where he and the fellows played in summer; the -skating-pond where they raced and built forts and fought mimic battles -in winter; the red brick school-house at “The Corners”; the white church -at “The Centre,” where he had gone to Sunday school; the little shed -chamber with its creaking stairs that his mother had climbed, how many -cold nights! to see if he were warmly covered. She was gone from earth -now, but the old boyhood places were left, and he yearned for them all, -with yearning unspeakable. - -“I thought I was going to get back to it,” he groaned, through his set -teeth. “I trusted that poison-snake to help me; God! If I could get -these hands on him, just once!” - -But the quiet of his hundred and forty-seven days, and the balm of the -healing air, had wrought within him more than he knew. His excursions -afield grew longer, day by day, and in the gray of one beautiful morning -he started out to explore the mountain. - -He had traversed the cañon before now, climbing over rocks, and around -mighty boulders washed down by ancient avalanches, or torn from above by -titanic storms, until he came to where the mountain stream took a leap -of some seventy feet, and the sheer face of the cliff barred his way. -This time, however, he followed the cañon’s edge, to which the trees -clung precariously, sycamores, oaks, and, to his delight, some walnuts. -He marked the spot where they grew, as a place to be visited in the nut -season. - -The morning was far spent when he reached this point, so he lingered to -rest, to eat the jerked venison and mesquite bread he had brought with -him. Then he resumed his climb until he was well beyond the timber -growths and had to fight his way through chaparral. - -He crawled among this on hands and knees, now and then, frightening -birds, and other small game, from their hiding-places, and at last came -out upon the rocky open, and the broad spaces where the large creatures -of the mountains make their homes. He noted more than one faint trail -leading over the wastes, and now and again he caught sight of deer in -the distance. - -Higher still he climbed, into the regions of white sunlight, until the -cold, pure air of the snowy ranges blew through his hair, and he began -to feel the altitude. In spite of this he pressed on, and at last -reached a ridge where grew a few scattered heralds of the great pine -belt above him. Here, quite unexpectedly, the vast waste of the desert -suddenly met his gaze, far, far below. - -There was a strange, horrible unreality about it. The far gray plain; -the mountain’s bare, brown bones; the wind-distorted trees; the solemn, -snowy sierras, even the blue arch of the sky, seemed but components of -some fearful nightmare. - -“I’m not asleep,” he muttered; “and it’s no dream; I’ve died, and gone -to hell!” - -The bitterness of desolation was upon him. His very soul lay bare in the -bright, white sunlight of the heights, and he cowered, like a child -afraid of the dark. - -As he stood thus, from out the silence a soft, clear whistle rose upon -the air. It was repeated, then taken up, farther away. The man quivered -as though the sound had struck him. Then his tense muscles relaxed; he -saw the whistlers to be a covey of quail, moving along the rocks a -little below him. - -They came nearer, walking in single file, full of curiosity about him, -alert, speculative, keeping up a murmur of little ornithological remarks -among themselves, the while. The gentle fearlessness of the small, -pretty creatures filled all that grim place with an ineffable grace. A -sob strained at the man’s throat. - -“Just as if they were in a garden!” he whispered. - -Long he stood watching the birds, who presently, as if satisfied that no -harm dwelt in him, scattered about the rocky waste in search of food. -One only remained on watch, guarding the flock from a little eminence -where he stood motionless save for his pretty crest, which the wind blew -from side to side. Gard watched him, fairly hushing his own breath lest -he alarm the small sentinel, who in turn regarded him, with bright, -innocent eyes. - -“To think of it,” the man murmured, “the little, little things, so -fearless, up here in this—this—secret—place—of—the—Most—High!” - -He stopped, in vague surprise at his own speech. He had not meant to say -that, but from some neglected recess of his boyhood’s memory the words -had sprung, vital with meaning. - -“I wish,” he finally began, after a long pause, and ceased speaking as a -wave of sickening despair swept over his soul. The idleness of the -phrase mocked him; the folly of wishing anything, helpless there in the -bitterness of desolation, came home to him with cruel force. Then the -ache of his spirit’s yearning drew his clenched hands up toward the blue -vault. - -“I wish,” he breathed, his heart pounding, his brain awhirl with a -sudden vision of the infinite wonder of things, “I wish that—if there is -such a thing as God in the world I might come to know it.” - -Slowly his hands came down to his sides. The sentinel of the rocks gave -a soft little call of reassurance to the flock, which had halted, -observant of the gesture, and the birds resumed their feeding. Gard -turned for another look at the snowy ramparts on high; at the vast plain -below. All their horror was gone, for him, and he began the descent of -the mountain with the peaceful visage of one who has been in a good -place. - - -Far into the night he awoke with the feeling of something stirring near -him. In the dim firelight he could make out a shadowy figure on the -hearth, and he sprang up in haste. A second glance, however, as he sat -upon his ocotilla bed, showed him that there was no harm in the visitor -shivering there by the coals. - -It was a burro, and the listless pose, the drooping ears and the -trembling knees proclaimed a sick burro. It was too miserable even to -move, when Gard threw an armful of brush on the fire and speedily had a -blaze by which he could see the intruder plainly. His first glance -revealed a jagged, dreadful sore on the shoulder next to the light. - -Speaking very gently, he drew nearer to the burro and though the little -creature trembled violently, it let him bend down and examine the wound. - -A great spike of the long, tough crucifixion-thorn had somehow become -imbedded in the flesh, and the whole surface of the shoulder was swollen -and inflamed. Gard made a little sound of pity in his throat, and the -burro, turning, tried to lick the sore. - -“No use to do that yet, Jinny,” the man said. “That thorn’s got to come -out first.” - -The burro had probably never before been touched by hands; but not for -nothing was Jinny wide between the ears. She scrutinized her would-be -helper closely, for a moment, through her long lashes, and drooped her -wise-looking little gray head still lower. Gard threw another armful of -light stuff on the fire and when the blaze was brightest attacked the -thorn, using one of his sharp arrows as a probe. - -Once or twice the creature flinched. Once she snapped her strong teeth -at the hurting side; but Gard worked steadily and quickly, and presently -had the offender out. - -“Look a’ that, Jinny,” he cried, triumphantly. It was a joy to hear -himself speaking to something alive. - -“Look a’ that!” he repeated, “Ain’t you glad you found the doctor in?” - -He dipped warm water from an earthen pot in the ashes, and washed the -wound carefully, talking all the while to the still trembling patient, -silently regarding him. When the place was quite clean he made a -poultice of prickly pear and bound it on with a strip of deer-skin. - -“Lucky I shot another buck, Jinny,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have that -nice bandage.” - -The little burro expressed no thanks; only stared solemnly at the fire. -Gard strode out into the darkness and pulled, recklessly, an armful of -his precious, growing oats. He threw the green stuff down before her and -she sniffed it curiously before she began, ravenously, to eat it. - -“Hungry, weren’t you?” the man said, sympathetically. “Been too sick to -eat. Well, well, make yourself at home.” - -He threw a big stick upon the fire and went back to his bed, leaving the -burro chewing, meditatively, before the blaze. - -He was just falling asleep when he felt something warm fumbling about -him, and he awoke with a start, and an exclamation that quickly turned -to something very like a laugh. The grateful little burro was licking -his hands. - -“Why, Jinny!” he cried, sitting up. “Well, well, Jinny! Well, I’ll be -jiggered!” - -He slipped an arm over the rough little neck and the two watched the -fire till dawn. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -The burro got well and throve. Gard devoted the period of her -convalescence to teaching her the essential arts of the higher -companionship. Her first lesson in burden-bearing was to bring -ocotilla-stalks from the valley. With these she saw the oat patch fenced -in from her own depredations, and lifted up her voice in remonstrance -when she found herself barred out of that delectable ground. Gard -explained the matter to her. - -“This is a world, Jinny,” he said, “where we have to wait till the -things we want are ripe. I’m waiting myself, Jinny, for my time to come. -It will, some day, ah—some day!” - -He was thinking of Westcott, but the curses that he was wont to call -upon his enemy’s head died upon his lips. It was not that his hatred had -died, but there seemed, somehow, to be other things than hate, even in -his tiny world. - -He hunted up a palo-verde thorn with which to mark his day, Jinny -keeping him company. He still kept the record on the willow branch, -removing the thorns and putting them away whenever he had ten. There -were that number this morning. - -Spring was well advanced, now. The air was soft, and sweet with the -scent of manzanita in the chaparral. For days past hundreds of wild bees -had been hovering about the pool, and the underbrush. Gard had a line on -them, and thought he knew where the bee-tree was located. His oats were -nearly ready for harvest; a century plant in the valley was sending up a -long bloom-stalk, and the sound of water leaping down the cañon mingled -with the voices of birds in the chaparral. - -As Gard put back his shell, with its contents of thorns and turned -toward the pool sudden recognition came to him of a heretofore -unsuspected truth. - -“By the great face of clay, Jinny,” he said, drawing a long breath, -“We’re not so bad off, after all!” - -Again his eyes ranged the green circle of the glade; at the farther -side, where the growth was sparse, he could see the valley with its -yellow sands and rose-tinted air. The bright red of blossoming cacti -made vivid patches here and there in the waste; even the great barren -felt the touch of spring. - -“God may have forgot this country,” the man said, after a long silence, -“But He sure made it, if He made the rest. It’s got the same brand, when -you come to see it. - -“I guess, Jinny,” he continued, still gazing afar, “that the best of one -thing’s about as good as the best of another. What do you think about -it?” - -As Jinny did not commit herself he sat down upon a rock and reached out -to scratch the shaggy gray head. - -“If I’d got back to Iowa when I wanted to,” he went on, “I’d most likely -be dead by now.” - -Jinny’s head drooped till her nose rested upon his knee, and she nodded -off to sleep. Gard let her stay and sat looking off across the valley, -his mind full of new emotion. - -“A man might think,” he slowly mused, considering the mystery of his -coming to this place, “that ’twas what old Deacon Stebbins used to call -a ‘leading’.” - -He turned the thought over in his mind. - -“Why not?” he asked. - -His eyes rested upon one toil hardened hand as it lay upon Jinny’s back. -He held it up, surveying it curiously. - -“Rather different, from what it was,” he thought, clenching it into a -great fist. “Yah—” with sudden anger, “It’ll be different for Ashley -Westcott if ever he comes to feel it.” - -His mind dwelt upon that possibility. - -“If ever I do get hold of him,” he muttered, and then paused, as -half-forgotten memories of that faithful teacher came flocking to the -front. - -“The deacon ’d be down on that idea,” he reflected. “Wonder how he’d -work his pet hobby o’ forgiveness here. He couldn’t judge of -everything,” his thought still ran on. “The deacon he never got so near -Hell as Arizona. If he had he’d have found it a place his God of Mercy -hadn’t got on His map.” - -He put Jinny aside and set to work fashioning himself a new cup. He had -broken his only one the night before. - -“I guess I was wrong about that last notion.” His brain took up the -question again as he shaped the red clay. “I guess He must have this -place on the map. Looks like His mercy’d been trailing me here, so to -speak.” - -He paused to contemplate the proportions of his new cup, staring, half -startled, at its rounded surface. Phrases from the old psalm that -mothers love to teach were beating upon his brain. - -“Goodness and mercy,” he murmured, feeling his stumbling way among the -words, “goodness and mercy shall follow me.” - -The familiar glade grew new and strange to his sight, as though he saw -it for the first time. - -“Why!” he cried, a sudden light dawning, “Is _that_ what it means?” - -Almost mechanically he went on patting and pressing the clay. - -“I guess it does mean that,” whispered he at last, pinching up a handle -for his cup. “I didn’t think I’d be alive till now when I came up here. -I’ve wanted to die, many a time; but I’m glad, now, I didn’t. I may get -out of here some day, too. I may live to get Westcott yet!” - -“‘Goodness and mercy shall follow me.’” Was that so he could live to see -his dream of vengeance fulfilled? - -Ah! He could not give that up! It could never mean that he must give -that up! Else where were the good of remaining alive? - -No; no; it did not mean that! Even the old deacon wouldn’t have thought -he must forgive what he, Gabriel Gard, had borne. - -“Oh, Lord,” Gard said aloud, “It can’t mean that! It ain’t in human -nature that it should mean that!” - -The cup in his hand was crushed again to formless clay. He tore and -kneaded it viciously, great drops of sweat beading his forehead. - -“It’s against human nature,” he groaned as he sought to bring the -plastic stuff again into shape. “I can’t do it! But—” The words rose to -an agonized wail as his spirit recognized the inexorableness of this -demand upon its powers—“I’ve got to. I’ve got to!” - -His mind went back to the day upon the mountain-ridge, when he had seen -the quail, and he remembered his wish, the wish that had been almost a -prayer; remembered it with a hushed feeling of awe. - -“If I’d sensed it,” he said in a voice tense with his soul’s pain, “If -I’d sensed that this is what comes of knowing there’s a God, I guess I -wouldn’t have dared wish that.” - -Hour after hour the battle was fought over the wet, red clay, and the -day was far spent before the cup was ready for the kiln. When at last -Gard, weary, but at peace, brought it for the final perfecting of the -fire, he paused, ere he thrust it in, to read once more the rude letters -graven deep in its fabric. - - THE CUP OF FORGIVENESS - -“We’ll see how it comes out,” he muttered, grimly, but already the hope -grew in his heart that the clay would stand the test. - - -Throughout the spring Gard busied himself with building a cabin. He -needed a place in which to keep his stores from prowling creatures. A -brown bear had secured a good part of the last deer he had shot—secured -it while it was drying on branches of the mesquite—and the birds and -small beasts of the chaparral took toll of all his scanty supplies. -Then, too, he took a man’s delight in construction, and the building of -the cabin had come to be a labor of love, as well as of necessity. - -The walls of the structure were of desert stones laid up in mud. For the -roof he brought skeleton stalks of suhuaro. Later he meant to plaster -these with adobe, into which he should work straw, and the coarse gramma -grass of the region. - -He worked upon the building at odd times, as the summer went on, taking -increasing joy in bringing it to completeness. He mascerated -prickly-pear cactus in water and soaked the earthen floor with the -resulting liquor, pounding it down afterwards until it was hard and -smooth as cement. He made his door of ocotilla-stalks laid side by side -and woven with willow-withes. In the same way he contrived a shutter for -the window, and he constructed a second, smaller, fireplace, within the -cabin. - -“When we have distinguished visitors, Jinny,” he told the little burro, -“We’ll kindle a fire for them here.” - -He still used the larger hearth outside. He had learned, after many -trials, to kindle a fire with the aid of flint and steel, and was no -longer dependent upon matches. - -When his shelter was complete he contrived furniture for it, for the -sheer pleasure of construction. Lacking boards, or the means to -manufacture them, he wove his table-top of arrow-weed and tough grasses -from the cañon. It was beginning to be a source of delight to him to -contrive solutions for each new problem of his hard existence. - -One night, in the early autumn, Gard was wakened by a fearful crash of -thunder. He sprang from his bed, to find Jinny already huddled against -him. All about them was the roar of the sudden storm. - -The pool had overflowed, and swept across the glade in a broad stream, -pouring down the defile in a whelming tide. The heavens seemed to have -opened, torrentially; Gard’s bed was beaten down, and the fire was -flooded. Gard himself was almost thrown to earth by the thrashing rain -ere he could reach the cabin, into which he darted, Jinny close at his -heels. - -The shelter was built against huge boulders, out of the track of the -flood from the pool, but the mud and thatch roof leaked like a sieve. It -served, however, to break the fierce violence of the storm, and they -huddled there miserably till the worst should be over. - -The sounds without were like those of a battle: the echoing rattle of -thunder down the cañon; the rending of rocks; the crash of falling -trees; the screaming of the wind—all mingled in a fierce, wild tumult. - -A flash of lightning revealed a great scrub oak, torn from its anchorage -above, crashing down into the glade. The next instant the whole place -seemed filled with some giant thing that raged and snarled, hurling -itself from side to side in mighty struggle. - -It dashed against the fireplace, flinging the great stones of it in -every direction, and fell upon the uprooted tree in a frenzy of titanic -rage. - -Its horrible roaring shook the cabin, and Jinny, pressing against Gard, -was almost beside herself with terror. Gard himself, peering through the -window of the hut, could make out nothing definite, until another flash -suddenly showed him a huge grizzly, reared upon its hind legs, striking -madly at the empty air. - -The storm had moderated, now, and he could hear, as he strained to -listen, the fearful snarls of the bear rising above the roar of the -wind. The threshing tumult of its plunging had ceased, however, and even -the snarling had grown weaker. - -The rain ceased, but the wind still swept the glade, and the pool had -become a lake. Gard was chilled to the bone, but dared not venture -without. He had not heard the grizzly for some time, but Jinny still -cowered against him, trembling. - -At dawn he looked from the window upon a scene of devastation. The -ground was strewn with debris. Great boulders had been hurled down by -the torrent’s force, and beside one ragged block of granite lay the -grizzly, terrible, even in death. One side of its savage head was -crushed in, and a shoulder shattered. - -Jinny was still too terrified to venture outside the hut, but Gard went -out and set to work to restore some semblance of order about the place. - -The roof of the shack was a wreck. Gard had to clear away a part of it -that had fallen, before he could find his precious matches and get a -fire. There were nine of the matches left, and it took two to start a -blaze with the soaked wood. He breakfasted upon dried venison, which he -shared with Jinny, grown catholic in her tastes, and then set about -skinning and dressing the bear. - -He stretched and scraped the great hide, and pinned it out upon the -earth, (it meant warmth and comfort to him through the coming winter -nights,) and cut the meat into long strips, to dry. It would be a -welcome change, later, from venison and rabbit. - -It was noon before his toil was completed and the traces of it so far -removed as to ease Jinny’s perturbation. He was obliged to bathe in the -enlarged pool before she seemed comfortable when near him. - -As he dressed, after his ablutions, his eye caught a broken bit of rock -lying at the water’s edge. He picked it up, a curious tightening in his -throat. - -There is something about the glitter of a streak of yellow in a bit of -rock that would set the heart of the last man on the last unsubmerged -point of earth to beating fast. The piece of float was freshly severed -and the flecks of yellow showed plainly in its split surface. Gard -scrutinized the mud round about, and beyond the pool found another bit -of float. - -Forgetful of all else, he sprang up the cañon. It, too, was full of -debris, witness to the mighty power of the storm. He hardly knew the -place as he climbed along, making a new way for himself; for the swollen -stream roared wildly where but the day before he had been able to walk. - -The cañon walls on either side were wrought and twisted by the action of -ancient heat, scarred and eroded by the force of ancient waters, but -they revealed no fresh break, though he scanned them eagerly. - -He kept on, however; for a quarter of a mile above the pool another bit -of float pointed the way. It was a savage climb, but mounting, circling -and crawling past heaped up boulders and masses of earth, he presently -found progress checked by a landslip, beneath which the rushing water -was already cutting a channel. - -Here lay the vein, uncovered, the gleaming particles in the cloven rock -making the man’s breath come thick as he studied them. - -There was no doubt about it: he had discovered pay rock of the richest -sort. How rich it was he had no means of determining, nor did he then -dream; but he knew that right in sight was more gold than he should be -able to get out with any tool at his command, and hope was already high -within him. - -He stooped and picked up small fragments of broken rock that lay among -the debris. How heavy they were! What power they represented! What -dreams might come true, by the aid of their yellow shine! - -Here was his ticket east. Here was a ticket to the uttermost parts of -the earth. With it he could go away, stand rehabilitated among his -fellows. Golden vistas of power and pleasure spread out before him as he -stood gazing long at the cleft, yellow-flecked rock before him. - -“Whoever runs this outfit,” he whispered, “has remembered it, after -all.” - -It was long before he could bring himself back to reality. Only the -gathering autumn gloom, coming early, in the cañon’s depth, finally -recalled him. He began turning over in his mind the means he must -contrive with which to meet this emergency. If only he had the tools! - -“It’s up to me to make some,” he said aloud, and at the words he -suddenly turned and looked back at the golden vein he was leaving. - -“You’re great!” he shouted; “You’re bully to have; but you ain’t all -there is to it!” - -He spread out his hard hands. “These that can make the things to get you -out with are better yet,” he said, speaking more slowly. - -For he suddenly remembered the pit from which he was digged, and the -man’s heart yearned to his fire beside the clean pool, and for the life -there that he had wrested from nothing. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -Gard and Jinny were on an expedition after salt. The instinct hidden in -the gray little hide was so much more useful in the case than the -thinking machinery beneath the man’s thatch of hair, that she had long -ago led him to a desert supply of this commodity, which he had longed -for, without being able to supply his need. - -He was utilizing the trip in an effort to make Jinny bridlewise, a -proceeding which filled her with great displeasure. She was a sturdy -little brute, of good size for a wild burro, and she bore his weight -without apparent effort; but she had a fondness for choosing her own -direction, and objected, strongly, to the guiding rein. She protested, -now, raising her voice, after the manner of her kind, when Gard, from -her back, essayed to turn her at his will. - -“Jinny! Jinny!” he remonstrated; “Not for the world would I call you -anything but a lady; but I can’t be so mistaken, Jinny! You’re not a -nightingale!” - -Jinny was persistent, however, in her determination to travel eastward, -and although her companion, had he been allowed a preference, would have -elected to go toward the west, he had learned enough about his small -gray friend to be willing to trust her judgment in the matter. - -“Though I must say, Jinny,” he remarked, reproachfully, as he gave her -her head, “that it’s spoiling the making of a good saddle-burro.” - -It was well toward the end of Gard’s second year in the desert. In all -this time he had but once encountered his own kind. - -On that occasion, too, he had been after salt, and he had met a desert -Indian afar on the plain. They had talked together, after a fashion, by -the aid of signs, and Gard had learned that the railroad lay three days -distant, toward the north-west. This was a matter about which he had -often speculated, and he was glad of the information. Because of it, he -proffered the Indian the deputy’s pipe, which he had with him, -happening, on that day, to be wearing Arnold’s coat. The brave took it, -the gift only serving to strengthen his already formed opinion that the -gaunt white man with the great beard was loco. - -It was a year since the discovery in the cañon. Gard had worked the -vein, in a primitive way, making for the purpose a rough mattock, from -his useful wagon-spring. It was by far the best tool he had constructed, -and he regarded it with even more pride and pleasure than he took in the -two heavy little buckskin bags for which he had made a hiding-place in -the chimney of the rehabilitated cabin. - -He had arrived in these days at a strange content. He loved the vast -reaches of his large place; the problems of his elemental environment. -The luminous blue sky, the colorful air, the immensity of the waste -plain, gave him pleasure. Even the weird desert growths no longer -oppressed him. - -“After all, Jinny,” he said, as they threaded their way gingerly past a -great patch of cholla, with its vicious, hooked spines, “there’s as much -life here as there is death. I never sensed it before; but everything’s -got a claw to hang onto life with.” - -The thought of returning to civilization was put away with ever -increasing ease. He had not abandoned the idea, but it came as a more -and more remote possibility. Even his dream of vengeance had long been -put aside. He had learned the futility of hate in the nights when he -watched the great stars wheel by, marking the march of the year. - -“There’s nothing in it,” he had finally said to himself. - -“It ain’t a man’s job to be staking out claims in hell for another -fellow.” - -If Jinny, who heard this, did not understand, she at least offered no -contradiction, being by that much wiser than many of her kind on a -higher plane. - -The desert stretched away before Gard, vast, silent, untamed, at this -moment a thing of gold and flame, touched, far in the distance, by great -cloud-shadows, that sent the man’s gaze from the fierce plain to the -wide blue overhead. But not a cloud was in sight and he realized that, -probably for the hundredth time, he had been deceived by patches of lava -cropping up among the red and yellow sands. - -Something that was not a cloud arrested his attention. Far in the sky -half a dozen great black birds flew, now high, now lower, but circling -always above one spot. Gard watched them with an understanding eye. - -“Jinny,” he said, “There’s something dying, over there. You and I’d -better go see what it is.” - -He had dismounted some time since, and was walking beside the burro. Now -he started forward at a faster pace. It might be only a hurt coyote that -the hideous birds waited for, but it _might_ be a man! The thought -quickened his steps still more, till Jinny had to trot, to keep pace -with him. - -Once an aerial scavenger swooped lower than any other had yet done, and -at the sight the man broke into a run. The birds still kept off, -however. Whatever it was, lying out there, somewhere, it was yet alive. - -They were traveling along the edge of a deep barranca that yawned in the -desert, and presently Gard caught sight of a dark object lying on the -sand, at the bottom of the fissure. It was a man. The banks of the ditch -sloped just there. Evidently he had attempted to cross, and had been -caught in quicksand. - -He was lying on his back, his arms outstretched, his feet wide apart, a -curious rigidity about his whole figure. Gard’s long stride left Jinny -far behind as he ran. - -“Hold on!” he shouted. “Somebody’s coming!” - -There was no response from the man. He lay as one dead, save for the -occasional lifting now of one arm, now of the other. - -Down the sloping bank Gard ran, to the very edge of the shifting sand. -Here he stopped, and began cautiously to tread, his feet side by side, -stamping, stamping, moving forward half an inch at a time, but never -ceasing to tread. He was harried by the need of haste, but he made sure -of his progress as he went, knowing that the sand must be solidly -packed, every inch of the way. - -From time to time he spoke to the man, and at last got a mumbled word or -two from the swollen lips. The need of haste was increasing every -second, and Gard worked breathlessly, now, till at last he could touch -his fellow, lying there. - -Still marking time with his feet upon the sand, he slipped from his own -waist the riata he always carried when he came down to the plain. He had -made it himself of finely braided hide, suppled and wrought with -faithful care, and he knew its strength. Working fast, he raised the -man’s shoulders, ever so little, and slipped the rope beneath his arms. -He knotted it into a loop and adjusted it over his own shoulders. Then, -getting a strong hold with his hands under the man’s arms, he -straightened up. - -The sand slipped, and ran, gurgling horribly, sucking, sucking, loth to -lose its victim, but the pull of rope and hands together counted. Gard -took a backward step and gained a few precarious inches. - -A second time he stooped, and straightened, repeating the performance -again and again, until the man lay upon the trampled path. Gard could -use his strength to better advantage now, and half lifting the dead -weight, he drew it back to the edge of the sand. - -The man was barely conscious, but Gard laid him on the sloping bank and -gave him a little water from his canteen. - -It revived him somewhat, and was repeated, after a moment. He was able -to mumble now, begging for more, which Gard gave him as fast as he -dared, till at last the poor fellow got to his hands and knees, and was -able, with help, to crawl slowly up to the plain. - -Here, Gard soaked a little cake of oat flour in water, and fed him like -a baby, but it was an hour before he was able, after many attempts, to -get the man upon Jinny’s back. - -He could not sit erect, but Gard walked beside him, supporting him, and -the little cavalcade set out for home. The rescued man was half -delirious, and muttered continually, between his pleadings for water, of -the heat; of thirst, and of the vultures. Gard could not make out what -particular disaster had befallen him, but the empty canteen slung at his -back, and the absence of anything like food, or of an outfit, was -eloquent witness that a desert tragedy had been averted. - -Before they had gone far up the trail to the glade the delirious -muttering ceased; the man swayed toward his rescuer until his head -rested upon the latter’s shoulder, and so they went on. Whether he was -asleep, or in a faint, Gard could not tell. - -“He’s had a tough pull, that’s certain, Jinny,” he said, giving the -burro an encouraging pat. - -Could Jinny have spoken she might have said that she was herself having -a hard pull. She had often carried Gard, on the plain, but this dead -weight, on an up-grade, was a brand-new surprise for her. She wagged her -solemn little head sorrowfully as she plodded on, and not even the oat -cake that Gard reached forth to her seemed to impart any charm to life -as she then saw it. - -They reached the glade at last, and Gard got the stranger upon his own -bed, covering him with the great bear-skin robe. He brought him nearly -all that was left of the deputy’s whiskey, cherished carefully all these -months, and set to preparing a meal. - -He kicked aside the smoldering ashes of a nearly burned out fire on the -hard earth, and with a few thrusts of a broad, flat stick, disclosed the -earthen jar of mesquite beans that he had left to cook in his absence. -Simmering with the beans were the marrowbone of a deer and the carcass -of a rabbit caught that morning. The savory whiffs from the steaming -mess made the exhausted man on the bed turn his face to the fire. - -“How in all git out,” he began, feebly, and stared in amazement; for -Gard had flanked the bean-pot with another, taken from the fire he had -quickly kindled by transferring the still smoldering sticks from the -bake-fire to the fireplace. The visitor sniffed at this second pot, -incredulously. - -“Where ’d you git coffee?” he demanded. - -“Sweet acorns,” Gard explained, briefly. He was tasting the full joy of -hospitality as he brought wild honey, and more oat cakes, from the -shack. - -The stranger reached eager hands toward the acorn coffee. - -“Gimme some—hot!” he pleaded. - -Gard filled a crooked earthen bowl with it and brought it to him, -steaming. He drained it, almost savagely, handing the bowl back with a -sigh of satisfaction that left nothing for words to express. - -“Partner,” he said, his little close-set eyes taking in the scene, -wonderingly, “This is sure a great layout. How’d ye find the place, an’ -what’s yer game?” - -“I got up here by chance,” Gard said, evasively. “I liked the spot, and -so I’ve stayed along. My name’s Gard,” he added, remembering that he had -not told it. - -“Mine’s Thad Broome,” the other replied, “an’ I’m runnin’ the hell of a -streak o’ luck.” - -Gard had moved his little table up beside his guest, and now he -proceeded to serve his meal on flat, clay plates of rather nondescript -shape. He had a fork and a spoon, rudely fashioned of wood, and these he -allotted to the stranger. - -“Did you make everything ye’ve got?” Broome demanded, examining them -curiously. - -“Very nearly,” was the reply, and the new-comer began to eat, eagerly. -At intervals, during the meal, he told his story. - -“I’m a cowman myself,” he said, flinging a bone out across the glade, -“An’ if ever I git back on the range ye kin fry me in skunk ile first -time ye ketch me off it.” - -He took another great draught of the acorn coffee, swearing, savagely, -as he set the bowl down. - -“Seems like I’d never git the taste o’ the desert out’n my mouth again,” -he muttered. - -“I was with the ‘K bar C’ outfit,” he went on, “Up Tusayan way. Know -it?” - -Gard shook his head. - -“Then ye’re that much better off,” Broome said, gloomily. “The grub was -fierce; they was a foreman that was seven hull devils all rolled in one, -an’ a range that’d drive ye crazy to ride. I was mighty sick of it, a -while along, an’ I met up with a cuss one day that ’d bin out -prospectin’ an’ struck it rich. So, bein’ a blame fool, I got the -fever.” - -He paused to watch his host, who was gathering the remains of the meal -and putting things shipshape with a certain fine neatness that had -become the habit of Gard’s solitude. - -“D’ye allus put on as much dog as that?” he asked. - -“As much as what?” - -“Cleanin’ camp like an old maid school-ma’am,” was the reply. “Jus’ you -alone: wha’d ye bother for?” - -“It had to be that, or to go on all fours.” Gard offered no further -explanation. Thad Broome’s type was familiar enough; he had foregathered -with it by many a camp fire. He had saved this man from a horrible -death, and the fellow was his guest; yet he realized, with a feeling of -shamed hospitality, that Broome’s presence was irksome. - -“Been here long?” the latter asked. - -“Longer than it has seemed, maybe,” laughed Gard. - -“There’s a difference in things,” he added, lightly. “I guess, now, the -time you were down in the quicksand seemed longer than it really was?” - -“Hell, yes!” Broome was launched again on the stream of his troubles. He -resumed the narrative, sprinkling it liberally with oaths. He had -started out with a full equipment and a good bronco, and the creature -had “died on him,” a week before, in the desert. - -“You should have had a burro,” Gard said. - -“So they said. But I stuck to the idee of a bronc. I ain’t no walkist.” - -“He didn’t last but three weeks,” he added, “an’ when he croaked the -damned buzzards was on ’im before I got out o’ sight.” - -“Where were you going when you struck the quicksand?” the other asked. - -“Tryin’ to strike the railroad, afoot,” was the reply. “It’s me fer -ridin’ when I can. I said I wan’t no walkist. I got turned ’round. I -kep’ lightin’ load, an’ my grub gin out. Then I run out o’ water.” He -gave a shuddering gulp, and continued: - -“I run round a lot, lookin’ fer’t, till I got in the quicksand. That was -just before you hollered, I guess. But them buzzards was Johnny on the -spot the minute I was down. I most went mad with ’em.” - -“Didn’t you have a gun?” Gard asked. “Why didn’t you fire it?” - -“Gun? You bet yer life I had a gun. I fired all my am-nition an’ then I -fergit what. I guess I threw the damned thing away. I got dotty, havin’ -no water.” - -“And there was good water within twenty feet of you,” Gard said, -musingly. - -“How’s that?” Broome’s tone was incredulous. - -“Why didn’t you tap the nigger-head there by the barranca?” his -companion asked. - -“What—the big cactus like a green punkin? What for?” Broome demanded, -and Gard explained the nature of the bisnaga. If he had cut off the top -he would probably have found a quart or two of water. Broome listened -with curious intentness, and when the other had finished, broke into a -torrent of execration. - -He cursed the desert in its nearness and its remoteness, inclusively and -particularly, for several moments, until presently words seemed to fail -him, and the torrent of his oaths dribbled to an intermittent trickle. - -When he finally paused for breath Gard sat as though he had not heard, -staring across the glade at the fire, but Jinny, at his side, seemed all -attention, her long ears pricked forward, her sagacious little visage -turned full upon the stranger. There was something disconcerting in the -attitude of the two, and Broome felt it, without comprehending it. His -voice trailed off weakly. - -“Mebby ye don’t like my remarks,” he said, lamely, “I notice ye don’t -cuss none yerself?” - -“Don’t I?” Gard asked the question in all simplicity. “I didn’t know -it.” - -Broome stared, uneasily, until the other was constrained to take notice. - -“I guess I do,” he laughed, half apologetically. “I guess I swear as -much as anybody, when I feel so,” he added, “but I don’t feel so -much—not nowadays.” - -“Ye kin jus’ bet yer life,” blustered Broome, with a show of being at -ease, “that if ye’d bin through what I have ye’d be ready to cuss the -hull blamed outfit.” - -He laughed loudly, as he spoke, but Gard was replenishing the fire, and -made no reply. - -Long hours after Broome was sleeping, exhausted, his host sat before the -glowing embers. The day’s experiences had brought much to consider. - -For one thing, it was certain that the time had arrived when he must -return to civilization. He could not keep Broome with him, even if the -latter wished to stay. He saw endless possibilities of pain and trouble -in such a partnership. And since he could not keep him, he must himself -go before Broome had a chance to make any explorations. His heart sank -at the prospect. - -“It’s been mighty peaceful here, Jinny,” he whispered to his faithful -little comrade, who dozed beside him in the firelight. “We’ll sure miss -it.” - -Jinny shifted her weight in her sleep, and her head drooped lower. - -“One thing, old girl,” Gard said, regarding her, whimsically, “You don’t -have to think about it. A man’s different; he knows when he’s well off, -and hates to leave it.” - -He glanced about him. The firelight touched fitfully the encircling -trees, the great rocks, the open door of the shack where Broome lay -asleep, the gleaming pool. Above in the violet depths, blazed the -dipper; how many times he had watched it patrol the sky! - -“I hate to go,” he whispered, again, “I hate to go, Jinny; but good as -’tis, I know it ain’t really life. A man belongs with men. They may be -good or they may be bad; but a man’s got to take ’em as he meets up with -’em. He can’t be a real man forever, just by himself.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -The first touch of dawn saw Gard awake and stirring. He went softly -about the glade, feeding Jinny in her little corral off at one side, and -preparing his own breakfast. The meal finished, he left food where his -guest could find it, and made his way up the cañon. He had settled in -his own mind that if Broome was able to travel they should leave the -glade on the following day; but there was first something that he must -do. - -The forenoon was well advanced when Broome stirred, opened his eyes and -sat up with a start. He was a moment or two realizing his surroundings -and recalling the events that had brought him to this place. - -He sat staring at the cabin; at the rough mud-and-stone walls; the -primitive fireplace; the rude furnishings, and finally summed up his -impressions in a phrase: - -“Hell! What a layout!” - -Then, remembering Gard’s probable proximity, he went heavily to the -door. - -There was no one in sight. In the big outer fireplace an “Indian” fire -smoldered, guarded on one side by the earthen coffee-pot, on the other -by the big kettle of beans. On the table were a bowl and a plate; the -former upside down over some cakes of oat bread. Broome welcomed the -sight, for he was hungry. - -“Wonder where the _patron_ got to so early,” he muttered as he fell upon -the food. - -He ate swinishly, standing before the fire, and had nearly completed his -meal when he caught sight of the inscription Gard had put upon the cup -from which he was drinking. His little shifty eyes studied it curiously -as he turned the cup about. - -“What in tunk is that for?” he muttered, perplexed, and when he had -managed to decipher the words he nearly dropped the little vessel in his -surprise. - -“T-h-e c-u-p o-f f-o-r-g-i-v-e-n-e-s-s,” he spelled again, holding the -cup up to the light and feeling the sunken letters with one hard finger. -“Rummy kind o’ cup that’d be.” - -He stooped to refill it with “coffee” from the blackened pot in the -embers and, as he straightened up, his eye met another inscription, on a -broad stone beside the door of the cabin. He read it aloud, laboriously: - -“_Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee._” - -“‘Peace’—‘peace.’” Broome looked about him, half dazed, groping in the -void of his own spiritual habitation for an explanation of what he saw. - -“There’s sure peace good an’ plenty in these diggings,” he muttered, “if -that’s what a man’s aimin’ to locate; peace enough to drive him loco. -Guess that’s what ails him. He must be a jumpin’ luny to go scratchin’ -round like this.... There’s another one!” - -He espied it on the wall over the pallet where he had slept. - -“_I will both lay me down in peace and sleep; for Thou Lord only, makest -me dwell in safety._” - -Gard had written that the day after the night of terror when storm had -devastated the glade; written it remembering how his mother had taught -it to him, an imaginative little chap, afraid of the dark. He had been -saying his prayers one night, beside his cot in the shed-chamber, when -he became afraid the SOMETHING was coming through the gloom to grab him -from behind as he knelt. His mother, coming to tuck him up, found him -cowering under the blankets and winning from him the secret of his -fright, sat down beside him and taught him the beautiful verse. Broome, -reading it now, experienced a feeling of dread. - -“Peace again,” he growled, “I hope he gets peace enough with all his -bug-house slate-writing. The feller’s hell on religion; shouldn’t wonder -if he was a preacher.” - -He turned away with an awed shiver. - -“Gosh!” he ejaculated, “I’m glad I didn’t see that over my head last -night. I couldn’t a’ slept a wink.” - -He went outside again to fill and drink another cup of acorn coffee, and -when his bodily hunger was satisfied left the debris of his meal on the -hearth and wandered about the glade, seeking gratification of his -objective curiosity. - -“Why!” he exclaimed, when he discovered Jinny, in the corral, “The -_patron_ can’t be far off: he’s left the burro!” - -He surveyed Jinny thoughtfully, as she stood at the far side of the -corral. Then he wandered over to Gard’s rude pottery-factory. - -“I’d like to know what the cuss is doin’ here,” he thought. “He’s made -his outfit from the ground up.” - -He was struck by that as he continued his roving scrutiny. Gard’s bow -and arrows fairly frightened him. - -“That fellow’s clean dotty,” he muttered. “What in thunder kin a live -man do with that?” - -Presently he found the first knife Gard had fashioned, laid upon a ledge -of the camp fireplace, and turned it over like one bewildered. - -“Shivering spooks!” he swore, softly; “If this _ain’t_ an outfit! He -don’t look like a ‘lunger,’” he added, referring again to Gard; “nor -this ain’t no prospector’s layout; nor the cuss don’t seem locoed—not -altogether. It’s what I thought. He’s some kind of a preacher. He don’t -cuss none, an’ he seemed sorter quiet like last night. He didn’t act -just like it, though, neither.” - -Born of desire, another idea assailed him. “Wonder where he keeps his -whiskey,” he mused. “That was a hell of a good sample he showed last -night.” - -He began to search more systematically, still keeping an alert eye for -Gard’s possible return. - -“They ain’t no hiding-place outside,” he decided, and turned his -attention once more to the cabin. He had no idea what sort of a -receptacle to look for, and a scrutiny of the corners revealed nothing. -He crossed the room, to the fireplace, and suddenly gave a little start. -He had made what promised to be a discovery. - -He tiptoed to the door: no one was in sight, but he stepped outside and -again made the round of the glade. Coming back, he took the precaution -to close the door when he reëntered the hut. - -At the fireplace again, he stooped and put both hands upon a stone -half-way up one side of the rude chimney. As he had foreseen, it came -away in response to a little lift—Gard’s hiding-place for his treasure -had been a most casual thing at best—and a recess lay revealed. - -Again Broome listened for sounds outside, ere he lifted first one, then -the other, of the two buckskin bags that lay before him. - -They were not large; but they were very heavy, and a peep into one -revealed the yellow gleam that he had expected. - -The little eyes glittered, and the man’s fingers opened and shut, -clawlike, but he closed the bag, tying its buckskin string, and put it -back. There were some papers with the bags, but he would look at those -later. - -He fitted the stone back into place, scrutinizing it keenly afterwards, -to be sure that he had left no signs of his meddling. - -“The sneakin’ cuss!” he snarled, moving back from the chimney. “He’s got -a mine up here! That’s what he was so sly about last night. He’s gone -there now, an’ he thinks he’ll keep me out of it. I’ll bet he’s up there -covering his tracks.” - -He was outside, now, muttering wrathfully. “No ye don’t, my smart -coyote,” he sneered, “Yer kin just bet yer sweet life Thad Broome sits -in this game, sure!” - -He went the rounds again, scouting eagerly, till his trained plainsman’s -eyes detected a faint trail leading over the rocks at one side of the -stream. - -It was but the suggestion of a pathway, trodden by Gard’s moccasined -feet, but it was enough for the pryer’s sharpened senses. A moment later -Broome had skirted the pool, and was hot on the scent. - -The trail grew clearer as he followed it, and he pressed on, a growing -rage in his heart, toward the man who had found a good thing and was -keeping him out of it, after all that he had suffered. Curiously enough, -it was only his own part in yesterday’s adventure that he remembered. -Gard’s agency in his rescue and present safety was forgotten or ignored. - -Half an hour’s cautious travel, and his ear caught a sound somewhere -beyond. He crept on stealthily from one sheltering boulder to another, -keeping carefully out of sight, until at last, clambering upon a -shelving rock, he peered down upon Gard at work below him. - -The cañon was very deep here, its walls towering, bare and grim, -hundreds of feet in air. A great mass of piled-up rock nearly bridged -the stream, and Broome could plainly see the nature of the vein that had -been laid bare. Its promise fairly made him gasp. - -He could see, as well, what Gard was doing. - -On the face of the rock, close beside the opening where he had worked -the claim, he had scratched his location notice, roughly enough, with -his inadequate tools, but in letters perfectly legible, defining clearly -the boundaries of his claim as he had staked it out. - -Having done this, he had gone over the letters again, with charcoal, -until they stared in inerasable distinctness from the rock. Now he stood -at a little distance, regarding his finished work. - -“The damned, sneakin’ swine,” muttered the watcher. “I’ll git even with -him; he’s staked the mother-lode.” - -He leaned forward eagerly to watch, as Gard moved toward the opening in -the rock. What was he going to do next? - -He saw him stoop for something, and crept nearer the edge of the rock, -forgetful of concealment. Attracted by some slight sound Gard suddenly -glanced up and looked the spy full in the face. In an instant Broome had -sprung upon him and was clutching at the mattock which the other had -just picked up. - -“Think yer goin’ ter kill me with that, do yer?” Broome snarled. “I’ll -show yer!” He struck at Gard’s eyes, at the same time striving to wrench -the tool from him. - -Half blinded by the onslaught, the other clinched, instinctively, with -his foe, and a grim battle began. - -Back and forth it raged, across the bit of sandy floor at the base of -the rocks, each man striving for possession of the tool. - -Broome was powerfully built, and he had rested from the agony of the day -before. He was the heavier of the two, and he fought with an insane fury -that pressed his antagonist back against the cliff before Gard had well -recovered from the shock of his attack. - -Fiercely, silently the two struggled until Gard, momentarily securing -the mattock, flung it afar upon the sand. Broome gave a shriek of savage -rage, and would have sprung for it, but the other man closed upon him -and caught him with one powerful arm about the neck, pressing his face -earthward. - -Desperately Broome grasped the other’s body, striving to break that iron -hold, but Gard’s blood was up, and he “saw red,” as his free arm rained -blows upon the other’s back. - -Strain as he would Broome could not break free, nor trip his foe. The -fellow seemed made of iron, and the hammering of that fearful fist was -driving the breath from his body. He gathered his forces for a last -effort, but his breath already came in gasps, and he sank in a heap upon -the sand. - -Gard hauled him to his feet, fiercely. - -“Stand up!” he shouted, as he faced him about. - -Broome would have fallen again, but Gard upheld him, forcing him forward -over the rocks, back toward camp. Once he turned, as if he would strike, -but a glance at that fierce, set face herded him on again, cowed and -stumbling. - -“What are ye goin’ ter do to me?” he demanded, at last, tortured by -Gard’s silence. There was no reply. - -“I’ve as good a right in the cañon as you,” Broome persisted. He was in -that state of hysterical strain that could not refrain from speech. - -“I wouldn’t have touched ye if ye hadn’t come at me with that pick,” he -lied. Still not a word from Gard, and Broome kept quiet till they -reached camp, and Gard produced a rope. - -It was the same with which he had dragged the fellow from the sand the -day before; the loop that had been about his body was still in one end. -The cowman shrieked when he saw it. - -“What are ye goin’ to do to me?” he screamed. “By God! You tell me! -What’s that thing fer?” - -He sprang upon Gard again, and was tossed back like a child. A moment -later he was lying upon the ground, bound hand and foot, and Gard -towered above him. - -“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, in cold scorn; “What would -you do to me, if I was where you are?” - -Broome glared his hate, and fear. “Yah!” he snarled, “I’d kill yer. I’ll -kill yer yet, if yer don’t look out.” - -For reply the other gathered him up, dragged him into the cabin and -threw him upon the bed there. Then he went outside. - -Gard was in a state of amazement. He looked at his own brown hands, and -rolling up a sleeve of his buckskin shirt gazed upon his own right arm, -lean, sinewy, knotted with iron muscles. He contracted, then relaxed it, -slowly, and finally struck himself a resounding blow on the chest. Then -he laughed, under his breath. - -“And all this time,” he said, in a sort of wonder, “I’ve thought I was a -rather sick man.” - -He walked over to the corral where Jinny’s shaggy head showed over the -barrier. There was keen joy in his swift stride, and in the new sense of -power, and physical well-being, that filled him. - -“Jinny,” he said, tweaking one of the long ears pricked forward to -welcome him, “I guess the right place for me is here in the corral.” - -He regarded the little burro thoughtfully. - -“I hate to break it to you, old girl,” he went on, “But you’ve got to -carry that load of dirt and poison down to the desert again. It’s the -only way.” - -He turned again and busied himself about the camp, clearing away the -debris of Broome’s meal, and putting the place to rights. He brought out -the largest of his willow baskets, one that he had made to fit Jinny’s -back, and proceeded to fill it from his food-stores. Broome, within the -shack, watched his movements whenever he came within range, but he had -learned his lesson, and asked no questions. Later in the day Gard -brought him food, and released his hands that he might eat, but neither -man spoke, and when Broome had finished eating his captor bound him -again. - -Dusk was falling when Gard next came into the cabin. He had changed his -buckskin garments for those he had worn two years before. He had been -saving them for such a day of need. - -“I’m going to untie your feet,” he said to Broome, “and you’re coming -outside.” - -He did as he had said, and Broome followed him out. - -Jinny stood there, equipped with a home-made bridle and a sort of saddle -of deer-skin. Leaning against a rock was a hamper closely packed. Gard -had put out the big camp fire and the place already wore an air of -desolation. - -Inside the cabin, alone, Gard looked about with poignant regret. - -“It’s sure time to go,” he told himself, sorrowfully, “But I hate to.” - -He turned to the hiding-place in the chimney and secured the buckskin -bags, and the papers. - -“There’s _that_ to attend to, too,” he murmured, fumbling the rumpled -and stained sheets. - -“It’s been a good place,” he thought, as he shut the door of the -shelter, and looked about outside. “To think what I was when I came -here. Whatever ... yes, it’s the truth: it’s been the making of me.” - -He came and stood beside Broome. - -“You get on the burro,” he said. - -The man demurred. “I’d rather walk,” he objected. - -“I didn’t ask you what you’d rather do,” was the reply. Gard was in no -mood to bandy words, and a look at his face convinced the other that -obedience was best. - -When he was settled Gard proceeded to blindfold him, whereat the cowman -swore fiercely under his breath. - -“I’ll tell you now, Broome,” Gard said, when he felt sure that the -blindfold was secure, “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of long ’s you -behave yourself. I won’t leave you in the desert, but I’ll run no risk -of your ever finding your way back here. You wear that blind till I see -fit to take it off, and that’ll be when we’re good and well away on the -plain.” - -He shouldered the willow hamper. - -“Come along, Jinny,” he said, without looking around again, and in the -gathering dusk the outfit took its way down the dry wash to the desert. - - - END OF BOOK ONE - - - - - BOOK TWO - THE SIN-BUSTER - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -It was supper-time at the Sylvania Palace Grille. Sylvania was an -outfitting town for prospectors and cow-punchers, and the occupants of -the little oilcloth-covered tables in the “Grille” were almost -exclusively of these two classes. The telephone operator and the -express-agent had already taken their meal, and their departure, and -this was not the day for the tri-weekly stage, the driver of which -sometimes patronized Mrs. Hallard’s rotisserie. - -Sing Fat and Sing Gong, the two Chinese waiters, slipped about attending -to the demands of patrons, and Mrs. Hallard herself, from behind a -counter, kept tabs on the room and set out the liquid refreshments that -the various customers called for. - -The place was full of noise and bustle. The rattle of heavy crockery, -the clink of steel knives and forks, the raking of boots and spurs over -the plank floor, the clamor of voices and the monotonous sing-song of -the two Chinese calling orders to the cook, made up a medley in which, -Mrs. Hallard was wont to declare, she could hardly hear herself think. - -Despite this handicap, however, very little escaped her. She managed to -hear, with no apparent difficulty, Steve Salton’s gently preferred -request that she “chalk up” the amount of his bill, and to catch his -mumbled replies to her swift interrogatories as to his prospects for -paying. - -“It’s all right if you’re going to have it,” she said, with -business-like crispness. “But I ain’t here for my health, you know. I -want to see the color of your dust before too long.” - -“That’s reasonable,” was Steve’s reply. “You’ll see yer pay O. K. -soon ’s I locate, an’ I’m bound to when—” - -“Cut it out!” Mrs. Hallard was already pushing change across the counter -to another customer. “It’s chalked up, Steve.” - -“Kate! oh, Kate!” The voice of an old habitué came across the bedlam of -sound: “Tell one o’ them pigtailed lumps o’ sin,” it went on, “to fetch -me another pony o’ that white pizen o’ your’n, quicker!” - -“Gong,” the presiding genius of the place said calmly to one of the -China boys, “Go tell Tombstone he don’t need no more gin. Tell ’im I -said so.” - -Gong carried the message, delivering it over his shoulder as he set -another customer’s order of “ham and” before him. Tombstone’s face, when -he received it, was worthy of his name. - -“Hell!” he ejaculated to anyone who might listen, “That’s what comes o’ -hashin’ off ’n a woman.” - -He was still muttering gloomily when he went up to the desk to pay his -score. - -“Kate,” he said with drunken gravity, as he swayed before her, “The love -o’ tyranny’s a bad thing in a man. It’s plumb perilous fer a female.” - -Mrs. Hallard glanced from his money to him. - -“What’s eatin’ you, Tombstone?” she demanded, ringing up the -cash-register. - -“’T ain’t me. It’s you, The love o’ power air devourin’ you to that -extent you can’t serve a man his rations without cuttin’ ’em short. It -were plumb tyrannical in you to send me that there message about the -gin.” - -Mrs. Hallard’s handsome black eyes surveyed him coldly. - -“When a gent’s that far in he goes howlin’ a lady’s Christian name in -public like you done just now,” she said, “it’s a sign he don’t need no -more at present. There’s your change, Tombstone. Now vâmose!” - -“Jake Lowrey!” she sent her voice level across the reeking room to where -a big, shaggy miner was disputing with one of the Chinamen, “This here’s -an eatin’-house. ’T ain’t a cussin’ bee. If you don’t like the victuals -served you, you know what you kin do. But while you’re in here you quit -swearin’.” - -“I ain’t a cussin’ fer cussin’s sake,” the big miner pleaded, above the -laughter of the others. “I’m only inquirin’ into the nature o’ this here -sunny-side Fat’s fetched me with my hash.” - -“What color is it?” the proprietor of the eating-house asked, and the -egg on Jake’s plate immediately became the center of all attention. - -“It’s yeller,” its owner called, surveying it critically. - -“Naw ’t ain’t neither; it’s red,” another observer decided. - -“It’s a lie. It’s just the color of an orange, an’ oranges is yeller, -ain’t they?” This from a third critic. - -“If it’s yeller it’s a new-laid egg,” Mrs. Hallard pronounced, -judicially. “If it’s red, it’s a fresh egg. Any other hen-fruit in this -place is ranch eggs, unless it’s chickens, an’ we don’t serve them on -the half-shell.” - -During the silence that followed this elucidation of the egg question -the outside door of the place opened hesitatingly, and a young Mexican -girl looked in. Mrs. Hallard nodded, and she entered, leading by the -hand a blind countryman who carried a guitar. The pair were evidently -well known to Mrs. Hallard’s patrons, and through the thick cloud of -tobacco smoke that filled the room a number of the men shouted their -greetings. - -“_Buenos noches_, Conchita.” - -“Howdy, Buttercup.” - -“Put her here, ’Chita!” - -The girl responded to each greeting with a flash of white teeth. A -number of new-comers flocked in after her, finding seats and shouting -their orders to the China-boys. - -“Come on, ’Chita, hit ’er up!” some one called. - -The girl had guided her companion to a chair, and the latter now twanged -a few notes upon his guitar. Presently Conchita began to dance, slowly, -at first, gradually quickening the pace, as she flitted back and forth -in the little open space before the counter. - -By degrees this space became too confined for her movements, and she -drifted, like a bit of thistledown, along the aisles between the tables. - -When she came opposite Jake Lowrey she gave a quick little leap and -sprang upon the table before him, where she pirouetted among the bottles -of condiments, and the tall glass of beer over which he was lingering. -She skirted them all, daintily, her twinkling feet never still. - -Suddenly she paused, balancing marvelously upon one toe, the other -outstretched before the man. Lowrey’s hand was already in his pocket, -now it came out holding a silver coin which he placed upon the -outstretched toe. In an instant it was snapped into the air and caught -by the whirling dancer as it came down. A chorus went up from the -assembly. - -“Here y’ are, Conchita!” “You know me, ’Chita.” “Put ’er here, little -gal!” The men bid openly for the dancer’s favor, making haste to clear -their tables as an inducement for her to notice them. - -She sprang from Jake’s table to another, across the aisle, and repeated -her graceful, agile performance, weaving in and out among the dishes, -kissing her fingers and smiling. Thus she wandered from table to table, -picking her favorites and taking toll of each, going wilfully, it -seemed, from silver lure held plainly in sight, to tables where much -less was offered. - -In and out she flashed, now here, now there, until it became apparent to -all that she was working, step by step, toward the one table whose -occupant had extended no invitation. - -This one was in a corner of the room, and at it sat a young man who was -to all appearances neither a prospector nor a cowboy, though he wore a -certain indefinable air of the plain. It showed in the bronze of his -face, where it was not covered by a crisp brown beard, of a cut not worn -by the usual desert-dweller; in his big, strong, tanned hands, that were -supple and deft, despite the marks of hard work upon them, and in the -steady, farseeing gaze of his brown eyes. - -The little dancer was close to the stranger’s table now, and bending low -to avoid a hanging lamp, she sprang upon it, and calling something to -the guitar-player, set her feet a-twinkle through a bewildering maze of -perfectly calculated steps. - -She glided about the edge of her tiny stage; she blew lightly across it; -she whirled madly in the centre of it. Everyone in the room gazed, -spell-bound, realizing that their pet dancer was outdoing herself on -this occasion. - -Through it all the girl’s eyes never left the face that was upturned to -her gaze, the brown eyes regarding her with a sort of consideration that -no others in the room had shown. Admiration, challenge, desire, those -other eyes had betrayed, but these were different. Their quiet -questioning held no reproach; they were full of friendliness, and of -interest, and the coin that was presently laid upon her out-thrust toe -was cheerfully, even gaily proffered, but the girl suddenly felt that -both the interest and the gaiety were different from her own. - -She tossed the silver dollar in air and caught it, with a nod of thanks. -Then she sprang to the floor and ran up the aisle to where the blind -Mexican still strummed his guitar strings. - -“_Este bestante!_” she cried, pouring her earnings into his deep-crowned -hat. “_No mas._” - -She kissed her fingers gaily to the applauding men and turned toward the -door. Only Kate Hallard’s keen eyes noted, without seeming to see, that -she had knotted one silver coin into a corner of her kerchief, and -slipped it into her bosom. - -No more visitors came into the Palace Grille. Sylvania had supped, and -the men at the tables one by one came forward when the girl had gone, to -pay their bills and slip out into the street. In the shortest of five -minutes all were gone save the stranger in the corner, and the two -Chinese, who padded softly about, putting the place to rights. - -Kate Hallard had seen the stranger throughout mealtime. She noted, -moreover, that he had more than one glance for her, the while he sat -taking his supper in a deft, dainty way that some men get from much -eating out of doors. - -She was accustomed to being watched. More than one habitué of the place -had taken his turn at gazing at her, during the year that she had been -running the Palace Grille. She was not unpleasant to look at, if a man -were not over-sensitive about some things. She had an abundance of fair -hair that was not bleached, despite the contrast of her black, -long-lashed eyes. They were handsome eyes, if bolder and harder than -they might have been if life itself had been less hard and bold for this -woman of the desert. - -That it _had_ been hard was told by the cold, steady gaze of the dark -eyes; by the worn line of the cheek, and by the half contemptuous, half -tolerant set of thin lips that ought still to be full, and curved, and -red. - -As she glanced over at the stranger, when both the boys were out of the -room, he left his seat and came down to the counter. He was taller than -she had thought, she noted, and very slender. Despite this latter fact, -however, he gave an impression of more than usual strength and activity. -“He’d be one blame hard man to down,” she thought, in the instant before -he was leaning upon the counter, tendering the price of his meal. - -“This must be a mighty uncomfortable life for a woman,” he said in a -matter of fact way, watching her register the payment. - -“Mebby,” she answered, shortly. He spoke again, with a sort of gentle -persistence. - -“I shouldn’t think you’d care much about it?” There was a questioning -quality in his voice, that Mrs. Hallard felt would presently win an -answer, whether she would or no. She went on “ridding up” the counter, -and set a bottle of “square-face” back on the shelf behind her, with -rather unnecessary energy. - -“Don’t know as my caring about it would make any difference,” she -finally said. “Leastways it never made none to me, an’ I guess it -needn’t to nobody else.” This last was said with some significance of -emphasis. - -“I know,” the stranger spoke half absently. “But I’d have thought,” he -continued, looking up, “that you would have preferred to keep to the -range.” - -A startled look came into the hard black eyes. - -“What do you mean?” Kate Hallard cried. “What do _you_ know about the -range? Who be you, anyway?” - -“Did you sell it?” the stranger persisted, ignoring her questions. - -“Sell it!” she burst out, shrilly. “If you know anything about it, you -know I never got a chance to sell it. It melted; it never got to be -mine.” - -Her voice had risen until the sound brought Sing Fat in from the kitchen -to observe. Seeing this, she lowered it. - -“Look a’ here, Mister,” she said, sharply, “If you’re as wise as you’re -tryin’ to make out, you know how I got done outer the range.” - -“I honestly don’t know,” was the reply. “I found your deed, and I’ve -been hunting you up to give it to you.” - -She stared at him, in a sort of awe. - -“You found that deed?” she whispered. - -“Yes; I have it. But how did you lose the property?” - -She left off her desultory arranging of bottles, and leaned toward him, -across the counter. - -“Hallard bought the range off’n an Easterner named Oliphant,” she began. -“He was goin’ to stock it, an’ then you’d never a’ seen me here. He’s -got the deed all square, an’ he leaves it with me till he goes down to -Phoenix to record it. Then he goes and gits killed bustin’ an outlaw -horse fer Hod Granger, and leaves me to manage fer myself.” - -The stranger uttered a little murmur of sympathy. - -“But you had the deed,” he suggested, as Mrs. Hallard seemed lost in -thought. - -“Oh, yes! I had it all right. But I give it to Frank Arnold to record -fer me. He was goin’ down to Phoenix, an’ I guess they was some hoodoo -onto it; fer Frank, he got killed too—got killed in a cloudburst—an’ -when they found his body every bone in it was broke an’ they was hardly -a rag onto it. So the deed was lost.” - -“But surely this man Oliphant would have made it right for you?” - -“Would he though? That’s where you ain’t guessin’ right.” Mrs. Hallard’s -laugh had no mirth in it. - -“That’s what they told me,” she said. “An’ so I see a lawyer, an’ he -undertakes to write Oliphant, that’s gone back east. But after a spell -he comes an’ tells me the sneakin’ thief’s gone an’ sold that prop’ty -twice, an’ cleared out. Think o’ that, will you, an’ him a old, old -man.... Out here fer his health, he was. Lord! if he don’t need a hotter -climate ’n even this is.” - -“Was the second deed recorded?” - -“You bet your life it was. The man that’d bought it saw to that, an’ he -didn’t have the luck to git killed, neither.” - -“I must say he tried to act decent, though,” Mrs. Hallard added, “but o’ -course he’d paid his money fer the prop’ty, same ’s Ed Hallard did, an’ -Ed, he paid twelve thousand.” - -“Yes, I know.” The stranger had the deed in his hand. “What did the man -do for you?” he asked. - -“Well: not much, but mebby he wouldn’t a’ done that if it hadn’t bin fer -Mr. Westcott—” - -“_Who_ did you say?” The stranger’s gentle voice suddenly sharpened to -keen interest. - -“Ash Westcott. He was my lawyer,” Mrs. Hallard explained. - -“It was he who told you about the second sale?” - -“Sure! How else ’d I know?” - -“I see.” He stood pondering her story until at last she took up the tale -again. - -“Mr. Westcott—he talked it over with the man that bought it. I didn’t -have nothin’ but my word to back me; an’ as he told me, I really -couldn’t make a claim, an’ I didn’t have no case to go after Oliphant -with. But the other feller he give me three hundred dollars fer a quit -claim, an’ that set me up here.” - -“You gave a quit claim?” - -“Just to make the man feel easy. Westcott said it’d be the best way. He -was mighty kind about raisin’ the money fer me. I hadn’t a red after I’d -settled up Ed’s debts an’ small matters.” - -“Here’s your deed.” - -She took it, eagerly, and they pored over it together. The stranger -pointed to a signature at the end of the acknowledgment. - -“Do you know that man?” he asked. - -She studied the name. “Never hearn of him,” she said, “What’s he got to -do with it?” - -“He was the notary before whom the deed was acknowledged,” was the -reply. “If we could get hold of him we might learn something, and I -think it would pay you to try to find out something from Oliphant.” - -“I don’t know where he is,” was the bitter response, “an’ if I did, I -tell you I ain’t got a cent to do anything with. I ain’t more ’n makin’ -a livin’ here.” - -“I guess that could be fixed,” the stranger said. “I’ve got some.” - -She looked him over, fixedly, with her black eyes. - -“An’ where do you come in?” she demanded. - -He laughed, ever so gently. - -“I’m not figuring about that,” he answered. “But if I were you, and -could get hold of the money to do it, I’d try and see this thing -through; and,” he added, significantly, “I guess I’d hunt up some other -lawyer than this Mr. Westcott.” - -He met her gaze without hesitation. - -“There’s some folks does say Westcott’s sharp,” she said, slowly. “Be -you one of ’em?” - -The man smiled, without speaking. - -“I don’t believe it,” Kate Hallard mused. “He wouldn’t dare. Besides,” -she added, after a little thought, “he’d a known he was fair skinnin’ -me, and he was the one tried to see to it I had a little money out’n it. -He wouldn’t a’ taken my last nickel.” - -A strange look came into the man’s face. “Maybe he didn’t spend much -time reflecting on that,” he said, slowly. “Anyway, if I were you I’d -see about it, and I guess the money can be found.” - -“You ain’t told me yet who you be,” Kate Hallard remarked, studying him -narrowly. - -“My name is Gabriel Gard.” - -“Well, Mister Gabriel Gard,” she said, “I never hearn of _you_ before, -an’ I ain’t sure I understand as well ’s I wanter before I make any -deals.” - -“You can trust me,” Gard said, simply, meeting her eyes. - -“And this Westcott,” she exclaimed, sharply, “If he’s done me so! If he -has—” - -She gripped the counter, her teeth showing, savagely. - -“Easy!” said Gard quietly, “Better keep cool. The man ain’t worth riling -yourself up over. Besides, I believe we can do something, with this.” - -He touched the deed, and she picked it up again. - -“I want to try to get hold of Oliphant,” he began, outlining his plan, -“and this notary, Arthur Sawyer.” - -Kate Hallard regarded him with an unwonted expression of mingled -helplessness and perplexity. - -“Oliphant’s gone back east as I said,” she answered, “An’ this here -Sawyer ’s new to me. I never knew nothing about him.” - -Gard stood considering, a long sequence of unexpected difficulties -developing itself before his mind. He had found the Hallard deed among -the deputy’s papers, and had kept it carefully, against such time as he -could restore it to the owner. His first act after leaving Broome, when -the pair reached the railroad track, had been to go to Yuma. Here he -acquired the habiliments of civilization, and found a temporary home for -Jinny. He had stopped in Tucson long enough to file his claim there, and -then set about finding the Edward Hallard to whom the deed referred. It -was a matter of a fortnight before his inquiries revealed the fact of Ed -Hallard’s death, and the whereabouts of his widow. Now he had no way of -judging how long it might be before he could strike the trail of this -unknown Arthur Sawyer who had taken the acknowledgment of the deed. - -In any event, he realized that the delay meant postponement of certain -cherished plans of his own; perhaps danger to them. He had met a man at -Yuma, and another in Tucson, who had known him as Barker, and though -they had not recognized him, so greatly was he changed, still he could -not ignore the possibility that any day someone might remember him. -Until his plans were perfected, the territory was perilous ground for -him. - -He frowned a moment, lost in thought; then he squared his shoulders and -met Mrs. Hallard’s gaze with eyes that were full of steady peace. He had -made up his mind. His own matters must wait until he had straightened -out this woman’s tangle of wrong. - -“We’ve got to find this man Sawyer,” he repeated, “And I hardly know -where to begin trailing him. We’ve got to get hold of Westcott, too; you -say he’s at Tucson?” - -“He lives there,” was the reply; “or did last I knew. I ain’t heard from -him in a long time now. No need to.” - -“Well: I guess the best thing to do first, is to write to him. You tell -him you’ve found your deed: no need to say how. We’ll see what he’s got -to say, and—” There was the least perceptible hesitation, “if he comes -up here, and you want me to,” he continued evenly, “I’ll talk with him -for you.” - -Mrs. Hallard looked relieved. - -“You’re mighty good,” she cried, “Fact is I’m afraid ... you see, I....” - -The outer door was pushed open and a big Mexican vaquero put in his -head. - -“What’s up, Manuel?” Mrs. Hallard asked. - -The vaquero hesitated: “_No mas_ supper?” he said, tentatively. - -“Supper all right,” was the reply. “You’re late, Manuel. What you doin’ -off the range?” - -The Mexican made a laughing gesture, crooking up his elbow. Mrs. Hallard -frowned, noting his condition. - -“You don’t git no booze here,” she said, “You’ve had enough. Fat’ll -bring you some coffee an’ you eat a meal an’ git back on the range. You -had trouble enough last time, I should think.” - -The fellow sat down, shamefacedly, and Sing Fat came in to serve him. A -moment later another customer entered. - -“That’s always the way it goes,” Kate Hallard commented, “One straggler -always brings another. They’ll come dribblin’ in now, one at a time, -till closin’-time.... But I say, Mr. Gabriel Gard, don’t you go thinkin’ -I don’t appreciate what you’ve done. I’ll write Westcott like you say, -an’ mebby it’ll come out all right; but I ain’t much hopeful of it. -Things don’t, much, outside o’ story books.” - -The hard look was in her face again. Gard met it with his steady smile. - -“You watch this one come out right,” said he. “I guess things mostly are -right, if we could see ’em straight.” He was turning toward the door. - -“We’re liable sometimes to pick ’em up by the wrong end,” he added. -“We’ll find out which is the right end of this before we lift it, and -then—” the smile deepened, and included the dark eyes—“Then we’ll lift,” -he called back as he closed the door behind him. - -Sylvania’s one business street was lighted only by the stars, and the -feebler rays that shone from a few illuminated windows. In the yellow -glare from one of these a group of cowboys were dismounting by the rail -of Jim Bracton’s Happy Family Saloon. - -“Howdy, Stranger,” one of them called, as he stumbled against Gard on -reaching the ground, “Excuse _me_.” - -He glanced a second time at Gard’s face and smiled, genially. “Thinkin’ -o’ minglin’ up in this mad whirl?” he asked, “Come on.” And together -they entered the precincts of the Happy Family. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -The scene in which Gard found himself was of a sort he had known -familiarly enough in years past. The low-ceilinged shanty, rough-boarded -and blackened; the sawdust-strewn floor, the painted bar with its -distorting mirror and motley array of bottles, and even the faces of the -men showing duskily through the smoke-veiled light of flaring coal-oil -lamps, seemed to him like details of a half-forgotten dream. - -The evening was fairly begun and the place was filling. A group of -prospectors near the bar were listening derisively to the brand-new -theory one of their number was propounding, regarding the whereabouts of -the lost Peg-leg mine. At the farther end of the room the thump of a -broken-down wheel-of-fortune and the monotonous calls of its -manipulator, proclaimed the occupation of the crowd of Mexicans gathered -there. Some cowboys at a table near the door were engaged in a game of -dominoes, and beyond them three or four men were playing poker. Gard -noticed with some surprise that one man of this group was an Indian, who -seemed to be betting freely. - -“That there’s old Joe Papago,” the cowboy who had come in with him -volunteered, noting his glance. “Old Joe, he’s the best-fixed Injun -’round here. I hearn he sold ten head o’ beef cows over t’ Tucson, -yesterday, an’ got his money. Must ’a’ got whiskey, too, by the looks of -’im.” - -He put a foot on the bar rail and surveyed the scene tolerantly. - -“There’s a mighty ornery bunch o’ human buzzards hangs out in this town -o’ Sylvania,” he said, candidly. “But a feller’s gotter pass some time -in social pursuits now ’n again, an’ he has to take his kind as he meets -up with ’em.” - -Gard was still recently enough from solitude to thrill with the sense of -human companionship. - -“’T ain’t always the roughest looking ones that are the worst,” he -suggested, sympathetically. - -“That’s where you’re shoutin’.” The cow-puncher brought a big fist down -emphatically. “For all right hell,” he said, “a real polished gent can -give these chaps cards an’ spades an’ beat ’em to the devil when he -tries. We had one here last year, a gent that played cards—played ’em -too damn well fer his own health, finally. But he was that polished in -his manners as I ever went anywheres to see, an’ he could lie in five -different languages.” - -“Yes, sir,” he added, meditatively, “five different kinds o’ mortal -human conversations that feller had a cinch onto; an’ he couldn’t behave -hisself in ary one of ’em.” - -“What you havin’?” he suddenly broke off to ask, as the barkeeper -signified his readiness to attend to them. - -“I’m drinking lemonade,” Gard said, and the cow-puncher took another -look at him. - -“Gimme the same,” he finally told the barkeeper, with serious -politeness. - -“Mebby I’d oughter beg your pardon”; he turned to Gard with a look of -anxiety on his face. “I reckon I was a little careless in my talk if you -happen to be a sin-buster.” - -“A what?” - -“Sin-buster. You sabe bronco-buster, don’t you; an’ trust-buster?” - -“Oh, sure.” - -“Well then, ain’t sin-buster plain United States? It’s what a -preacher-feller oughter be if he’s on his job, ain’t it?” - -“I guess it is,” was Gard’s reply, “but I’m not a preacher. I just -haven’t been drinking much of late years, and don’t know ’s I care to.” - -“Oh! that’s it? Well lemonade ’s pretty good stuff,” the cow-puncher -said, cheerfully. “I can’t seem to remember when I’ve had none, but I -reckon it’ll taste first rate. I ordered it thinkin’ you was maybe -religious.” - -He finished a little ruefully, with a questioning inflection on the last -words. Gard laughed. - -“I’m not, I guess,” he said, “leastways not so ’s to hurt me.” - -“That’s good,” the cow-puncher nodded, approvingly, “Though religion -don’t hurt a good person,” he added, meditatively. - -He removed his broad-brimmed felt hat and peered into the crown. His -head was thatched with close-cropped, grizzly-gray hair; his face was -tanned and seamed by wind and weather, thin-lipped and stern as to the -mouth, under his short moustache, with steadfast blue eyes that had the -plainsman’s and the sailor’s trick of vigilance. It was a face to be -trusted—shrewd, honest, capable, yet full of a simplicity that was -almost childlike. Gard found himself warming to the fellow. - -“I suppose you belong about here?” he suggested. - -“Sure. My name’s Sandy Larch. I’m foreman out ’t the Palo Verde, below -here. Know the range?” - -Gard admitted that he did not. “I’m new ’round here,” he explained, as -he told his name. - -“I’m looking for a man,” he added, tentatively, “a notary named Sawyer: -Arthur Sawyer. Ever hear of him?” - -Sandy Larch reflected, repeating the name thoughtfully. “Was he a -lunger?” he finally asked, “A little feller, with broken wind, an’ a -cough that ’d drive you wild to hear?” - -“I don’t know.” The description took Gard’s memory back to the days when -he, too, had had such a cough. “I never saw him,” he explained, “But I’m -mighty anxious to get hold of him.” - -“There was a man up in the Navajo country,” Sandy continued, “Where the -_patron_ was runnin’ the Bar Circle G. He stayed ’round quite a -considerable, doctorin’ his lungs. Then the _patron_ sold out up there; -he had this range too, in them days; an’ I ain’t never seen this Sawyer -chap down this way. The _patron_ might tell you. Know him—Morgan -Anderson?” - -It was a name well known in the territory. Gard had seen its owner once -or twice, in the old days. He said something of the sort to the -cow-puncher. - -“He’s away just now,” the latter told him; “but he’ll be back in a few -days, an’ you can ask him. I’d know whatever did become o’ that chap.... -Look a’ there, will you?” - -He glanced over to where the men were playing poker. One of them had -reached over and pulled a big brown flask from the Papago’s coat-pocket. - -“Time you treated us to a drink, Joe,” he said, with a half-insolent air -of fellowship. - -The Indian nodded, smiling vacuously, and the bottle went around the -table, each man helping himself. When it came back to its owner he rose -with it, and crossed to the door, going out into the street. The men at -the table looked at one another with a grin and one of them examined the -hand of cards that the Indian had left behind him. He had just laid it -down again when the Papago came back, and the game was resumed. - -“Wouldn’t that rattle your slats now?” Sandy Larch asked, disgustedly. - -“Joe,” he continued, “don’t dast drink even his own lickker in here. -It’s agin the law for an Indian; an’ Jim Bracton wouldn’t stand fer ’t; -he goes outside to take a drink, while them buzzards swills it in here, -right before him; an’ they’re gittin’ his wad, too.” - -Gard made no reply. He had more than once glanced at the group, while he -and the foreman were talking, and now he watched them interestedly, an -intent look in his deep eyes. A moment later he had turned, and was -moving toward the players. - -“Thinkin’ o’ sittin’ in?” Sandy Larch asked, jestingly. “They’s sure -need of an honest-notioned man to deal them cards. But it’d be ticklish -business.... Good Lord!” - -He was staring in earnest, now, and instinctively reached for the gun in -his back-pocket, though he did not draw it. The stranger had approached -the poker-players, and stood over them, his big, empty hands outspread -upon the table before them. - -The men whom he had interrupted looked up in surprise. The prospectors -who had been discussing the Peg-leg suddenly became silent. The -dominoe-players ceased the rattle of their game and stared. A hush was -upon the whole room, a tense feeling of pending excitement. One or two -men instinctively measured their own distance from the door, and from -the center of coming activities. Jim Bracton stared open-mouthed from -behind his bar. - -“Who is the feller?” he demanded. “Friend o’ yourn, Larch?” - -“Not that I knows,” was the foreman’s reply. “I never saw him before, -but I’m sure willin’ to sit in to any game where he holds a hand.” - -He started forward, ready to draw on the instant, but the stranger -seemed not to see him. He had gathered the eyes of the poker-players in -his own indignant gaze, and now addressed them collectively: - -“Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “you ought not to be doing this.” - -“Glory be!” groaned Sandy Larch under his breath, “now wha’ d’ you think -o’ that fer a simple speech?” - -The astounded men to whom Gard spoke sat silent, not one of them making -a move. They were held spell-bound by the gentle quality of his -fearlessness. - -“Somebody ’s been breaking the law, and selling this Indian whiskey,” -Gard went on, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It was a mighty bad thing to -do, and you are doing something a heap wickeder. He is drunk now, and he -doesn’t rightly sense what he’s doing. You ought not to play cards with -him. You’re drinking his liquor and helping him to get drunker; -and—_you’re cheating him, out of his money_.” - -The big wheel-of-fortune had ceased to whirr now, and the silence of the -room was broken only by a snarling question from one of the men Gard had -addressed. - -“What in hell o’ your business is it?” - -“It’s every man’s business when another man breaks the law,” was the -quiet reply. “You’d better quit playing now, friend,” Gard continued, -turning to the Papago. “You’d better quit right off, while you’ve got -something left, and go home.” - -“You stay where you be, Joe,” growled the man who had asked the -question. “Don’t you climb out fer no tenderfoot. I’ll settle the—” - -He stopped speaking as the stranger’s eyes blazed full upon him for an -instant. - -“You go _now_, Joe,” Gard said, in a low, even voice. - -Like a man in a dream old Joe rose, slipping into his pocket the coins -he had been about to put into the game when Gard interfered. The -tenseness of the situation had brought him to some measure of sobriety, -and he did not reel as he left the room. A moment later the patter of -his pony’s unshod feet came to the listening ears within. - -Gard still held the other men in a gaze that seemed to search and -estimate the hidden thought of each. - -“Now they’ll kill him, sure,” Sandy Larch thought, slipping nearer, but -the stranger took no notice of him. - -“Friends,” he said, breaking at last the tense silence that ruled the -room, “There’s a law against making an Indian drunk, and there’s a law -against robbing him. They’re white men’s laws; and white men ought to -keep ’em.” - -“It ain’t right”; he went on, still leaning upon the table, and the men -listened, as if hypnotized. “There’s things a man can’t do without -getting lower down than any man wants to be, and cheating a drunken -Indian is one of ’em. That’s the truth of it. You ought not to do it, -and when you do somebody’s got to make you stop. That’s why I -interfered.... There ain’t any reason though,” he added, as if an after -thought, “why you shouldn’t go on with your game, now; I’m going to say -good-night.” - -He straightened up, and turning his back upon the group walked quietly -toward the door. Half-a-dozen men were ready, now, to draw in his -defense, but there was no need. Not a man of those whom he had brought -to book moved. They sat like men dazed, until the door had closed upon -Gard; then, with an oath, one of them seized upon the cards. - -“What th’ Almighty ’s the matter with you fools?” he growled. “Whose -deal is it, anyhow? Git int’ the game, you. This ain’t no damned -kindergarten!” - -They resumed their playing, sullenly, and the spell upon the room was -broken. Sandy Larch wiped his damp forehead upon a huge red -handkerchief, and turned to the bar. - -“Jim,” he said, feebly, “set down that there bottle o’ whiskey, will ye? -I sure need it in my business right now.” - -He measured a liberal potion and swallowed it. - -“An’ he said he wa’nt no sin-buster,” he muttered. “He sure was on the -job, though.” - -“But wa’nt that a sweet line o’ talk to hand out to men folks, Jim? -How’d it come they didn’t kill ’im?” - -“Search me,” was the barkeeper’s reply. “I had my gun all limbered. I -sure expected the place ’d be shot up.” - -“He tells ’em it wasn’t right,” Sandy mused, absently refilling his -glass. “He tells them b-a-a-d men _’twasn’t right_! An’ there they sits, -like they was throwed an’ hog-tied, while he turns ’round his back to -’em an’ walks out like they ain’t a thing on earth to be afraid of. -Lord! He can have me!” - -He drained his glass and departed, leaving the Happy Family to its own -devices. - -Gard, meantime, had walked out beyond the town to the open desert. His -spirit was full of trouble, hot with indignation at what he had seen, -oppressed with a sense of the complexity of the life into which he was -so suddenly plunged. It was hard to realize that the still, bright stars -above him were shining, as well, upon the clean peace that dwelt in the -glade. His thoughts turned thither like homing birds, and he walked on -across the cactus-dotted sands, until he could look toward the shadowy -bulk of the far mountains, visible in the marvelous desert starlight. -Somewhere in that direction, he knew, the glade lay, and gradually a -feeling came to him of quiet, and of renewing strength. He was able to -think calmly of the sudden complication in his plans, and to consider -the best course to pursue. - -He would see Morgan Anderson as soon as possible. In the meantime Mrs. -Hallard would write to Westcott. He would probably be obliged to talk -with the lawyer for her: the mere thought set his nerves tense; until -this matter was settled his own affairs must wait. Of this there was no -question in his mind as he directed his steps in a wide circuit back to -the town. - -He was nearing its outskirts when he felt a light touch upon his arm. -One of his hands was seized in two small, clinging ones, and covered -with soft, hot kisses. He turned quickly, freeing himself with a little -shake, and looked into the upturned face of ’Chita, the dancer. - -The bright stars lighted her face to a mystic, witching glow; her eyes -gleamed upon him in soft summons as she leaned toward him, seeking again -to possess herself of his hand. - -He drew back, ever so little, and seeing this she stretched both arms -out to him in a wide, pleading gesture, her smiling lips parted in mute -supplement to the invitation of her gleaming eyes. - -Still as a graven man he stood, regarding her steadily, and she came no -nearer. Instead, she shrank a little, her hands dropping to her sides, -her dark eyes fastened upon his. Gard’s stern eyes softened and he came -a step closer, brooding over the trembling girl without touching her. - -“Child,” he said, “haven’t you any mother? Isn’t there anybody to take -care of you?” - -Only her heaving shoulders answered him. - -“Don’t cry,” Gard said, his voice full of pity. “I—I don’t like to hear -little girls cry.” - -She shivered toward him again, and reaching quickly, her arm stole round -his neck, the other hand seeking his face. “I love you,” she whispered. -Her fingers pressed his lips, and he put her back, firmly. - -“Don’t,” he said sharply. “You don’t understand. Why—you’re only a -little girl. Where is your home, child? I am going to take you there.” -She sprang back with a cry, and her anger flashed out upon him. - -“Oh!” she stamped one foot upon the sand. “Do I not understand? Think -you I do not? You miserable! You have never the heart of a _caballero_. -You are but _hombre_, after all!” - -She caught her breath. - -“Gringo swine!” she hissed. “_Hombre!_ It is not the heart of a -_caballero_!” - -“I haven’t got the heart to crush little girls,” he answered, “if that’s -what you mean. Tell me where you live. I’m going to take you home. You -must not be out here alone.” - -He spoke now with protecting concern. The girl’s mood had changed again, -and she was sobbing passionately. - -“Do you live in the town?” Gard persisted, and she shook her head. Half -unconsciously she was walking beside him as he moved forward. - -“Hush!” she suddenly cried, checking her sobs. - -Across the desert came the sound of a man’s voice, calling angrily. -’Chita put out a hand, arresting Gard’s steps. - -“It is my father,” she whispered. “He is blind; but he has ears of the -coyote. If he hears you—if he knows—he will beat me!” - -She was but a child, now, in her terror, and Gard reassured her. - -“He’ll never know,” he said. “No one will ever know. You go back, now, -like a good girl. And remember: you must never do a silly thing like -this again. Will you promise me?” - -She lifted a pale face toward his, in the starlight. Her eyes were -luminous, now, with new, strange emotion. - -“Señor,” she whispered, “it _is_ the heart of a _caballero_. Señor—you -are good.” - -“You will promise?” Gard persisted. - -Again that summoning voice rang across the desert. The girl called in -Spanish that she was coming. - -“I promise,” she cried, with a sobbing catch of the breath. “_Buenos -noches_, Señor.” - -She caught Gard’s hand again, for an instant, resting her cheek against -it, the fraction of a second. - -“_Buenos noches_,” she whispered again, and sped away into the soft, -starry gloom. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -The desert was a marvel of mauve and yellow and rose-color, under a -canopy of blue. The sun was not too hot, and the air was vital and -sustaining. Helen Anderson, riding over the hard plain, sniffed it -joyously. She loved the smell of the desert, that intangible, -indescribable odor that is yet so permeating: one of the fixed facts of -the region. She had missed it, hungrily, during four years of exile from -the Palo Verde. - -She lifted her eyes to the sapphire-blue mountains on the horizon and -laughed aloud for sheer joy, with a sense of physical well-being, as her -vision ranged from these to nearer scenes. She was passing a Papago’s -hut, a tiny structure of cream-colored adobe, with a dark roof of -thatch. The hut itself was hardly larger than its own big chimney, and -squatted on the yellow sand, in its little patch of shade, was an Indian -woman. - -She wore a skirt of dark blue stuff, and a white reboso was wound about -the upper part of her body and carried over her dark hair. Her dusky -arms were bare, and her brown hands patted and shaped and smoothed a pot -of red clay, soon to be baked in the little kiln where a fire was -already glowing. - -Helen called a gay greeting to her and she looked up, showing her white -teeth in a broad smile. Then she paused in her deft handling of the wet, -red clay, to flip a bit gently at the inquisitive nose of Patsy, Helen’s -fox terrier, who was minded to investigate the pottery operations. Helen -called the dog and lifted her pony to a gallop. So the three went -scampering off in a wild race over the level sand. A mile was measured -before the girl drew rein again, with a blissful sigh of pure happiness. - -“And to think,” she told herself, with a little feeling of unreality -about it all, “that back in New England there is snow on the ground, and -fire in the furnaces, and people who must be out of doors are thumping -their arms, to keep warm, and telling one another what a glorious, -bracing climate they have.” - -She fell into a brown study and her reins lay loose upon the pony’s neck -while she went back over the four happy years she had spent in the land -of snow. How strange it seemed that so short a while ago the east, New -England, even college itself, had been to her mere names. Then, for four -years, they had been such happy entities. What a beautiful memory her -whole college life was! - -“And now,” she mused, “it seems as if it were all fading back into the -dream again, yet I know things are as real, back there, as they ever -were, and the real me, that Radcliffe helped make, is here in a real -place, with the realest sort of things to do. - -“For one thing,” she said, half aloud, “I can keep right on making -Father glad I’m home for good, and showing him that he need not worry -about me.” - -That thought checked a growing wistfulness in her mood. Morgan Anderson -_was_ glad to have his girl back, even though he had his well-defined -doubts as to the desert being the best place for her. Her college years -had been weary years to the lonely man, and his happiness in the new -order was a beautiful part of Helen’s home-coming. - -The girl could scarcely remember her mother. There had always been -Jacinta, her half-Spanish nurse, now the household factotum, in the -background of her childish years. In the foreground was the well-loved -figure of her father, who had been her friend and constant companion. It -was he who had taught her to read and to write, and to do plane and -solid geometry: to ride hard, to shoot straight, and to tell the truth. -Beyond these her education, other than what old Jacinta could impart, -had been received at the hands of one of the cowboys on the range, a -college graduate with a love for the plains. - -Aunt Everett had been horrified at this arrangement. Aunt Everett was -her father’s relative, who, on two formidable occasions, had descended -upon the rancho and undertaken to revolutionize the household. This she -did out of a sense of duty to Helen, who, she declared, was growing up -in sheer savagery and ignorance. - -Helen was twenty years old when Aunt Everett paid her second, and last, -visit. It was then the momentous decision was reached that the girl -should go to college. It was for the sake of his own youthful dream of -Harvard, that had never come true, that Morgan Anderson had fixed upon -Radcliffe, and Helen’s four beautiful years had become a fact. - -She sighed again, recalling those years. - -“They were so lovely,” she murmured, “and they have sent me back—how is -it old Marcus Aurelius phrased it?—‘free from all discontent with that -to which thou returnest.’ - -“Free from discontent?” she cried, taking in another deep, long breath -of the buoyant air, “I should say I am! I was never in my life so -aboundingly happy!” - -The pony was walking slowly, and as Helen looked about she became aware -that Patsy was not in attendance upon them. - -She halted, anxiously, the dog was a recent acquisition, given her by -Sandy Larch, on her return from college, she was training him to keep -with her. This was the first time she had really forgotten him. She -reproached herself as she rode back over the way they had come, for -letting her wits go wool-gathering. - -She called the terrier, reining in from time to time, but there was no -response, and becoming at last thoroughly alarmed, she dismounted, -dropping the pony’s reins over his head to the ground, and started on -foot to investigate among the cacti. - -“He’s found a gopher-hole somewhere,” she said to herself, as she went -whistling about among the greasewood and cacti. - -She ceased to whistle, presently, vexed at Patsy’s lack of response, and -continued her search in silence until, rounding a cactus-grown knoll, -strewn with loose stone, she suddenly halted, warned by a familiar, -burring sound that for an instant made her heart jump. - -A few yards away from her was the terrier, rigid, immovable, the hair -along his back, even the loose skin between his shoulders, stiffly -erect. His lips were drawn back from his white teeth; his ears were -pricked forward, and his whole body shuddered with the vibration of his -low, continuous growling. - -Near the dog, lying prone, his face turned toward her, Helen saw a man, -and still beyond him, alert, motionless, save for the minute quiver of -that ominous, buzzing tail, a huge rattler was coiled, its cold, wicked -little eyes fixed upon the dog. - -“I must not scream; I must not faint,” the horrified girl told herself, -trying to stand steady, and to think quick. - -If the dog or the snake saw her neither made any sign. They glared, -unmoving, at each other, across the helpless man. Neither dared attack, -or retreat, and Helen knew that any move on either her part or the -man’s, would cause the snake to strike—the dog to spring. - -The man lay exactly in the storm-center, when trouble should come, and -it seemed as though neither dog nor snake could much longer maintain the -horrid statu quo. Patsy’s low growling was dreadful to hear, and the -snake’s steady rattle brought the sweat of sheer fright to her forehead. - -She glanced again at the man and his gaze met hers steadily. It was -clear that he was alive to the full peril of his position, yet there was -no sign of agitation in his face. Rather, his glance seemed meant to -reassure her. Shamed by her own fears, Helen summoned her faculties to -meet the situation. - -She had grown up in the desert. She had known rattlesnakes before ever -she went to college, and her four years of sophistication had not -crowded out that earlier knowledge. Her brain seemed suddenly to clear, -her nerves to harden. She knew what could be done, if she could but -trust Patsy to hold steady. She remembered Sandy Larch’s boast, that the -dog was game. Now was the time to show it, if he was. - -“Steady, Patsy; steady, boy; quiet; quiet, boy!” - -Over and over she whispered the words, oh, so gently, that she might not -startle the young dog, and all the while she was slowly, slowly, raising -her right hand, in which was her riding-whip. She was too thorough a -plainswoman to use such a thing on a horse, but she carried it to use in -training the terrier. - -“Steady, Patsy; down, boy; down!” - -The whip was extended in front of her, now, and she was moving it gently -from side to side. The snake had caught sight of it, and was following -it with its eyes, swaying in unison with the whip’s motion. - -Never staying the steady movement of her arm, Helen crept forward, -whispering reassurance to the dog, until at last, still waving the whip, -she dropped to one knee and slipped her fingers under his collar. He -stopped his growling and nestled to her with a little whimper. When she -commanded him to charge he dropped to his belly and lay perfectly still, -his eyes fixed upon the snake. - -“If you can manage to turn the thing’s head a bit, little girl;—” it was -the man who spoke, in a low, level voice—“so he can’t notice what I’m -doing, I’ll fix him.” - -With a little nod, Helen stood up and began moving sidewise, still -swinging the whip. Thoroughly hypnotized, the snake swayed with its -movement, those beady little eyes never leaving it. The rattler did not -see the stealthy glide of the man’s hand, or the gleaming steel that was -presently leveled at that flat, venomous head. An instant after there -was a sharp report, and the snake was whipping the desert in its death -struggle as Helen again caught the terrier by the collar. The man -essayed to rise, and sank back with a sharp exclamation of pain. - -“I guess I’ve hurt my foot,” he said, answering Helen’s look of inquiry. - -“I—my horse took to pitching, and slung me here,” he went on, sitting -up. “I can’t think what got the fellow, or me either,” he added, with a -look of chagrin. “I never thought I needed a bucking-strap; but it seems -as if I did.” - -He spoke lightly, partly to hearten the girl, who was white and shaken, -after her horrid experience, and partly to draw her attention from the -victim of his shot, now stretched on the desert. - -Another effort and he got to his feet; but the first attempt to step -brought him to one knee, frowning with pain. - -“And I don’t suppose there’s a stick in sight, that would give me any -support,” he said, looking about. - -“I’m afraid not,” Helen answered, following his glance; and then she -remembered. - -“I can bring up my horse,” she cried. “I left him by the mesquite when I -dismounted to look for Patsy, here.” - -“Patsy’s sure an enterprising little dog,” the man said, smiling, “I -don’t just know whether I have to thank him for stirring up the little -difficulty a while ago, or for keeping it from being worse before you -came.” - -“I’m afraid it was he that roused the rattler,” replied Helen, ruefully. -“He is young, yet, and has his sense to get.” - -The man laughed. “I was a little stunned when my horse landed me here,” -he explained, shyly. “First thing I knew I was sort of waking-up, and -that was the tableau I beheld. I didn’t do much that was strenuous, from -then on.” - -Helen was wondering, curiously, who the man could be. He was evidently -not a cowboy, or a prospector, and she knew that if he were a cattleman -or a mining expert, a stranger in that part of the country, he would -naturally have been the hacienda’s guest. Such visitors in the -neighborhood were always for her father. Perhaps he was on his way to -him, now. - -“Were you going to the Palo Verde?” she asked, impulsively. “I am Helen -Anderson. Father will be sorry you have had an accident.” - -“I thought you must belong there,” he said, simply, “and I was going to -tell you my name. It’s Gard—not a very long one,” with a smile, “and I -_was_ going to the Palo Verde, though your father doesn’t know me. I -wanted to see him on business.” - -“Then the best thing we can do,” Helen said, briskly, “is to get there -at once. I’m going to ask you to keep Master Patsy here, while I go for -the horse.” - -She was already speeding down the knoll, and a moment later she returned -leading Dickens, the pony, who had stood patiently where she left him. - -For a time it looked as though the stranger was not going to get into -the saddle. Dickens was restless and nervous over his awkward -approaches, and the pain in Gard’s foot was excruciating, but after many -agonized attempts he finally mounted. He was white and faint, after the -effort, but he smiled resolutely down upon the girl while he adjusted -the stirrup he could use. - -“I am glad you ride this way,” he said, indicating her military tree. “I -thought I’d have to sit in one of those queer dishes ladies usually ride -on.” - -Helen laughed. “If I waited to have horses gentled to the side-saddle,” -she answered, “I should never get anything to ride. It’s the only way, -here in the desert, and Father always thought it was the safer way.” - -She was walking beside the pony, her broad-brimmed felt hat pushed back, -that she might look up at her guest. “I used a side-saddle back east,” -she added. - -“I think this way is a lot better,” Gard replied. He wished she would -look up again. It seemed to him that his eyes had never beheld anything -more delicious than her upturned face, with its background of broad -hat-brim. - -He could only glimpse it when she looked straight ahead, as she was -doing now. Her nose had a little tilt, that made him think her always -just about to look up, and kept him in a pleasant state of expectation. -He could not see her mouth and chin without leaning forward, and he -shrank, shyly, from doing that, but he studied the firm brown cheek, -where just a touch of deep color came and went, and the neat sweep of -fair hair back into the shadow of the broad hat, and he had noted when -she looked up that her eyes were gray, looking out friendly-wise under -level brows. - -“You were a mighty plucky little girl to tackle that rattler,” he said, -with a sudden realization of her courage. Her short riding-habit misled -him and he did not think of her as grown up. - -Helen stiffened, resentful of what seemed like a too familiar address. -Then she recognized his mistake, with a curious little sense of pleasure -in it. - -“That was nothing,” she answered, with a lighthearted laugh, “Sandy -Larch taught me the trick. I played that way with more than one rattler -when”—“when I was a child,” she had been about to say, but she changed -it, and added, “before I went away to school.” “No use dragging in -‘college’” she told herself. “He might think I was trying to seem -important.” - -“I know Sandy Larch,” Gard said. “He’s a good man.” - -“So are you,” was the thought that flashed through the girl’s mind as -she glanced upward again. She dismissed it instantly, with a feeling of -astonishment at herself. She was not given to speculate in such wise on -the quality of chance acquaintances. - -“Sandy’s just Sandy,” she replied. “One of the best friends I ever had. -I can’t remember the time when he wasn’t on hand looking after me.” - -There was silence for a while, till Gard spoke again. - -“I hate to make you walk,” he apologized, “You’ll be all tuckered out.” - -“Not a bit,” she declared, stoutly. “You must be new to the desert, if -you don’t know what miles people can walk here, without getting tired.” - -The bronze of his face was tinged with a faint red. - -“No,” said he, “I ain’t new to the desert. Not much I ain’t new; even—” -with a mortified laugh—“if I did let my bronco throw me. I guess, -though, I’m new to little girls,” he continued. “Seem’s if you ought to -be tired. You don’t look so very big.” - -“I’m strong, though.” Somehow, his assumption that she was a little girl -gave Helen a pleasant sense of ease in his company. She glanced up at -him again, and was startled to see how pale he had grown, under his tan. -His forehead was knit with pain, and his teeth were set against one lip. - -“I wish I could do something for you!” she cried, in quick sympathy. -“But we’re nearly there; and Father’s as good as a doctor, any day.” - -“It’s all right,” he muttered. “I was just a fool. I thought I’d see if -I couldn’t get down and walk; so I tried putting that foot in the -stirrup.” - -“That was a clever thing to do,” Helen scolded, “I see you do not know -how to believe people when they say they are not tired.” - -She quickened her pace, that he might see how far she was from -weariness. - -“I’m sorry,” he said, humbly. “I didn’t mean to do anything to set you -running off like that.” - -No reply. They went on again in a silence that lasted for several -moments. - -“Ain’t you going to forgive me?” he asked, presently. - -Helen considered; not what he had said however. She was more deeply -interested in deciding why his “ain’t” was not offensive to her -college-bred ears. - -“After all,” she thought, deliberating it, “those things do not matter -so much when people themselves are real.” - -“I won’t do it again,” the voice beside her pleaded, in an exaggeration -of penitence, and she laughed, looking up at him. - -“I didn’t think you’d be such a hard-hearted little girl,” Gard said, -reproachfully. - -“I am not,” she replied. “I am only sensible. You should believe what -people tell you.” - -He made no reply. He was trying to decide how old the child could be. - -“I guess,” he thought, with an effort to recall little girls he had -seen—ah, how long ago it was that he had seen any!—“she’s most likely -about twelve. She’ll be mighty pretty when she grows up.” - -His foot still hurt, cruelly, in consequence of his rash experiment, but -fortunately they were at the rancho. A few moments later they had -reached the casa, where Morgan Anderson took charge of his guest with -skilful good-will. Like all cattlemen, he was fairly expert at attending -to hurts; could set a bone, on a pinch, and it did not take him long to -discover that one of the small bones of Gard’s foot was dislocated. With -Sandy Larch’s aid he set the matter to rights, and bandaged the foot in -a way that would have done credit to professional skill. - -He would not hear of his patient’s riding back to Sylvania that day. - -“Not a bit of it!” he cried, when Gard proposed it. “That’s going to be -one unmercifully sore foot by to-morrow; and suppose—” - -He checked himself before voicing the suggestion that another accident -might possibly put the foot badly out of commission. He had the -plainsman’s idea that a horseman should stay with his mount; so he -merely said that he wanted to keep an eye on the foot. - -“You can’t be sure one of the little bones may not be broken,” he -explained, “and anyway, we’re mighty glad to see folks here; so I guess -we’ll have to keep you.” And Gard, more willing than at the moment he -realized, accepted the invitation. - -It was Manuel Gordo who, riding in from the upper range, saw the -stranger’s horse, lathered and excited, wandering afield, and threw a -rope over him. When he got the bronco to the Palo Verde corrals and took -off the saddle, he gave a low, comprehending whistle. Under the blanket, -well back, but yet where a rider’s weight would press, was a bit of -cholla, the vicious fish-hook cactus of the desert, so disposed as to -cause the horse exquisite pain. - -Manuel swore a rolling Mexican oath as the thing caught his fingers, and -stamped it into the desert before giving attention to the bronco’s back. -This, later, he showed to Sandy Larch, with a vivid explanation. - -“The blame cowards!” the foreman commented. “So they thought they’d git -’im that way, did they? It seemed mighty queer to me that he couldn’t -sit anything four-legged he was likely to git in the ord’nary run, in -Sylvania; but that pinto must ’a’ raged considerable with that on its -back.” - -“Who you think do-a that?” Manuel asked, and the foreman told him of the -scene in the Happy Family Saloon. “Some o’ that gang’s been tryin’ to -get even,” he finished, and Manuel growled assent. - -“I—I see that señor before to-day,” he ventured, hesitating, “He one -good man.” - -“Where ’d you ever meet up with ’im?” demanded Sandy. “Where ’d he come -from?” - -“Quién sabe?” Manuel’s shoulders lifted. “It is at Sylvania I see heem,” -he added, non-committally, and understanding dawned upon the foreman. - -“You did, eh?” he laughed, “An’ he got after you an’ made you quit that -spree you was headed on, I bet. That what you come home so quick for? -How’d he round you up?” - -The Mexican grinned, shamefacedly, and Sandy laughed again. - -“He’s sure a sin-buster,” he commented, admiringly, “But he done you a -good turn that time, Manuel. The _patron_’d given me orders to -everlastingly fire you next time you showed up after a spree, an’ I’d -’a’ sure done it if you hadn’t ’a’ been on hand that mornin’ same ’s -usual!” - -Manuel was busy smearing axle-grease on the bronco’s back, to keep the -flies from its hurts. - -“The señor, he good man all right,” he said, not turning around, and -Sandy Larch, being shrewd, walked away without further comment. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -As Morgan Anderson had predicted, the condition of Gard’s foot next day -was such as to make him a captive. The cattleman, surveying it after -Jacinta had given the patient his breakfast, prescribed rest, and -forbade any thought of leaving the rancho inside of a week. - -“You say you came to see me on business,” he said, as he stood looking -down upon Gard where he lay in bed in a big, low-ceiled room of the -casa, “Well, I’m off to the upper range to-day, to pick out some -work-cattle. I shall not be able to talk business till night; so that -settles to-day.” - -“You’re mighty good,” was Gard’s reply, “but that business o’ mine is -only to ask you a question that you can answer in half a minute. You -mustn’t think it’s some matter of consequence—to anybody but me, that -is,” he added. - -“All right; so much the better. It’ll keep, and we can keep you.” - -Morgan Anderson had taken a liking to his unexpected guest, and made him -welcome with true western hospitality. It was long since Gard had talked -with a man of his stamp, and the mere sound of Anderson’s pleasant, easy -voice was a joy to him. It was good just to lie there and listen; at the -same time, he was concerned about his foot. He wanted to be up and about -Kate Hallard’s business. He had not calculated that the delivery of the -deed which he had found in Arnold’s coat-pocket two years before, would -involve him as it had done. - -He had come back to civilization with a strong purpose. He meant to make -every effort to reinstate himself in the eyes of the law, and he -realized that he must do all that he could before some chance -recognition should work to hinder his efforts. Nevertheless, he told -himself, the claim of this woman came first. Kate Hallard had no one to -fend for her, and the responsibility, in this particular matter, had -been laid on him, Gabriel Gard. - -Later in the forenoon, when Anderson had ridden away with his men, Wing -Chang, the Chinese cook, acting upon the _patron’s_ instructions, -established Gard in a long steamer-chair, under the cottonwoods beside -the casa. Hither, when he was settled, came Helen, bearing a little tray -on which were biscuits and a grape-fruit. Gard smiled as he saw her -coming around a corner of the casa, and answered her greeting with a -cheery “good-morning.” - -“I wondered where you’d got to,” he began, and stopped, suddenly, the -quick color rushing to his face. - -“Now I just beg your pardon, Miss,” he stammered, in piteous confusion, -“I mistook—I thought—I thought you were your little sister.” - -“I am,” laughed Helen, putting the tray on a chair by his side. - -“No, no: you mustn’t move your foot”—for Gard was struggling forward in -his steamer-chair. - -“If you do,” she threatened, “I shall have to scold you harder than I -did yesterday.” - -He sank back, a look in his face of mingled chagrin and wonder. Helen -was arrayed in white, the simplest sort of a shirt-waist suit, with a -touch of brown at neck and belt and shoes; but to his bewildered senses -she was a radiant vision of unguessed daintiness and beauty. There was -something incredible, to him, in the idea of this unearthly being -offering him food. He glanced from her to the tray, and back again. - -“I don’t know what that is,” he said, indicating the grape-fruit, “and I -ain’t sure I know what you are. I thought yesterday you were a little -girl, and now you seem like a young lady; and I don’t seem right sure -you won’t turn into a fairy in a minute, and run away.” - -“Oh, Oh!” Helen cried, “What three-fold flattery!” - -Then it was her turn to experience a shock; for, as she stood looking -down upon him, it suddenly became apparent to her that this man was -young. - -She had thought nothing about the matter, in the excitement of -yesterday’s encounter, and when she had walked beside him, seeing his -bearded face in her brief, upward glances, she had taken it for granted -that he was middle-aged, at least. There was something disconcerting -about the unexpected revelation of youth in those eager brown eyes, in -the clear olive of the face above the strong, short beard, and in the -firm curve of red lips just visible under the moustache. She could think -of no further retort to his pretty speech, and busied herself with -showing him how to eat the grape-fruit, wondering, vaguely, where he -could have been, in the desert, not to have encountered _pomelos_. - -“These are from over the border,” she explained. “One of the boys -smuggled them in last week; think how wicked we are! But by New Year’s -we shall have some of our very own.” - -“They’re mighty good,” Gard said, with no idea of what the fruit tasted -like. He was still wrestling with the awesome fact that Helen had -prepared it, and was teaching him to eat it. He took more sugar when she -told him to, though years of abstinence from sugar had blunted his taste -for it, and he shook his head with very proper commiseration when she -told him of the way eastern folk spoil the fruit in preparing it. - -“I never was back there,” he said, “I was raised on the prairie; but -this is good enough for me.” - -He looked beyond the fringe of cottonwoods, out across the plain, -quivering in the mid-forenoon heat. - -“Don’t you like it?” he asked. - -“I love it! It’s so big, and beautiful, in spite of its dreadfulness; -it’s so _positive_!” Helen was sitting on the ground, her hands in her -lap, her eyes turned toward the far mountains. Gard considered her -words. - -“Positive:” he repeated, thoughtfully, “Yes: it’s sure that. There ain’t -any half-way place,” he added, drawing a deep breath. “A man, he gets -big, or he gets little, living in it.” - -“Oh!” cried she; “you must have been a long time in the desert to find -that out!” - -She went on, with youthful, unconscious arrogance: “I’ve lived here all -my life; but I never realized that until after I came back from college -this last time.” - -“Have you been here long?” she added. - -“I haven’t been ’round the level much,” Gard answered, and after a pause -he added: - -“I’ve been in the mountains most of the time.” - -“Then you must have been prospecting: I hope you struck pay dirt?” - -“I did.” - -“Good! So you _are_ a mining-man—I wondered.” - -She had wondered about him. Gard turned the thought over in his mind, -the while he told her something of his discovery in the mountains. It -seemed a marvelous thing that she should have thought of him at all. -Almost unconsciously he began telling her of finding his claim; of -working it; and of Jinny. - -Helen listened with rapt interest. She knew that men did go off into the -mountains as she supposed Gard must have done. She had talked with -prospectors, in her lifetime, but never with one like this. - -“I suppose you will be wonderfully rich when you begin working your -claim in earnest,” she said, at last, slowly, “Shall you like that?” - -“I think so. There are some things I want a good deal”—Ah, how much he -wanted them: the right to freedom; the right to hold up his head among -men. Gard’s desire for this was increasing with every moment that he sat -talking to this fair, unconscious girl. As he looked at her, sitting -before him on the sparse grass, it came home to him with fearful force -that it would be hard to have friends if his past life must always be a -secret from them. - -“I suppose there are,” Helen was saying, half wistfully, “Money brings -so many opportunities to a man.” - -“Not unless he’s a real man to start with,” replied Gard. - -“There’s a lot to be thought about,” he went on. “I used to think that -to give a man plenty to eat, and wear, and good things round him; nice, -beautiful things such as we read about—and I guess that you’ve always -seen,” he explained,—“would help make a better man of him. - -“I don’t believe it’s altogether so,” he went on, following a train of -thought that he had often mulled over, in the glade, “All the good -things that you can put a man into won’t make any better man of him, if -when he didn’t have ’em he wasn’t trying to make a better man of -himself.” - -Helen pondered his saying in some surprise. - -“I never thought of it that way before,” she said, at last, “but it -seems as if it ought to be true.” - -“I guess it’s true enough,” Gard frowned a little, deep in thought. -“Jinny and I, we used to figure out ’twas, when we talked things over.” -He smiled into his companion’s eyes. - -“When I think, sometimes, of what men’ll do for money, though,” -continued he, “I ’most feel ’s if I didn’t want any of it.” - -“But it seems cleaner money, somehow,” Helen interrupted, “it’s -different when a man digs it out of the earth. He doesn’t rob, or -defraud anybody, then; and think of all it can do!” - -“Yes.” There was a slow twinkle in Gard’s eyes as he spoke. “There’s -solid satisfaction to me in thinking that one o’ these days, if I want -to, I can get Jinny a solid gold collar.” - -They laughed together over this bit of foolishness, feeling, suddenly, -that they were very good friends. It was almost with a little sense of -something unwelcome that Helen, looking across the level plain, saw a -horseman in the distance, coming toward the rancho-gate. - -“Some one is coming,” she said, studying the approaching figure. “I -wonder who it can be; Daddy isn’t expecting anyone.” - -Gard turned his head and they watched together. - -“It isn’t one of the men,” commented Helen. “He looks cityfied, doesn’t -he?” - -It was no careless cowboy figure that they watched. Whoever it was rode -compactly, elbows down, and the horse was not running, but coming at an -easy ’lope. - -“Why!” the girl exclaimed, after a moment or two, “I believe it’s Mr. -Westcott!” - -The name set Gard’s heart pounding, but he kept his quiet pose in the -steamer-chair, and only the faintest flutter of distended nostrils -betrayed the emotion that was surging within him. - -He had no real fear that Westcott might recognize him. The lawyer, as it -happened, had seen him but twice; once at Phoenix, just after his -arrest, and again on the occasion of that memorable visit to Blue Gulch. -Nevertheless, Gard was thankful that he was warned of the new-comer’s -approach. - -“Do you know him?” Helen asked, still watching the rider, and Gard -answered, promptly enough, that he had heard of him. - -“He’s stopping at the corrals,” said Helen, presently. “I hope there’s -some one there to take his horse.” - -She started off, with a backward glance and a smile for her invalid, and -presently Gard saw her going toward the corrals, followed by Wing Chang. -She walked with a light, springing step that seemed to him must be -peculiar to her alone. He had seen girls, back in Iowa, but they had not -walked like that. - -“There ain’t anybody like her,” he said, half aloud, replying to his own -thought. Then he remembered that happy glance, and smile, and a shiver -of pain ran through him. - -“Heaven help me,” he muttered, “She wouldn’t have looked like that if -she’d known.” - -Helen, in the meantime, was greeting Westcott, who walked up to the casa -with her, leaving his horse for Chang to unsaddle and turn in. He had -come up to Sylvania to see a man, he explained, and when he got where -the man was, why the man was not there. He showed his handsome, even -teeth in a merry smile at his own jest, and somehow managed to convey to -Helen the idea that the man “wasn’t there” for the reason that he was -afraid to meet him, Ashley Westcott. - -“It’s just a game of bluff some smart Aleck is trying to play on me,” he -added, with pleasant carelessness; “It isn’t of much importance, except -as it gives me the excuse I’m always glad of, to ride out here. I shall -have to wait over, a day or two, to give the fellow a chance to make -good, I dare say.” - -His eyes narrowed when he was introduced to Gard. Kate Hallard had -written to him, three days before, and the letter had brought him to -Sylvania in a hurry. He had seen Mrs. Hallard and, therefore, Gard’s -name had significance for him. - -He seated himself in the chair from which Jacinta had long since removed -the tray, and made a casual inquiry about Gard’s hurt. Gard explained it -briefly, giving, to Helen’s immense relief, none of the details. - -“I was in Sylvania this morning,” Westcott remarked, taking the glass of -ice and the bottle of ginger ale that Jacinta brought him. “Came up from -Tucson, and got that brute of a stage at Bonesta.” - -“It _is_ a horrid ride,” Helen commented. - -Gard said nothing, and Westcott and Helen chatted indifferently for a -few moments of matters common enough, the news and talk of the -territory, yet as new to Gard, in large measure, as though he had been a -foreigner. The lawyer turned to him again, irritated by his silent -scrutiny. - -“I saw your friend Mrs. Hallard in Sylvania,” he said, “She was a good -deal worried to know what had become of you.” - -Gard’s eyes flashed, but his reply was given in a low, even tone. - -“That was mighty kind of her,” he said, “I calculated to be on hand—we -reckoned you’d be coming soon. When you go back you can ease her mind, -and let her know I’m all right.” - -Helen looked puzzled. She was not familiar with Sylvania, although it -was the post office town of the rancho, but she knew, in a vague way, -who Mrs. Hallard was. It would have been difficult not to know, when -there were but half a dozen white women within a radius of fifty miles. -She could not think of her, however, as a friend of this new -acquaintance. She had seen Mrs. Hallard once, and Westcott’s apparently -chance remark had exactly the effect he had calculated. It troubled her, -and disturbed the atmosphere of friendliness which he had dimly felt -between the girl and Gard, when he saw them together. - -“It seems curious to find Mr. Gard here,” the lawyer went on, addressing -Helen. “He is just the man I came to Sylvania to see. You can bank on it -I did not expect to meet him when I rode this way.” - -He overshot his mark, that time, going too far in his anxiety to produce -an impression unfavorable to Gard. Helen’s hospitality was touched, and -her sympathy enlisted for her guest. Whatever his friendship for Mrs. -Hallard, of whom she really knew nothing definite, she did not believe -that the man who sat there regarding them both with serene eyes, would -ever be afraid to meet Ashley Westcott. - -She looked from one to the other, and Gard smiled as he answered the -lawyer’s remark, speaking to her rather than to the other. - -“Yes,” he said, “I’m the man. I told Mrs. Hallard,” he added, glancing -at Westcott, “to tell you to see me.” - -“I shall, all right,” the lawyer replied, pointedly, and turned to ask -Helen some question about her father. She was glad of the diversion, and -went into detail about his errand to the upper range. - -“We’re going to have an orchard,” she explained, “Father had some trees -put in three or four years ago; I believe he must have sat and held -their heads all the while I was away, and watered them with a teaspoon.” - -The others joined in her laugh at the vision conjured up of Morgan -Anderson playing nurse to desert trees. - -“They are only a few grape-fruit, and a date palm or two,” Helen went -on, “but they have kindled his ambition, and now he is planning for -oranges, and apricots.” - -“Has he got the trees yet?” Gard asked. - -“Mercy, no! Our needs are still more elemental than that. He has gone -after some cattle to ‘gentle’ for plowing. Can’t you just see those -wild-eyed long-horns figuring in pastoral idyls on the plain?” - -Westcott grinned, but before either man could comment Wing Chang -appeared from the direction of the adobe structure that served him for -kitchen, and beckoned Helen to a domestic conference. - -“Wing Chang’s official beck is equal to a royal summons,” she said, -lightly, “so I shall have to be excused for a season.” - -When she had departed the two men regarded each other for a little -space. Westcott took out paper and tobacco, offering them to Gard. The -latter declined them and the lawyer began rolling himself a cigarette. - -“I take it you’re an attorney, Mr. Gard?” he began, in a tone of -careless query, as he struck a match. - -At Gard’s negative he held the little taper alight in his finger for an -instant, while he stared in surprise. - -“Oh,” he said, recovering himself quickly, and lighting his cigarette, -“I thought you must be. I rather figured,”—with a laugh which he meant -to be irritating, “that you were a young attorney, or a new-comer in the -territory, and trying to scare up business.” He puffed a cloud of smoke -into the air and regarded his companion through it, with veiled eyes. -“’Twas rather natural, don’t you think?” he persisted, with a sneer, -“considering the nature of the little game up at Sylvania?” - -Still Gard did not speak. He had put his well foot to the ground, and -curled the other leg up that he might lean forward, and he sat regarding -Westcott with quiet attention. - -“I suppose you know, anyway,” the latter finally said, with a very good -assumption of contempt, “Anybody with a headpiece might, whether he’s a -lawyer or not, that neither my client nor I need feel obliged to pay any -attention to the matter.” - -Gard seemed to turn the remark over in his mind. - -“Then what made you come up here?” he finally asked. - -“That’s easy,” Westcott answered, scornfully. “I wanted to see who was -trying to make a fool of poor Kate Hallard. I don’t wish her any harm, -and I wanted to put her wise that she’s being used by some sharper, in a -queer game.” - -“I guess you’ll think better o’ that before we get through, Mr. -Westcott,” Gard said, with deliberation. - -“Not much I won’t.” Westcott was admiring the rings he had blown into -the air. “Fact is, my friend,” he went on, with an air of easy -confidence, “the more I think of your little scheme the less I think of -it. In the first place, it won’t work. My client is in possession. -That’s nine points, you know. By way of a tenth point, he has a quit -claim from Mrs. Hallard—” - -“That’s one item,” Gard interrupted, softly, “that I guess you won’t -care to dwell on, when the matter comes to be pushed.” - -“Pushed!” Westcott ignored the first part of the speech. “I tell you, -man,” he cried, “you’ve got nothing that can _be_ pushed! That deed you -an’ Kate Hallard pretend to have found hasn’t a leg to stand on. You’d -better be careful you don’t get into trouble with it.” - -“I’m going to, Mr. Westcott,” the slow, calm tone made the lawyer feel -uneasy, he could not have told why. - -“If it will save you any trouble, my friend,” he sneered, at the same -time keeping a close watch on the other’s face, “I’ll tell you that I -saw some time ago, in a Chicago paper, that Jared Oliphant is out of -commission—softening of the brain. I suppose you weren’t banking any on -him, though?” - -“We’re banking on facts,” was Gard’s reply. - -“And Sawyer’s skipped the country.” - -“Who’s Sawyer?” Gard’s question came quick and sharp, nailing Westcott’s -blunder fast. The lawyer looked blank for an instant, then recovered -himself. - -“Why Kate Hallard seemed to think you were going to get some help -through him,” he lied; “but I know Sawyer. You can’t do it.” - -“You must have known him,” Gard said, “if you know he witnessed that -deed; for Kate Hallard never told you.” - -Westcott stared out at the desert. He was playing a desperate game, and -he knew it. He would have given much to understand the inscrutable man -who sat opposite him. He did not feel that he did understand him, fully; -nevertheless, he had his own theories of the stuff men are made of, and -presently he leaned forward. - -“Look here, Gard,” he said, “This is mighty poor business for a man like -you to be in.” - -He spoke rapidly; for Miss Anderson had just appeared at the door of the -adobe kitchen, still talking to Wing Chang. - -“I don’t know what you expect to make by it,” Westcott went on; “but I -don’t want Kate Hallard to get into any trouble. She can’t establish -that deed. It’s no more use to her than so much blank paper. But I’ve -got certain things in view. I’m going into politics in this territory, -and there are reasons why I don’t want a thing like this coming up. You -know how things get garbled—” He hesitated, and then went on, with a -glance in the direction of the girl, who was now approaching. - -“Between ourselves,” he said, rapidly, “what’s the reason you and I -can’t do business together?” - -He regarded his companion narrowly. Helen had stopped, near the casa, -and was scanning the desert from under her hand. - -“What do you say?” Westcott all but whispered. Gard looked at him a full -moment before he spoke: - -“I guess we couldn’t do business together,” he said, slowly, “But I -guess we shan’t need to, Mr. Westcott; because you’re going to fix this -matter up right. You’re going to give Mrs. Hallard back the property you -stole from her, or else you’re going to pay her the full value.” - -“Or else?” - -There was a battle of eyes between the two men. Westcott’s flinched, -finally, and sought the horizon. - -“There ain’t any other ‘or else,’” Gard said, at last. “It’s going the -way I stated.” - -Westcott had arisen, sneering, but before he could speak again Helen’s -voice broke in upon them: - -“They’re coming!” she cried, joining her guests. “You’d think they had a -whole drove of cattle, from the noise.” - -A cloud of white dust far on the desert had resolved itself into a -flurry of men, horses and cattle, coming in on a run. There was a -thunder of hoofs, and a chorus of yells, and presently the “gentle” -work-cattle were being herded into one of the corrals. - -One of the horsemen separated himself from the group and rode on to the -casa. This was Morgan Anderson, and he shouted greeting to Westcott as -he swung from the saddle. He came into the shade of the cottonwoods -firing a volley of genial questions, and giving bits of detail about the -morning’s work, until Helen reminded him that it was close upon -dinner-time. That meal was taken at noon, at the Palo Verde, so Anderson -excused himself to clean up. He was dusty and begrimed from the hot -day’s work. He carried Westcott off as well, to remove the traces of his -own long ride, and as Helen had already gone into the house, on some -domestic errand, Gard was left alone. - -The temporary solitude was welcome, and he lay back in the long chair -half dizzied by the thoughts and memories that besieged his brain. -Uppermost, for the instant, was an intense, grateful sense of relief. -Westcott had so plainly not recognized him that he might consider one -source of immediate danger to himself removed. He would probably be able -to carry this business through with no other difficulties than lay in -the matter itself. - -There would be plenty of these. Westcott would see to that. He was -evidently fully aware of the position he was in, and would let no -scruples stand in the way of protecting himself. - -“He’ll do just about anything—” Gard spoke half aloud, then checked -himself, recalling that this was not the solitude of the glade. - -“He’ll make a big fight,” he thought, “both to keep the property and to -escape being punished.” - -“_Punished!_” - -The word came home to him with stunning force. The punishment for this -crime, if Kate Hallard saw fit to press the matter, was jail! - -And Kate Hallard would probably do what he advised. - -Sudden fierce exultation leaped into the man’s heart. Beneath his quiet -he had been deeply stirred by the encounter with Westcott. - -“_I wonder how he would like being in jail?_” he thought, grimly, and -brought himself sternly into line again. - -“There ain’t any right of way for me there. I must stop that,” he -whispered, the knuckles of his big hands white as wool under the strain -of clasping his chair-arms. - -The next instant he sat upright, staring out across the hot sand, but -seeing only the vision of Helen’s dainty maiden loveliness. The thought -of his heart sent the blood from his face. - -“I’ve settled my account with Ashley Westcott,” he muttered, “God knows -I’ve settled _my_ account; but if that is what he’s aiming to do—” - -He shivered, sinking back into his chair. Wing Chang was approaching -with a tray of food. - -“If that is what it is,” Gard finished to himself, turning to greet the -Chinaman, “Then I guess Mr. Ashley Westcott and I will have to open a -new account; and he wants to look out.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -To Westcott’s secret delight Morgan Anderson, going after dinner to see -that his other guest had been properly served, found Gard fast asleep in -the long chair. - -“We’ll let him have his siesta out,” said his host. “I don’t suppose he -got any too much sleep last night, with that foot. Helen, you and I can -take Westcott to see the new corrals.” - -This arrangement was entirely to Westcott’s pleasure. He knew, from past -experience, that the cattleman would promptly become interested in some -problem of the range, and leave his entertainment to Helen. - -He strolled by her side as they made their way to the corrals, and put -from his mind the uneasy thoughts that kept intruding. In spite of his -defiance, he was horribly afraid of what Gard and Mrs. Hallard might be -able to do. He did not know how they would move to establish the deed, -but he was in a position that would make publicity awkward. How he -wished he knew where the paper had been found! To get any help from -Oliphant he believed was out of the question, and he, himself, had been -unable to find Sawyer. He was sure that Gard could not get hold of him; -and if he should, he knew how to fix the fellow. He had one more card up -his sleeve, and would play it, if Sawyer appeared. - -But after this! He stole a glance at the girl walking beside him. He -wanted money; he wanted power; he wanted position—to offer her. He was -almost where he just now aspired to be on the political ladder. He had -not tried for small things; he was after the District Attorneyship, and -it was coming his way, now. Another year, and then, ... by Heaven! -Everything was going to be straight! There should be nothing that those -clear gray eyes might not see! - -But this matter must not come out! He would see Mrs. Hallard in the town -while Gard was laid up. His career should not be ruined, just as he was -getting where he could hold up his head and choose the straight path. He -was weary in his soul of the other. - -Helen looked up with a glance of inquiry. - -“They seem to be long, long thoughts,” she said, with a smile. - -“They are,” was the quick response. “I was thinking of my ambitions.” - -“If it were so, it were a grievous fault,” she quoted, gaily. - -“I don’t think so!” He threw out his chest and looked down at her from -his full height. “A man’s bound to have ambitions of some sort,” he -said, “They’re a measure of himself. Of course I have mine. I want the -things I want when I can get them; but I want them, nevertheless, and I -mean to have them.” - -“Such as a gold collar for your donkey?” Helen asked, enigmatically. - -Westcott looked puzzled, but she did not explain. - -“Not exactly that,” he finally said, “If my donkey won’t go without a -gold collar I’m sorry for him; because he’s going just the same. He’s -got to carry me, ‘For the good of the order.’ This Territory needs men, -Miss Anderson: and I mean to be one of the men that it needs.” - -“Oh! That is good!” Helen’s sympathetic response quickened what -Westcott, if he had characterized it, would have called his good -impulse. - -“There’s a lot that needs straightening out within our lines,” he said, -“And I want the chance to help in the work. At any rate, it’s not an -ignoble ambition.” - -“Indeed it is not.” Helen had never before seen Westcott in this mood, -and she rather reproached herself that she did not feel a keener -response. She felt that she had not done him justice. - -“I am glad you think about those things,” she told him. “Father talks to -me, sometimes, and I know that he is often troubled. It seems as if -every man is solely for himself. We need those who can see wrong in high -places, as well as low; and who have courage to combat it.” - -Westcott felt a pang of wretchedness as he answered her frank glance. He -realized that she would despise him if she knew some of the things that -he had done, and he winced in the realization. But he meant to leave all -that behind. He would do something for Mrs. Hallard, and once he had won -this splendid girl he would walk the open way. Heavens! What could a man -not do, with such a helpmate! - -A sudden sense of his own unworthiness brought unwonted humility into -his heart. Ashley Westcott had never before, in his grown-up life, been -so near to feeling a noble impulse. - -“Miss Anderson,” he said, “I’m afraid I should never come up to any -ideal of yours; but I aim to do as near right as I know how.” - -They were at the corrals now, where the cattleman, who had drawn ahead, -was already talking to Sandy Larch about some young horses that were to -be got ready for shipment east, before spring. Polo ponies from the Palo -Verde enjoyed a good market back in “The States.” - -In one of the corrals the future work-cattle were penned, half a dozen -head, lean, leggy brutes, wild-eyed and ugly. They kept together, moving -restlessly about in a bunch, watching the visitors sullenly, and -occasionally lunging at one another with wide, wicked horns. - -“They’re beauts, for fair,” Sandy Larch remarked, “Only they can’t seem -to make up their minds to look it in public. They’re that kind o’ modest -vi’lets.” - -“’Twon’t be exactly a Sunday school picnic to break them in,” Westcott -remarked, looking them over. - -“Sure it will,” said Sandy, impressively. “Why them cows will be -door-yard pets, once they’re handled. Their bad looks is just a yearning -for appreciation. That one, now—” - -He tossed a little clod into the blazed face of one huge steer that had -moved a little apart from the others. It was a vicious-looking brute, -and stood lowing, sullenly. - -“That there blaze-faced cow’ll be coaxing fer sugar out’n your hand in a -week’s time, Miss Helen,” Sandy declared. “Can’t you see it in his eye?” - -Helen could not see it, and said so, frankly. A cowboy, minded to reach -the further corral, where the young horses were, sprang down into the -enclosure with the cattle, and started across. - -In an instant the big red steer came charging upon him, with mischief in -his eye. The cowboy saw the brute, and dodging, made a rapid sprint for -the nearest fence, clambering over it amid the derisive shouts of the -spectators. The man’s sudden scramble had brought him within a few feet -of Westcott who, turning to look at him, made a gesture of recognition. - -“Hullo, Broome!” he said: “I didn’t know you were down here.” - -“Looks like I was on the spot,” the fellow answered, “I bin holdin’ it -down fer about a week.” - -“I heard you went prospecting,” Westcott continued, and Broome swore, -under his breath. - -“Came mighty near cashin’ in that trip,” he growled, and then he drew -nearer, with a quick glance at the others, who were walking on toward -the horse corral. - -“Say, Mr. Westcott,” he muttered, “Have you seen that there feller up ’t -the casa? Him with the hair _mat_tress on his face?” - -“Do you mean Gard?” Westcott asked in amazement. - -“Yep: that’s his name. Damn him an’ it! I met up with him on my ‘tower.’ -He’s some buffalo now; but he was haired up like a bug-house billy-goat -then. But say, Mr. Westcott: he’d struck it rich; got a streak o’ color -that fair stunk o’ gold, back in the mountains. I want to tell you ’bout -it.” - -Westcott looked after his companions. - -“I can’t stop to hear it now, Broome,” he said. “Shall you be round when -I leave here? I’ll talk to you then.” - -“I’m goin’ to be workin’ with the horses all the afternoon,” Broome -answered. “We’re goin’ to be bustin’ ’em out, an’ that’s one o’ my -jobs.” - -He added the last with a good deal of pride, and Westcott nodded. - -“I’ll see you, then,” he said, moving off. - -“Do you know Broome?” Mr. Anderson asked, when Westcott overtook the -others. - -“Pretty well”; was the reply. “I knew him up north. He was cow-punch for -a friend of mine, and I used to be up there a good deal. He’s a good -hand with horses.” - -“So he claims,” Anderson said. “He blew in the other day, bragging that -he’s a first-class bronco-buster. We’re pretty short, so Sandy took him -on. I don’t think much of his looks.” - -“Oh, he’s all right.” Westcott spoke carelessly. “A good many singed -cats look worse.” - -Sandy Larch had gone up to the cook’s quarters on an errand, and passing -the casa found Gard awake. - -“Hullo, Mr. Larch,” the latter called, espying him. - -“_Mister_ Larch?” Sandy made a pretense of looking for the person -addressed. “Where ’d you keep ’im?” he asked, with elaborate solicitude. - -“Keep who?” - -“_Mister_ Larch.” - -“They ain’t no such party hereabouts,” he went on before Gard could -reply. “Leastwise _you_ don’t know ’im. Dudes, an’ Chinks, they -nominates me _Mister_ Larch; because the first don’t know no better, an’ -the others they has to, er git busted good an’ plenty. But to my friends -I’m Sandy.” - -“I believe it!” laughed Gard. “I guess your friends find you _all_ sand, -when they need the article.” - -Sandy looked at him with frank admiration. - -“Say: now you’re shouting,” he cried. “I like that there. Speakin’ o’ -bouquets, you couldn’t ’a’ handed me a prettier one if you’d set still -to think it up fer a week.” - -“Glad you like it,” replied Gard. “I meant it to be liked.” - -“Like it? Say! you just combed my hair nice, didn’t you? An’ when you -need someone to weigh out sand you just _buscar_ me, Mr. Gard.” - -“No you don’t; you drop that!” Gard looked stern. - -“Drop what?” demanded Sandy, startled. - -“Your _Mister_ Gard. That rule of yours has got to work both ways, and -_my_ name is Gabriel.” - -There was a twinkle in the brown eyes; but Gard’s tone was inflexible. - -“Gabriel!” gasped Sandy. “Lord! How do you git off at it? Gabriel”; he -repeated, “Shoot me if I can git a rope over that.” - -“Glory be!” A gleam of fun crossed his anxious face. “That name’s too -long for every day,” he said, “But I can fix it: I’ll call you Angel, if -you like. Angel Gabriel. That’s great! That’s how we’ll fix it. Angel on -week-days; Gabriel on Sundays, an’ Angel Gabriel on Fourth o’ Julys, an’ -when I’m drunk. Angel Gabriel’s a first rate name fer a amachoor -sin-buster to sport.” - -“You’ll drop that, too.” Gard seized one of the cushions Helen had -supplied his chair with, and hurled it at the cow-puncher. “Don’t you go -making fun of my name when I’m down,” he cried. “Sandy, you’ve got to -call me Gard.” - -He held out his hand and Sandy grasped it, cordially. - -“I like you, Gard,” said he, with quick seriousness. “We’re partners for -fair if you say so. If you need friends, as I expressed a while back, -you’ll know where to look fer one of ’em; you won’t fergit it?” - -“Never,” Gard said, heartily, and Sandy drew back. The others were -coming up from the corrals. - -“I never was hard on any man unless I thought he needed it, Gard,” -remarked Sandy, looking toward them. “But that there Westcott—well I’ll -be damned if I kin ‘go’ him. He can rope ’n hogtie the law, ’n brand it -ten different ways while you’re lookin’ one; but I bet he ain’t always -goin’ to git away on time. - -“Say, Gard: he’s mighty sleek to look at, an’ women like sech; but if I -thought he was likely to git a rope over our pretty filly there—damned -if I wouldn’t wanter let a little daylight through ’im.” - -So Sandy, too, had his fears. Gard’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the -approaching group. - -“Shucks, Sandy!” he exclaimed. “You want to keep away from the loco -patches, man. He couldn’t do it!” - -The thought of Helen’s frank, pure eyes put unnecessary emphasis into -his speech; but Sandy was pleased. - -“Good talk!” he cried, with a long breath of relief. “Guess I’m some of -an old fool; but I’ve seen the little gal grow up from that high,” -measuring an incredibly short distance above the desert, “An’ you put in -a pin where I tell you, Gard: that there Westcott’s a tarantula an’ a -side-winder all into one; an’ some day you’ll know it.” - -“I guess that’s no lie, Sandy.” Gard’s face was pale, and his eyes wore -a strange look. He spoke very low; for the others were coming within -earshot. - -“Guess I’ll mosey along,” the foreman said. “I come a driftin’ up here -after some hog-grease, an’ I’ll have to _buscar_ Chang fer’t.” - -He walked off in the direction of the kitchen as the others began -talking to Gard. Half an hour afterwards Anderson was waving _adios_ to -Westcott, from the great rancho gateway. - -The attorney rode out on the desert, glorious in the afternoon light, -and taking a wide sweep turned back by way of the corrals. A cow-puncher -who had been squatting against one of the fences, waiting, got up as he -came in sight, and shuffled out to meet him. - -“What did you want of me, Broome?” Westcott asked at once. - -Broome lounged up against the fence, his hands in his pockets. - -“I been playin’ in a hell o’ luck lately, Mr. Westcott,” he said. - -Westcott made a move as if to ride on. - -“If it’s nothing but a hard luck story,” he began. - -“No, no. It ain’t.” Broome laid a restraining hand on the pony’s mane. - -“I want ter know who that feller is up yonder.” He jerked his head -toward the casa, at the same time characterizing Gard after a manner -entirely to his own mind. - -“I don’t know him from a hole in the post,” Westcott said, with great -apparent candor. “What makes him get on _your_ nerves so?” - -“He give me the double cross an’ the grand throw-down, sure, all in the -same shuffle,” Broome said, with a snarl. - -“Where was that.” - -“Sommers in the mountains. I was lost in the desert; pretty near cashed -in, an’ I met up with this feller. He took me inter camp, hell of a -outfit. Everything made outer nothing, same ’s a Papago where they ain’t -no settlement handy. He was eatin’ tree beans, an’ shootin’ game with a -bowarrer, an’ he had all sorts o’ scare-crow Bible verses wrote up round -like a Sunday school. Sufferin’ snakes! You never see the beat of it!” - -“I don’t know as I ever want to,” Westcott said, impatiently. “Drive on, -Broome.” - -“I’m a drivin’. Gimme time. Say, Mr. Westcott: the cuss ’d struck it -rich up there, like I told you. Got a vein o’ yeller laid open like a -roarin’ buttercup.” - -“Got it staked and located, too, I suppose,” the lawyer said, with a -sneer. “Bite it off, Broome: what are you driving at?” - -“I tell you I _am_ bitin’ it off,” was the sullen rejoinder. “I tell you -there’s gold to burn up there. It’s the damndest, likeliest place you -ever see.” - -“Why didn’t you prospect a little too?” - -“Prospect!” Broome swore, savagely. - -“That there locoed buffalo he tried to kill me, when he found I’d -discovered the vein. He’d took me up the trail clean dopy, an’ he -brought me down blindfold, with my hands tied, on the back of a damned -little she-ass; so I wouldn’t know how to git back there.” - -“Oh,” Westcott jeered. “And what you want of me is to take you by the -little hand and lead you back there and let you dig?” - -“No I don’t neither! I got a good scheme, an’ I want ter let you in on -it. You done a lot fer me, once, Mr. Westcott.” - -“You bet I did,” was Westcott’s response. “You owe me the price of your -own neck, whatever that may be worth to you; but I can’t see where -you’re going to pay it out of this scheme.” - -“I’d a done it all right by now if that feller hadn’t nearly killed me,” -Broome said. - -“Why didn’t he quite kill you if he wanted to?” asked Westcott, -incredulously. - -“Hell! _I_ dunno,” was the frank admission; “I’d a done him good an’ -plenty, you bet; but he didn’t, an’ here I am.” - -Westcott sat his horse, waiting, with an elaborate assumption of -patience. - -“Here’s what I’m thinkin’ of,” began Broome, talking fast. “I’m busted, -Mr. Westcott: I ain’t got even a bronc o’ my own; but if I c’d git -anybody to grub-stake me, I’d go up the railroad to where Gard left that -burro—I know the place all right—an’ I’d git ’er; I’d know ’er by a big -scar on one shoulder. An’ you bet the hash once she was out on the -desert she’d strike fer that there camp in the mountains. She’s that -kind. He tamed her out o’ the wild, he said, an’ she never knowed no -other place.” - -“Then what would you do?” - -“Be Johnnie on the spot,” replied Broome. “Git in an’ dig. In the same -place, mebby.” - -“Do you mean jump it?” The question was put in a low tone. - -“I ain’t sayin’ what I mean; but I mean all ’t ’s necessary to git back -the rights that feller done me out of.” - -Westcott considered, looking thoughtfully out on the desert. - -“It’s risky,” was his comment, at length. - -“I ain’t askin’ _you_ to risk it,” growled the other. “All I want o’ you -’s a grub-stake, an’ I’ll divvy fair.” - -“I should advise you to.” The quiet voice was full of meaning. - -“I will, fer fair. Will you do it?” - -“I’ll think about it”; Westcott spoke in an ordinary tone. “There may be -a fair prospecting chance in it,” he continued. “I’ll see you again. I -wouldn’t do any talking if I were you,” he added. - -Broome regarded him with sullen scorn. - -“Think I’m a damned tenderfoot to go shootin’ off my mouth?” he -demanded. - -The lawyer made no reply as he rode away, while Broome went back into -the shade. Wing Chang, darting around a corner of the fodder-sheds, to -make sure which way he turned, came face to face with Sandy Larch, -walking in the direction of the horse-corrals, his surprised eyes -following Westcott’s vanishing figure. - -“Mistlee Westclott,” said Chang, noting the foreman’s interest. “Him an’ -Bloome have long talkee-talkee out there, allee samee heap chin-chin.” - -“So do you, you heap heathen,” replied the foreman. “What you doin’ down -here?” - -The Chinaman grinned, full of friendliness. - -“Sam Lee kid say you come look see for hog lard when me gone. When come -back I bling him.” - -He held out a broken bean-pot containing the desired article. Sandy -Larch took it, sniffing it critically. - -“Good boy, Chang,” he said, in approval. “And you just remember this -that I tell you: Broome an’ Mr. Westcott, they’ve most likely bin -arrangin’ a series o’ Salvation Army joss meetings, fer to convert all -you Chinks. Sabbee dat?” - -“Me sabbee.” - -“All right, then; you just sashay back an’ git on your cookin’ job. -That’s all.” - -He put a broad hand on the Chinaman’s shoulder and turned him about. - -“Allee lightee,” Wing Chang said, and went his way, smiling, -inscrutably. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -“I’m sure you ought to have stayed longer,” Helen Anderson said. “Such a -hurt as you had _can’t_ be well by now.” - -Gard, from the saddle, thrust forth his hurt foot and moved it about. - -“It _has_ got well, first rate,” said he, meditatively. “Your father can -sure get his certificate off me, any day.” - -He spoke lightly, not glancing at the upturned, troubled face. He spoke -truthfully. His foot was well on the road to recovery, but he knew, in -his heart of hearts, that he was running away from the Palo Verde, and -that his resolution to do so was not very strong. - -“It’s the first time you have been on a horse since that day,” Helen -continued. “Wouldn’t you do better to go in the buckboard, after all?” - -He knew that hers was but the solicitude of the hostess; but the kindly -interest of her tone was like nectar to him. It drew his eyes to hers, -which suddenly sought his stirrup. Gard pulled himself up with a jerk. - -“I’ll be all right,” said he, with a sudden stiffening of voice and -manner. “I ought to ’ve gone before.” - -She drew back, a little coldly. - -“It’s too bad you’ve been detained,” she said, and he could not bear it. - -“It ain’t that,” he said, quickly. “I’d like to stay. I don’t know how -to tell you how I’d like to stay. But I’ve got to go. And anyway, I must -be in Sylvania soon ’s possible. There’s a heap of things I’ve got to -do. I—” - -He realized that he was getting beyond bounds, and was glad that Morgan -Anderson came up from the corrals just then. - -“Here’s your last chance, if you want to change your mind and go in the -buckboard,” the cattleman called. - -The buckboard, with a team of broncos driven by one of the men, was -already driving away. Strapped at the back was Gard’s suit-case, which -Anderson had insisted upon having brought out from the hotel in -Sylvania. Gard felt quite sure that he preferred to ride, and Anderson -gave it as his opinion that that was the best way to travel. - -“Better ’n railroad trains, or automobiles,” he declared, and quoted, as -a clincher to his opinion, “‘A good man on a good horse is nobody’s -slave.’” - -Gard had been at the rancho five days; five wonderful days, they were to -him, and he felt that he dared not stay another hour. The cattleman had -not been able to help him much, on the business that had been his errand -to the Palo Verde. Ashley Westcott had been diligent in seeking, a -couple of years before, to learn what had become of Sawyer, after he -acknowledged the Oliphant deed to Ed Hallard; but it had never occurred -to him to mention the young notary to Morgan Anderson. - -Curiously enough, however, the first person whom Gard had asked about -the notary, after learning of Mrs. Hallard’s trouble, had referred him -to the cattleman. It was this fact that had brought him out to the Palo -Verde. - -Anderson remembered the young fellow. Sawyer had “developed lungs” in -Sacramento, and had come down to the desert in search of health. He had -got better, Anderson knew, and had “gone back inside”—he thought to San -Francisco. He gave Gard the address of a correspondent of his own in -that city, who might, he thought, be able to furnish Sawyer’s address. - -“I wish I could have helped you more in what you wanted to know,” -Anderson said, shaking hands with his guest. “But you come out again -while you’re down this way, and maybe we’ll have better luck all round.” - -Gard thanked him, and with another word or two to Helen, rode away. -Anderson stood watching him, long after the horse and rider had become a -mere speck on the yellow desert. - -“There’s something awfully likable about that chap, Sis,” he remarked to -the girl at his side. “But he puzzles me, too.” - -“Yes?” Helen answered, absently, and her father glanced at her quickly. - -What he saw seemed to reassure him. She was bending over Patsy, whose -paw had come into painful contact with prickly pear. - -“That means, little dog,” she told him, “that you will have to stay at -home.” - -She searched the hurt member to make sure that the thorns were all out. - -“Yes”—she was still bent over Patsy’s foot as she answered her father’s -remark—“he is likable.... There, Patsy, don’t make a fuss.” She bound up -the paw in her handkerchief. - -“I do not know that he puzzled me,” she went on, straightening up. “I -thought he seemed rather lonely, though.” - -“He’s not likely to be that, long,” was Anderson’s reply. “It’s a -thundering pity, too. I understand he’s in deep with that Hallard woman, -though I’ve tried not to believe it. She don’t seem his kind. I asked -him to come here again,” he went on, a little ruefully; “and yet I’m not -sure I meant it.” - -“What kind of woman is this Mrs. Hallard, Father?” Helen regarded her -father now, with interest in her level grey eyes. - -“Why,” Anderson said, doubtfully. “She’s not the kind I should think -would catch him. It’s a case of catch, all right, though, I guess; even -Westcott seemed to know about it.” - -He considered a moment, frowning. - -“She’s loud, and coarse, I suppose; but she’s a mighty handsome woman, -if a man don’t care about some other things. And I somehow should think -Gard would. I like a different sort, myself.” - -He glanced proudly at the figure beside him. Helen was in her -riding-habit, waiting for her horse to be brought round. - -“But she—she’s only a rough kind, is all you mean, isn’t it?” Her face -flushed, ever so little. - -“Oh, Kate Hallard’s a decent sort, all right enough, I dare say,” -Anderson hastened to answer. “Of course there’s always talk. I’ve heard -some myself, but I discounted it. In the first place, she’s hard as -nails. No nonsense about her. Not her. Her tongue ’s tipped with -vitriol, and when she opens her mouth the men catch it.” Anderson -shrugged his shoulder a trifle. - -“And then, of course,” said he, “There’s no telling about Gard. He may -be a little more attracted than he might want to be, and yet have -strength enough to pull out of it and get away.” - -“I should call that being weak, if he cared!” cried Helen, indignantly. - -“Oh, I don’t know.” Her father took Dickens’ bridle-rein from the -puncher who had brought the pony up. - -“It all depends upon how a man looks at some things,” he said, throwing -the reins into place. - -Helen took them and prepared to mount, a hand on the cantel. - -“The one thing I don’t like about this way of riding,” said Anderson, -“is that it curtails our privileges. You don’t need helping on.” - -Helen sprang to the saddle, adjusting herself with a little shake. - -“’Twould only hinder,” said she, smiling, “like every other help we -don’t need.” - -She flushed suddenly, as she realized that she was quoting a saying of -Gard’s. - -“You keep Patsy here, won’t you?” she called as she rode away, leaving -her father looking after her with an expression half proud, half wistful -and wholly tender. - -“She’s clean grown up,” said he, to himself, as he stooped and snapped -the leash into Patsy’s collar. - -“The bonnie thing! Lord! How I wish her mother was alive!” - -He stood staring out upon the sun-washed desert, wide, silent, baffling, -and spoke the yearning thought of his heart. - -“I don’t know how to be a mother to her, and she’s sure going to need -one. Lord, Lord!” He cast a comprehensive glance over the fierce, -brilliant landscape. “This is an all-right country for men and burros,” -he said, with a half-whimsical sigh, “but it’s a mighty hard one for -women and horses!” - -Helen had promised Jacinta to ride as far as Old Joe Papago’s, to see -Mrs. Old Joe about a young Indian girl who was to come and help Jacinta -with the work of the casa. Old Joe was better off, financially, than any -other Papago in the section, and his wife, who was reputed to have some -Spanish blood, exercised a sort of guardianship over the women and young -girls of their settlement. This latter was only three or four miles -distant, and there was a slight ting in the December air that quickened -Dickens’ nerves, and made him ready for a frolic, but Helen was in no -mood to gratify him. She ignored all his invitations to run, and kept -him to the slow little walk of the bronco. - -He hated it and fretted under the steady rein; but for once Helen did -not heed him. She was going over in her mind the events of the past five -days. Westcott, in the brief space of his hour with her, had sought to -sow the seeds of doubt of Gard in her mind. He had spoken vaguely of -certain tricky games that the stranger was trying to play upon him, and -an imagination less pure than the girl’s might have inferred much from -the subtle little that he let fall regarding Kate Hallard. - -The carefully chosen seed, however, had found no favoring soil—no -fostering care. Helen was herself of too true and sturdy a fiber to -doubt the truth and the stability of Gard’s nature. She dismissed, with -hardly a thought, the suggestion of trickery on his part, and the other -poisoned arrows wholly missed their intended mark. - -“There’s a lot of ways of thinking about any one thing,” Gard had said -one day, as they talked out long, long thoughts of life, and right, “But -a man—he’s got to follow the straightest path he sees; for he’s got to -live so he can like himself, and care to be with himself.” - -Yes: that was what he would do, without fail. He saw straight, and he -would follow the straight path. Oh! It was good to feel trust in one’s -friends! Something of the peace and serenity that Gard himself had won -out of solitude and despair fell upon her spirit at thought of his clear -vision, and steady holding of the right. - -Yet her heart was heavy. She told herself that this was because she -feared for the ultimate happiness of one friend. She remembered her -father’s words about Mrs. Hallard: “coarse; hard; her tongue tipped with -vitriol.” Surely they must be unjust, or this man, who was fine and -true, would not care. He _could_ not care. Perhaps he would come to see -before it was too late, and would “pull out and get away.” But no: that -he would not do. His was a steadfast nature; of that she was sure! - - -Before Old Joe Papago’s door, reins dropped to the sand, stood a stout -roan horse, and leaning against the door-post, talking to Mrs. Old Joe, -was a woman dressed in khaki. It needed but a single glance to tell -Helen who it was. - -The blonde head turned as the girl rode up, and the big black eyes -surveyed her comprehensively, but there was no sign of recognition in -the hard, impassive face. Mrs. Old Joe grunted a response to Helen’s -greeting, and the latter dismounted. - -Acting upon a sudden impulse she came close to the woman by the doorway. - -“Good-morning,” she said, simply, holding out her hand. “This is Mrs. -Hallard, isn’t it? I am Helen Anderson.” - -“Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Hallard said, apparently not seeing the -outstretched hand. Kate Hallard had no mind to be patronized: but she -studied the girl’s face, stealthily, and the bold eyes grew a shade -softer. - -She did not know that Gard had left the Palo Verde that morning. -Westcott, who had tried hard to come to some sort of terms with her, in -the other man’s absence, had told her that the latter would probably let -himself be detained at the rancho for a fortnight, at least. He had -drawn a vivid picture of Gard making the most of this opportunity to win -a way into Miss Anderson’s good graces. The lawyer’s methods had been -primitive. He sought to play upon the woman’s presumable capacity for -jealousy, and thus set her against Gard. - -He might have saved himself the mental wear and tear. Kate Hallard was -not a fool; nor a devotee of the heart-complication school of fiction. -She held no illusions about Gard’s attitude toward herself, and she had -come to believe in him, passionately. Nevertheless, Westcott’s efforts -had awakened in her a keen interest in Helen. - -“I expect you are on the same errand as myself,” the girl was saying, -determined not to be repulsed. “Mrs. Joe keeps all the girls in her -_reboso_.” - -She spoke in Spanish, that the Indian woman might not feel left out of -their talk, and the latter smiled, toothlessly. - -“My, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Hallard. “You don’t catch me taking on girls to -look after. I’m on the _buscar_ for a boy.” - -“And have you succeeded?” - -“Not I! They ain’t lookin’ for work; not the bucks; an’ she wouldn’t -trust me with a girl, not even if I’d take one.” - -She laughed, defiantly, and the young girl divined, instinctively, that -she did so because she was ill at ease. She stood looking at her, -wistfully. - -Did Gabriel Gard really love this woman? Was she really coarse, and -hard, and vitriolic of tongue, as her father had said? It could not be; -or such a man could not care. There _must_ be another side, and shame be -upon her, Helen Anderson, if she could not win it to the surface. - -“I wonder—” she began, with some hesitation. “Of course I don’t know -what you want, but Wing Chang, our cook, has a young cousin—or -something—visiting him. He came a few days ago, with some teamsters from -the mines. I think Chang does not want to take him on. He was scolding -about it, yesterday.” - -The defiance was gone from Mrs. Hallard’s face, and a little look of -friendliness crept among its hard lines. - -“Why, if he’s old enough to wait on table,” said she, “I dare say he’d -be just what I want.” - -“Oh,” Helen replied, “I know that he can do that. He must be about -sixteen years old, and he _has_ waited in restaurants.” She did not add -that that was one reason why neither she nor Chang cared for the lad’s -services. “Why can’t you ride back to the rancho with me and see him -yourself?” she asked, instead. - -“Why, I’d take it right good of you if I could,” Kate Hallard said, -after a moment’s hesitation. Mrs. Old Joe had departed to find the -mother of Jacinta’s prospective handmaiden, and they were speaking -English. - -“’Tain’t no meanness in me that won’t have a girl round,” she added, as -if wishing to set herself right with her hearer, “but I want some one to -sling victuals, at the grille, an’ I can’t have any half-baked -girl-squaws round. Men’s devils; I can’t look after them an’ girls too.” - -“Oh!” Helen spoke in impulsive protest, and Mrs. Hallard’s laugh was -hard again. - -“You don’t believe what I said about men, I guess,” she said, and Helen -answered very simply: - -“Of course not; it couldn’t be true you know, so long as women are -not—what you said.” - -“I ain’t so sure about the women—not most of ’em—” Mrs. Hallard’s -handsome face wore a sneer now. - -“Anyway,” she argued, “they’s plenty of ’em doin’ their share o’ the -devil’s business in the world.” - -“But there _are_ good men,” Helen persisted, “and good women, too.” - -“Right you are about there bein’ some,” was the reply; “but I draw the -line at there bein’ many. I’ve lived in this world thirty years, nearly, -child, an’ I ain’t found such a lot. I know _one_ good man though.” - -Her face softened, and at the sight a thrill stirred Helen’s pulses. She -felt sure that Mrs. Hallard was speaking of Gard. There _was_ softness -under that hard shell after all. - -Before she could say anything more, however, Mrs. Old Joe returned to -the hut with the Papago girl and her mother, and she set her mind to the -faithful performance of Jacinta’s errand. It was quickly arranged that -the handmaiden should be brought at once to the Palo Verde, and the -matter completed, the two white women rode away together. - -A soft wind was blowing across their faces; a wind full of the essential -odor of the desert: impalpable, a little acrid, bracing withal, and -subtly suggestive of mystery, and of vastness. Helen threw back her -head, yielding to the desert spell. - -“Oh!” she cried, “this is the place to be, after all. Don’t you feel so -about it?” she demanded of her companion. - -“I don’t know,” Kate Hallard was watching her, puzzled. “I never was -away from it. Sometimes it makes me ache.” - -“Ache?” It was the girl’s turn to be mystified. - -“Yes.” The woman could not have told why the hidden thoughts of her -heart suddenly became articulate at this girl’s invitation to speech. - -“It always seems to me as if the desert—wants something,” she explained, -hesitatingly. “I d’ know what ’tis, but the feeling’s there: a sort of -emptiness, as if it wanted to cry and couldn’t. Sometimes at night, when -I hear a burro ‘yee-haw,’ or a coyote howlin’, seems to me like’s if, if -the desert _could_ cry that’s the kind o’ noise it would make. It’s like -lonesome women—if there’s any sense in that!” she added with a -half-ashamed laugh. - -Helen’s heart was full of sympathy that she felt was but partially -understanding. So this was what the desert had brought to this -hard-seeming woman. She had a sudden sorry realization that the -marvelous waste had never told its ache to her, dearly as she loved it, -and with the realization came the knowledge that the woman beside her -understood because she had truly lived and suffered in it. It came to -her to wonder if Gard had ever felt the ache of the desert. - -“Do you ever want to get away from it?” she asked, softly. - -“I d’ know,” her companion considered. - -“I ain’t never known what anything else is like,” she finally said, -helplessly, “but seems to me you git to feel like’s if you was part of -the desert, an’ something would break if you got too far off.” - -Ah! _That_ Helen knew. She had hungered for the desert, even if she had -never ached with it. - -“It’s the place of places for me,” cried she, taking off her hat and -letting the wind stir her hair. - -Kate Hallard studied her, wonderingly. She had known few women in her -life; never before so youthful a one. She wondered what Gabriel Gard had -thought of this girl. - -“Mr. Gard’s at the rancho ain’t he?” she asked, and Helen’s cheek paled -for an instant. The older woman noted the fact with a fierce little -pang. - -“He went back to Sylvania this morning,” Helen answered, and the other -looked her surprise. - -“I didn’t suppose he’d git away so quick,” she said. “Sandy Larch was in -yesterday an’ said he was in for another week. If I’d known he was -comin’ in I wouldn’t a’ gone off,” she added, and a sense of the -desert’s ache crept into Helen’s own heart. - -Yes: Mrs. Hallard was right: it _was_ a lonely place. - - -Arrived at the Palo Verde, the girl called Wing Chang, telling him the -business of the moment, and directed him to send in his young relative. -Then she took Mrs. Hallard to her own room, a big, low-ceilinged place, -with wide windows looking out toward the far mountains. Kate gazed about -her wistfully. She had seen few women’s rooms in her lifetime. - -This one was the sort of composite suggestion of dear girl and nice boy -that the modern college girl’s room is apt to be. Cushions blazoned with -the initials of Radcliffe and of Harvard heaped a couch covered with the -skin of a mountain lion that Helen herself had shot. Among the pretty -trifles on the dresser was a practical-looking little revolver, and from -one of the two hooks that held her light rifle hung an illumined panel -bearing the arms of Radcliffe. A cartridge-belt hung from another hook, -and beneath it, on a stand, lay a bit of dainty embroidery which she had -been working on that very morning. - -Beside it was a fat little book bound in age-yellowed vellum. Kate -Hallard picked this up and glanced through it, curiously. - -“Is this Chinese?” she asked, bewildered. - -Helen explained that it was Greek, and the woman laid it down with a -weary little laugh. - -“I ain’t never been out’n the territory, as I said,” she explained, half -defiantly. “Men’s about the only books I ever read, an’ Lord! _they’re_ -mostly writ plainer’n that.” - -“I haven’t known many,” Helen answered, “except my father—and one or two -others.” - -“One or two’s likely to be samples o’ the rest,” the other remarked, -carelessly. “I suppose you know an awful lot?” she continued, glancing -at Helen’s book-shelves. She had never before seen so many books -together. - -“I know just enough to realize that I am dreadfully ignorant.” Helen’s -face was troubled; the older woman yearned toward her. She, alas! could -think of nothing in her own experience that was likely to be of use to -the girl. - -Wing Chang’s cousin just at this instant appeared, silently, in the -doorway. - -“Oh, Lee,” Helen cried; “Mrs. Hallard wants to see you.” - -“Chang say come,” the boy replied, “I come quick’s could. Me velly good -waiter boy,” he added without preamble, turning to Kate Hallard. -“Thinkee takee your job.” - -“Land sakes!” laughed she; “he’s none so slow, is he?” - -“Can you wait on customers as prompt as all that?” she asked of the boy. - -“Me velly good boy,” he repeated, gravely, “makee hash fli allee same -like hellee.” - -“Lee!” Helen looked shocked. “You should wait to see whether Mrs. -Hallard wants you,” she finished, rather tamely. - -Lee looked at her in surprise. “No can help,” he announced, -conclusively, “China boy velly scarce; no can get many; him got take me; -one velly good boy.” He glanced again at Mrs. Hallard. - -“I go get clo’,” he concluded, imperturbably. “Go skippee Sylvania. See -you later.” - -He was gone, without circumlocution, and Helen surveyed her visitor a -little helplessly. “I’ll have Chang talk to him,” she said. - -“No need,” laughed the other. “But my! He’s sure something of a hustler, -that boy. I reckon I’d better hit the trail or he’ll be runnin’ the -grille before I git to it.” - -“Do you really think he will do for you?” Helen was somewhat dismayed. - -“Sure,” was the reply. “He’ll do first rate. He means well; don’t I know -Chinks?” - -“You have to take ’em the way they mean,” she added, philosophically. -“That’s the way to git along with ’em.” - -“You seem to know a great deal,” murmured Helen, wistfully. She felt -somehow very young and inexperienced. - -“I suppose you’ll see Mr. Gard when you get home,” she added, -tentatively. “We—that is—Father was afraid he ought not to go so soon—on -account of his foot. We hope it will be all right.” - -Again Kate Hallard crushed down the little pang that would come. - -“Mr. Gard, he took hold of a little piece o’ business for me...” she -spoke very casually, “I reckon it’s bothering him a lot. I expect he -wants to get done with it an’ git away from here. He’s been mighty kind -about it.” - -“Oh! He would be that.” Helen could not have explained why her heart -seemed suddenly lighter. She was conscious of a quick, friendly feeling -toward this woman of the desert. - -“You’ll come again to see me, won’t you?” she asked, detaining her guest -when the latter had swung to the saddle. - -Kate Hallard hesitated. “I reckon I can’t git away from the grille -much,” she said, evasively. “I never go nowhere much.” - -The girl’s instinctive wisdom prompted her not to press the point then. -She would let it wait, but her wistfulness sounded in her voice when she -spoke again. - -“At any rate we’re friends, are we not?” queried she, looking up into -the black eyes. - -They returned her gaze with a sudden glisten, as of ice-bound pools when -Spring has touched them. In their fundamental honesty the two natures -stood for the moment upon common ground. - -“Friends.” Kate Hallard drew a long breath as she took up her -bridle-rein. “Child,” she said, “if the friendship of a woman like me is -ever any use to you, it’s yours while there’s a drop o’ blood in my -heart,” and ere Helen could make answer she was well down the avenue -toward the great gate. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -The days immediately following his return to Sylvania were hard ones for -Gard. The few cautious inquiries he had dared to make in the -investigation of his own affairs had resulted in the information that -Jim Texas was dead and that Hart Dowling had left Wyoming and gone on -into Idaho. Gard’s messenger had been unable to get to him on account of -the deep snow. - -He read the letter containing this news lying coatless upon the sand, -far beyond the town. The desert was his one solace in the enforced -idleness of waiting for word from Sawyer, for which he had written to -San Francisco. The vast barren seemed in tune with his own mood. - -The fierceness of his ache was there; the yearning of his solitude: he -tried to picture the vast sea of sand overgrown with verdure, calling up -cool visions of tree and pool, and gentle growths born of the small -spring rain on the green grass. The picture came before him like a -memory of delicious holidays in lush woods. - -It was but a vision however. The scent of the desert was in his -nostrils; the impress of the desert upon his brain. He opened his eyes -and saw again the silent reaches of the waste—wide, untamed, -untamable—and sat up, the better to view the lean landscape. - -At his first movement a jack-rabbit, observing him from beneath a -cholla, gathered its swift hind-legs under him and fled, with incredible -rapidity, before the shadow of fear. Gard laughed, but there was -underneath his amusement a sense of the constant deadly strife of the -place. If he had no designs upon the jack-rabbit, plenty of other -creatures had. The lurking snake that lay in wait to take him subtly; -the lank coyote, more cunning than he, if not so swift; even the Gila -monster, slow and hideous; the savage, sneaking wild-cat, and the little -hydrophobia skunk, were constantly on the alert to surprise those -wide-open eyes and ears. These all preyed upon him, and upon one -another, caught in the endless struggle of the desert, moved upon by -constant need to sustain life, and to hold it against all other life. - -The thought brought Gard to a sharpened sense of his own danger, and of -the enemies who, if they but knew, would be so quick to hunt and harry -him. The savagery of it all smote him with a keener desolation. The -armed vegetation, grotesque and menacing; the preying creatures of the -plain; the sand-laden wind that was constantly tearing down and -rebuilding the shifting scene—were not all these but a commentary upon -the mad, devouring human world about him? - -But the wind that laid bare the earth’s nakedness clothed and healed as -well, purifying the air and cleansing the waste. The give as well as the -take of life was there. Death was in the desert, but not decay. Gard, -feeling it all in the whirl of his emotions, knew that the grim plain -which mothered the whole fierce brood had mothered him as well, giving -him back health and strength from her own burning heart, and he loved -her, as her children must. - -His thoughts turned inevitably to the glade. He had a whimsical idea -that his trouble would all seem easier if he could but talk it over with -Jinny. Deep down, however, he knew better. Not even to that faithful -listener could he have voiced the longing of his whole nature for Helen -Anderson. He cherished the thought of her in his secret heart, going -over, minute by minute, the hours they had spent together. Each word of -hers, each look, gesture, had its special power of endearment! - -What if he were to tell her the whole story, would she believe him? -Would she consent to go away with him into a new life? He could realize -enough from the mine to make such a life full of rich possibilities, and -there were far countries enough! - -But what sort of a man would it be, who could ask the woman he loved to -help him live a lie? He asked himself the question and awoke to a -realization of his further folly. What right had he even to dream of -her—to imagine that she could ever care for him at all? Even though he -should stand before her without a shadow in his past he would be a brave -man who dared raise his eyes to her. How could he, of all men? - -Then he remembered Westcott. He had seen with his own eyes that _he_ -dared. Could that man ever hope to win her? - -The torture of this thought drove him out over the desert at noon, when -the sky closed brassy-yellow above him, and the heat-reddened air over -the sand seemed the hue of his own thoughts. He fought his way through -it to peace, far out in the open, when the afternoon wind was driving -the heat of the plain skyward, and seaward over the mountains, and he -came back against that cleansing breath, his wonted strong self, to a -conference with Kate Hallard. She was bitter against Westcott that day, -breathing out wrath, and the desire for vengeance. - -“If you’ve ever noticed it,” Gard said, “there’s a kind of -reasonableness in the way things happen, even when they look black. They -happen out of each other; and there’s Something managing them, no matter -how it looks, sometimes. I’ve found that out.” - -“I’d like to help in the managin’,” Mrs. Hallard said, grimly. - -“You couldn’t.” Gard shook his head thoughtfully. - -“You couldn’t see the whole scheme,” he continued. “And we don’t need to -want to. Whoever’s doing it is making up a whole piece out of ’em. -That’s this world we’re in. It’s our world. We belong in it; and there -ain’t anything in it for us to be afraid of but just ourselves.” - -He pondered his own saying for a moment, repeating it as if to reassure -himself. - -“That’s sure right.” He took up the thread again. - -“It makes me think of a game I played once at a party I went to, when I -was a kid, back in the states. They had a big, round paper apple fixed -up, with something in it for each of us; and we each had a string given -us to follow up till we came to the end and each found what belonged to -him. Ever see anything like that?” - -Mrs. Hallard nodded. - -“They worked a game o’ that sort once at some Christmas doin’s where I -was raised. Did you ever think o’ me goin’ to Sunday School?” she asked, -with a bitter little laugh. - -“Sure I did.” Gard went on with his simile. “A man’s got to hold on to -his own string,” he said. “And follow it up till he gets to the core of -the apple. He’ll find his own share there. This Westcott, he’s trying to -haul on other folkses’ lines, as well’s his own, and that gets things in -a mix-up. We’ve got to try and make him play the thing right; but it -ain’t our party, and therefore it ain’t our job to throw him out of the -game altogether.” - -Mrs. Hallard’s brows were knit in the effort to follow. She had not -herself learned, as yet, to lean upon the logic of events, and vengeance -was a part of her own theory of life. Then, because she seemed to find -no thoroughfare through the subject, she turned abruptly away from it. - -“I met up with your Miss Helen Anderson yesterday,” she said, suddenly. - -The light in Gard’s face was revealing, but he merely stood, expectant, -until she had told him the whole of the encounter at Old Joe Papago’s, -even to Helen’s proffer of friendship. - -“Bless her!” the man murmured, with face illumined. “Ain’t she a brick, -though?” - -“She’s better ’n a brick,” said Kate Hallard, promptly. “She’s a real -woman, with a lovin’ honest heart. Look here, Mr. Gabriel Gard! Be you -goin’ to stand round with your quirt in your hand, while that there -Westcott devil rides off the range with her?” - -Gard’s face was pale, and the sweat stood upon his forehead. - -“Don’t!” cried he, sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! A -man’s got to follow his own line, I tell you, and get it clear before -him, before he asks any woman to take hold of it with him!” - -He turned abruptly and left her. Yes: that was what he must do. Whatever -was to be met, he must meet it, and clear the way, before he took one -step nearer Helen. - -“But it’s hard to wait,” he muttered, pacing the desert with clenched -hands; “hard as wickedness!” - -The stage that night brought him a letter from San Francisco. Sawyer, it -told him, had left the city. The writer believed that he had gone to -Arizona for the winter. He was thought to be somewhere on a ranch in the -neighborhood of the Navajo reservation. Gard read that with a little -feeling of dismay. He did not care to go up there. He had grown -confident that he was not likely to be recognized; but still, there was -danger, and he wanted to keep clear of complications until such time as -he was ready to act for himself. If anything should happen to him he had -no one to take up his work on the outside. He must find someone whom he -could trust. - -Suddenly he bethought himself of Sandy Larch. They were friends. He -could trust Sandy, and he would. - -He spent a long time that evening, writing a letter of instructions for -Sandy Larch to read, in the event of any failure in his own plans. This -he put carefully inside a worn memorandum book, and did the whole up in -a neat packet which he meant to leave with the foreman, together with a -heavy money-belt which he was then himself wearing. If necessity arose -he would have to trust much to the foreman’s shrewd judgment in action, -but at least he would fix things so that Sandy should not be acting in -the dark. - -He got an early start in the morning, and rode out to the Palo Verde. -Morgan Anderson was away. He had left at daylight, to go down into -Mexico, Sandy Larch explained, on some mining business. Incidentally, he -was going to see about some choice lemon trees that he had set his heart -upon, and before their arrival ground must be broken to receive them. - -“So it’s up to us to git them workin’ cows gentled an’ onto their job,” -the foreman told Gard; “We’re goin’ to bust ’em out right now.” - -“Say,” he added, “That lawyer-sharp ’s here. Came down last night, to -see the _patron_; he’s goin’ on to Sylvania, I guess. He said somethin’ -about it, awhile ago.” - -“I came out to see you on a little business matter, Sandy,” Gard had -begun, when one of the cow-punchers demanded the foreman’s attention. -Ere he could turn back to Gard, Westcott came down from the casa and -mounted his horse which was standing at the rail. - -He greeted Gard curtly. “Going to stay and see the fun?” He queried, -with a jaunty air of being entirely at home. “I think I will, too. We’ll -be glad to have you.” - -The future working-stock had been removed to an outlying corral, to make -room for the horses the men had been working out. The Palo Verde was -short of men that season, and Sandy was obliged to plan his work -carefully. The punchers who were to break in the cattle were grouped -now, and ready for the fray. - -“Come on,” the foreman called to Gard, who had tossed his saddlebags -down in front of Sandy’s shack, and the outfit went tearing across the -sand to the outer corrals. - -A wagon and a plow had been hauled out to the scene of action the night -before. The principles of gentling the steers were brief and -fundamental. Two punchers threw their ropes over the horns of one big -brute and dragged him out upon the desert, while two others brought up -his yoke-fellow. Once yoked and hitched, with a riata from the horns of -each to the saddle-horn of a good man on a clever pony, to tow them -along, the creatures could move forward, or die in their tracks. When, -as was usual, they decided to do the former, they were considered -gentled. Their future, thereafter, was in the keeping of the Mexican who -might have them in hand to plow with. - -“Hullo, you heap heathen!” Sandy Larch called out to the Chinese cook in -the big wagon as the outfit came thundering up. “How’d you git out -here?” - -Wing Chang grinned, as was his habit whenever the foreman addressed him. - -“Heap tallee fun,” he explained. “Me come look see.” - -Sandy Larch and Manuel had already brought out a steer. Broome threw his -rope next, cursing roundly at the greenhorn who was helping him, and -whose first wild throw covered the horns of the wrong animal. Since it -would be quicker work for him to change than for the other, Broome -released his “cow,” the big steer that had run him from the corral the -week before, and took hold with the greenhorn. - -The brutes were yoked and hitched to the wagon, and the fun began with -Chang’s precipitate and unpremeditated departure from the vehicle. He -rolled over and got to his feet as the cowboys started out over the -sand, pell-mell, “pully haul,” in a medley of shrieks and oaths and -thunderous bellowings. The spectators of the proceedings kept along upon -the flanks of the procession, shouting encouragement or derision to the -sweating cowboys as they galloped, and occasionally lending a hand so -far as to lean over and apply the spur to one or the other resisting -“bos.” In two minutes’ time the wildly gyrating mass was well out on the -plain. - -Then from the corral came the sound of a sudden crash. A huge red and -white bulk hurled itself over the bars, and the steer that Broome had -released came charging out, mad with rage and fear. - -For an instant he stood dazed by the success of his own exploit. None of -the other cattle had followed. He alone had possessed the wit and -prowess to essay the barrier, one bar of which the greenhorn had failed -to secure. - -The great brute’s hesitation was brief. For an instant he pawed the -sand, bellowing challenge to the world; then, head down and tail up, he -started like a streak of lightning for the only man on foot. - -Wing Chang had already realized his danger, and was flying for his life, -his pigtail streaming behind him, his yellow face distorted by fright. -The outfit wheeled and took notice. - -“Wow! Wow! Fli’ gun. Allee samee fli’ gun!” - -The high-pitched shrieks of the terrified Chinamen rose above the noise -of hoofs, the shouts of men, the bellowing of cattle. On he sped, the -mighty bulk of his pursuer flashing along in what looked like a -continuous streak of red, behind him. - -“Hell!” One of the punchers ejaculated. “It’s us to be hunting a new -cook!” - -The next instant his bronco’s heels were twinkling as he raced to the -rescue. - -Gard had already started. He had no rope, but he was nearest the scene, -and he saw, as did the others, that no rope could be flung in time. He -was sending his pony along at full speed, minded to get in and head -“bos” off. It was Wing Chang’s only hope. - -The great steer was already perilously near, when the Chinaman stumbled, -falling his full length on the sand. His yells still pierced the air in -high falsetto, and his feet continued the motions of running, flinging -up and down with the regularity of pistons as his long yellow fingers -clutched the desert. - -Down came the foe! An instant, and the thing would be done; but in -between him and his yelling victim flashed a man and a horse, and Gard, -reaching down, caught the Chinaman by the belt. - -A quick, skilful jerk brought him up as the pony dashed on, and in the -same instant the cowboy’s rope caught the steer by one upflung hind -hoof. The great brute turned a clean somersault in the air, and landed -with a crash upon his back. - -Gard, keeping hold of the Chinaman, brought his horse to a standstill -near a great branching suhuaro, and set the still vociferating Wing -Chang upon his feet. The cowboys already had two ropes over the -recalcitrant steer, and were leading him back to the corral, minus one -long, murderous horn, and greatly chastened in spirit. - -It was high noon before the three pairs of cattle were gentled -sufficiently to permit of their being yoked without absolute danger to -life. By that time each “yoke” had pulled the wagon a quarter of a mile, -with more or less sobriety, and had plowed a torturous furrow on the -desert. - -“Which I would rise in my place,” Sandy Larch said, seriously, “an’ -point with pride at them yoke o’ cows as a good morning’s work.” - -He and Gard had ridden back together, and were in the foreman’s shack. -Westcott had gone on his way to Sylvania. - -“I want you to do something for me, Sandy,” Gard said. “I’ve got to go -up north, and I want to leave—” - -His hand sought an inner pocket as he spoke, and he drew it out with a -look of dismay. Then he began searching his other pockets. - -“Lost something?” the foreman said, watching him. - -“I—should—say—I—had!” - -The full significance of his loss was telegraphing itself to the inner -strongholds of Gard’s consciousness. - -“Sandy!” He sprang to his feet. “I’ve got to find it—in a hurry, too!” - -He was outside, now, looking for his horse, which had been turned in to -feed with the others. - -“We’ll rustle a couple more,” Sandy said. - -“Lord!” he thought, “Something’s eatin’ him. I never thought I’d see -_him_ in a flurry.” - -They were ready in a moment, and riding back to the ground they had gone -over in the forenoon. - -“You kin bet your hat you let it go overboard when you reached fer that -blasted Chink,” Sandy said, and they made for the spot where Gard had -rescued Wing Chang. - -But no brown packet rewarded their scrutiny of the ground. They paced -the desert on to where Gard had set the Chinaman on his feet, and found -nothing but the hole of a Gila monster. Sandy kicked it open with his -heel, and the occupant came up, hissing hideously, but that was all. - -They circled the whole ground of the morning’s operations, but without -result, and at last they returned to the shack. Gard’s face was drawn in -haggard lines, but he had recovered his poise. - -“I reckon that thing’s got tromped down into the ground,” Sandy said, by -way of consolation. “I didn’t see none of the boys pick up nothin’. -They’d a’ hollered if they had, an’ we was all together.” - -“All except Westcott.” Gard spoke very quietly, but Sandy shouted. - -“Gosh! That’s so,” He cried, “I fergot him fer a minute. I swan! Would -it be mighty bad if he was the one to find it?” - -“A little worse, in some ways, than anybody else living.” - -“Lord! Lord! But I don’t see how he could, Gard: He rode off to -Sylvania. It’s happened the way I said. They was a mighty lot o’ hoofs -rampaging round there, an’ your goods, whatever ’t was, got tromped in; -but you can bet Sandy Larch’ll keep his peepers open fer’t if it’s on -top the ’arth.” - -“Anyway,”—Gard roused himself—“there’s all the more reason why I should -do what I’ve got to do while I can.” - -He was undressing as he spoke, and presently produced the belt. - -“I want you to put this away somewhere, Sandy,” he said. “If I send you -word to do some things for me it may come in handy. And Sandy, if -anything happens to me you go and see Mrs. Hallard, and do what you can -to help her. She’ll need help.” - -Not a flicker moved the serenity of the foreman’s steady eyes. His was -not the friendship that questions. - -“I’ll do anything you send word to do, Gard,” said he, “but I don’t -believe I’ll need all that money. You got plenty to use?” - -“Sure—” with a sigh. “Money ain’t the thing I need most, Sandy.” - -“Bless yourself for that,” was the quick reply. “When it comes to a -pinch the filthy’s one of the things inconvenient to miss.” - -He put the belt away in his own secret hiding-place and busied himself -with getting up his friend’s horse. Gard meant to ride to Bonesta, and -there board the train. If, as he suspected, Westcott had found that -tell-tale packet, he must himself move quickly, and settle Mrs. -Hallard’s matter before he could be apprehended as a fugitive from -justice. Not that Gard meant to be apprehended. But he did not intend -that any thought of risk to his personal safety should interfere with -the discharge of his duty as he saw it. - -“So long, Sandy,” he said, out beyond the corrals. - -“_Adios!_” - -Sandy gripped his hand heartily, and the two men parted; but Gard made a -wide detour, ere he took the desert road, to glimpse from afar the -low-walled casa, white in the glaring December sunlight. - -He had left the Palo Verde well behind, and was in a little sandy -valley, the dry bed of some ancient lake, when he dismounted to tighten -his saddle cincha. Pausing an instant, before remounting, he cast a -weary glance skyward and gave a cry of surprise. - -High in the ether an enchanted landscape, huge, distorted, hung before -his vision. Rocks and trees, vast cacti and shimmering plain were there, -and moving among them were a horse and rider, followed by a dog. - -There was no mistaking the figures. Helen, upon Dickens, was riding on -the plain, Patsy keeping her company. The blessed mirage showed them -plainly and Gard gazed, dizzy with emotion. - -It was but a fleeting vision. Some movement of the upper air-currents -disturbed it and even as he looked it broke into fragments, dissolved -and was gone, ere Gard’s swelling heart had ceased its wild pounding. - -“She is out there in the desert,” he murmured, a sobbing catch in his -throat, “Oh, God bless her! I love her! I love her!” - -He mounted his horse again and rode on, his heart light as a feather, -and on his lips the words of a half-forgotten old song. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -Gard had not been wrong in his reading of the mirage. It _was_ Helen -whose presentment that marvel of the desert had set like a bow of -promise in the sky. A mood of restlessness had sent the girl forth -seeking refuge in the sunlit candor of the plain from the fear that was -upon her, of hidden chambers in her own soul, which she shrank from -entering. - -She was very quiet. From time to time Dickens, the pony, turned to nip -playfully first one then the other of her hooded stirrups, inviting her -to a frolic. Once, when a parcel of gaunt Indian dogs went vociferating -along a stretch of mesa, within sight and hearing, he broke into a -sympathetic scamper, Patsy joining him ecstatically. The rise from a -walk to a run was sudden and unexpected, but the girl adapted herself to -it indifferently, with the instinctive adjustment of perfect -horsemanship. - -The pony ran gallantly for a little distance, waiting all the while, -expectantly, for the thrill of answering pleasure in motion that failed -to come along the rein. One inquiring eye rolled back at his mistress, -one fine, pointed ear slanted to catch her least word of command, but -Helen was far away and he watched and listened in vain for some hint -that she realized his coaxing. Dickens could not understand it. He -stretched his graceful neck as he ran, still seeking that answering -touch of the bit. Helen’s ready hand gave lightly to his thrust, her -muscles responding with trained certainty to his every movement, but -Dickens wanted her conscious attention. When that was not forthcoming -his pace slackened under the retarding weight of her laden spirit. He -drooped his head and went half-heartedly, following Patsy, whose -vagabond whim had led him from the road. - -A feeling of oppression was on the girl. Not even the cleansing touch of -the north-west wind, blowing from the far mountains, seemed potent to -ease it. Somehow, the desert solitude had grown all at once more complex -than ever the busy, active city life had been. The well-loved plain lay -all about her as of old, fraught with all its remembered delight, yet -imminent with a new mystery. Some message, luring yet baffling, quivered -through it. The far blue hills, the golden-roseate sky, the shimmering, -wind-stirred air, breathed of life; but the grim waste, yellow, seared, -ancient, the scant, spectral trees, the uncouth cacti, warned, rather, -to thoughts of death; and something deep within her was subtly aware of -another summons still, which her soul half shrank from heeding, half -yearned to understand. - -She drew rein presently, as she realized that they were off the trail. -At the base of a mass of rock Patsy was scratching frantically at a hole -in the earth where a burrowing owl had just disappeared. A carrion crow, -disturbed in its tentative investigation of something that lay on the -ground, rose complainingly and flapped itself darkly away. - -Looking about her Helen came to slow realization of the spot. There were -the rocks round which she had come that marvelous morning. Here Gard had -lain, Patsy just where she and Dickens stood. Yonder slender thread of -pearly vertebra that the raven had been turning over was all that was -left of the menace that had lifted itself just there that day. - -Second by second she went over the scene, seeing again the spell-bound -dog, the flat-headed, venomous snake, the prostrate man, with his serene -gaze, his dark eyes telegraphing reassurance to her from the heart of -his own deadly peril. - -“Oh,” she shuddered, feeling again the sense of horror and faintness -that had been hers on that morning, “What if no one had come! What if I -could not have saved him!” - -She buried her face in her hands, shutting out the scene, but she could -not shut out the memory of those haunting eyes. She saw them still, but -now they were troubled, and eloquent of struggle, as they had seemed -while he was saying good-by, that morning at the Palo Verde. The girl -had wondered, more than once, over that look, so quickly withdrawn. Now -she suddenly understood it through the quick response which, at the -memory, leaped from her own heart; and she knew, deep down in those -recesses which she had shrunk from looking upon, that she had understood -all the time. - -The mantling crimson swept her face as she sat there, startled, still -keeping her hands up, as though to hide it from her own thoughts. She -went over in her mind all those days at the rancho, measuring every -look, every gesture, weighing every word of Gard’s that seemed to afford -comfort to her shamed heart. - -“He went away without a word,” she finally whispered, raising her head. -“But I know I can trust him. There was some good reason why he had to go -away; but he will come back! Oh, he will come back to me!” - -The glory of the skies became all at once part of the brightness that -filled her spirit. The girl’s heart was suddenly lifted on mysterious -wings into the wider spaces of womanhood. She had heard the message, and -was aware. - -Yet there was visible as she turned away, but a slender figure in khaki, -browned as to cheek and brow, touched to warmth by the desert wind, -guiding a dun pony among the rocks and cacti back to the trail. - -The dusty thread of its way picked up once more, Helen suddenly awoke to -outward things; to the challenge of the north-west wind, and the eager -outstretch of the horse she rode. The least imperceptible lift of her -bridle arm conveyed to Dickens the welcome news that his mistress -answered him. Something of her soul’s exultation thrilled through the -pony and set his twinkling feet to dancing, and on the instant they were -racing pell-mell across the desert, Patsy, wild with joy, careering -beside them. - -Helen laughed aloud for sheer delight as they sped forward. She stood in -her stirrups and sent Dickens ahead, holding him steady but making no -effort to check the wild pace, the wind bearing all care from her brain, -all doubt from her heart, as they swept on toward the Palo Verde. - -“Well!” Sandy Larch said, coming to take the pony’s rein as Helen swung -down beside the corrals, “You sure was goin’ some. I kind o’ thought for -a minute Dickens was runnin’ with you.” - -“No,” laughed Helen, still breathless and exultant with the excitement -of the race, “_I_ was running with Dickens.” - -Sandy loosened the cincha and eased the saddle. - -“We’ll leave it that a’way till his back cools out,” said he, “You’ve -sure warmed him up.” - -He turned an approving glance upon the girl as she stood rubbing -Dickens’ dun-colored nose. - -“You look good Miss Helen,” he said. “I’d begun to be afraid they’d -educated all the life an’ brightness out’n you back there to your -eastern college. I guess, though, you’ll get over it in time.” - -“Get over the education, Sandy?” she suggested, mischievously; she and -Sandy had been pals since her babyhood. - -“I’d be sorry if I should,” she added. “Think what a loss it would be.” - -“Yes,” he assented, gravely, “It sure would. They’s the prices of a -right smart o’ good polo ponies gone into polishin’ you off like you -be.” - -“I was comin’ to think,” he went on, his face awakening genially, “that -you was most likely pinin’ for them shiny pursuits more’n you allowed -for when you first come back.” - -“Not a bit of it, Sandy!” Helen’s tone was emphatic, “I enjoyed every -moment at college; but I came back to the desert knowing perfectly well -that this is the best place in the world.” - -Her hearty tone satisfied even his jealous ears. The girl had stooped to -caress Patsy, who lay panting on the sand, his tongue fluttering like a -little red signal-flag. Her eyes were bright and happy, her cheeks -touched to a brilliant glow by her run with Dickens. Sandy nodded again. - -“Yes,” he said, “I guess it ain’t hurt you none.” - -“What?” Helen had forgotten what they had been talking about. She looked -up absently, still rubbing Patsy’s sides. - -“Education,” the foreman said, “I was afraid mebby it had.” - -“Nonsense, Sandy, Education doesn’t hurt people.” - -“N-o-,” Sandy’s acquiescence was deliberative. “Not people o’ -intellectooals, that has _savez_ naturally,” he said, “but the critter -that gets it fed to him regular wants to be kind o’ wide between the -ears allee samee.” - -“Didn’t you enjoy going to school when you were a boy, Sandy?” Helen -asked; she loved to draw the cow-puncher out. - -“Me?” he questioned, unsuspectingly, “Sure: I’d a liked it first rate if -I’d ever a’ went. - -“I never did go none till I was growed,” he went on. “Then we started a -night-school, back to Michigan, where I was raised. They was a bunch of -us set out to see it through, all young fellers that worked the farms -day-times. We was plum in love with the idee o’ that night-school.” - -“It must have been interesting,” Helen suggested, “You would all have a -strong purpose at that age.” - -“Sure,” Sandy grew reminiscent. “We went the first night,” he said, “An’ -we’d forgot to bring any candles. We went the next night an’ the -teacher’d forgot to come.” - -He gazed across the plain, lost in memory of those far, fond days. “Then -we went the third night,” he resumed, dreamily, “an’ reviewed what we’d -learned the two previous evenin’s, and’ I cal’late that finished my -schoolin’.” - -Helen laughed, tweaking Patsy’s ears, but the foreman regarded her with -mild inquiry, unheeding her mirth. - -“Now with you it’s different Miss Helen,” he continued, still -considering his views on education. “Gettin’ learnin’ ’s all right for -you. First place you’re smart.” - -“Thank you,” Helen bowed over Patsy. - -“You’re sure welcome,” gravely. - -“Furthermore,” Sandy proceeded categorically, “You bein’ a girl, you -don’t have to get your livin’. A man now, a practical man that’s gotter -rustle his grub, don’t wanter pack no extry outfit.” - -He turned toward Dickens, who all this time had been standing half -asleep, his bridle reins on the ground. - -“Dick, he’s gettin’ on, ain’t he,” the foreman said, critically, “but he -stands up to it mighty well, yet.” - -“Now there’s a case where education’s o’ value,” added Sandy in a tone -of pride, “I educated that there horse myself, purpose for you, little -gal, an’ they ain’t no question but Dick’s lived up to his light. I’ll -have Manuel give ’im a rub-down.” - -“Dickens is a treasure,” declared Helen, emphatically. “He’s as good as -ever; aren’t you, Dickens?” - -She patted the pony’s glossy neck. “Have you found another Manuel -already, Sandy,” she queried, “I thought Manuel Gordo had been -discharged. Father said he would have to be.” - -“Same old Manuel,” was Sandy’s reply. “But he’s kind o’ got some new -notions in his headpiece lately, along of our sin-bustin’ friend Mister -Gard gettin’ after ’im last time he started onto a spree.” - -“Yes?” His hearer was deeply interested in examining Dickens’ sound -little knees, and did not look up. - -“Why do you call Mr. Gard your sin-busting friend, Sandy?” she asked, -still intent upon the pony. Nothing loth, the foreman plunged into an -enthusiastic account of his first meeting with Gard. Helen listened, her -cheeks still glowing from exercise. - -“I never got the rights o’ how he took hold o’ Manuel,” Sandy said, when -the story was finished, “Manuel, he ain’t talkin’ none about it; but he -started out on one o’ his regular imbibin’ bees, which same the -_patron_’d give out was n’t to be overlooked again, an’ all I know is he -comes home all right next mornin’ an’ gets on his job, just as I’m -supposin’ it’s me to be rustlin’ another puncher. I’m mighty glad just -then, for Manuel’s sure a first-class man on cows. He allows Gard made -him come, an’ I know nobody else ever was able to gentle ’im in when he -was up against the impulses for a tussle with booze.” - -“Gard, he’s got me,” the foreman went on. “He ain’t none o’ your -hymn-tune kind Miss Helen; but he ’s a right kind all right; just plain -good man; which the same ain’t common now’days.” - -Helen, with Patsy beside her, was starting for the casa. - -“I guess you’re right Sandy,” she called back, absently, without turning -around, and Sandy looked after her with scant approval. - -“There you’ve got it,” he muttered discontentedly, to the pony, “Old an’ -young they’re all alike, the women, when it comes to sizin’ up a real -man. If it ain’t the shine an’ the pretty manners for them, why it’s the -high forehead, an’ the big idees. I’m disappointed she don’t see that -more clearly, an’ she ridin’ herd on a college education for four -years!” - -He led Dickens away toward the sheds and turned him over to one of the -men. - -“I suppose now”—he went on with his meditations—“She’s fooled into -thinkin’ that there side-winder of an Ash Westcott’s the real thing. -Lord! If the right brand was on him I know what it’d look like!” and the -foreman went about his duties with a heavy heart. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -Sandy Larch was squatted on the sand, against the wall of his shack, -lacing a new leather into the cincha-ring of his saddle, and singing The -Tune The Old Cow Died On. The ditty was one of his favorites, but his -soul was not in it this morning and he sang as mechanically as his -fingers moved about their familiar task. It was the morning after Gard’s -loss of the packet, and he had been out at daybreak, going over every -foot of the breaking-ground, but he could find no trace of it. - -“Gosh! I’m sorry,” he muttered, testing the new strap. “I hate to see -Gard look like he did fer a spell yesterday. If I had any idee Westcott -had that thing, whatever it was, I’d choke it out’n him, fer a punched -two-bit-piece.” - -He turned the saddle over to investigate the other strap, taking up the -burden of his song again: - -[Illustration: “And this is the tune fi roll doll dey Do, sung that af- -ter- noon!”] - -He rolled out the chorus at the top of his lungs, as he cut loose the -cincha-thongs, and had carried the next verse to - -[Illustration: “The farm- er had an in- quest held To see what ailed h i -s—cow—”] - -When a shadow fell upon the sand before him, and he looked up to see -Wing Chang. - -“Well, my Chinee friend,” he said, “Why don’t you join in? Can’t you -sing?” - -“No can.” The cook shook his head; then the wrinkles about his slant -eyes deepened, ran downward, and met, midway of his chops, the upward -ones that started around his grinning mouth. - -“Allee samee you?” He questioned, slyly. - -“Allee samee me what?” demanded Sandy, suspiciously. - -“Sing. You catchee him?” - -“Do I sing, are you askin’?” roared the foreman. “Why you yaller -heathen! Ain’t you just bin hearin’ me sing?” - -Wing Chang’s grin intensified, and gradually Sandy’s own visage widened -genially. - -“Take your rise,” he said, “you sure got it out’n me then.... Look a’ -here,” he added, “What you hangin’ round here stealin’ music lessons -fer? Where you bin, anyway?” - -“Bin talkee Bloome,” Chang said. “Him wantee coffee.” - -“Broome! What in hell’s Broome doin’ round here this time o’ day?” - -The sly look deepened in Chang’s face. His slant eyes narrowed, and lost -their humorous twinkle. - -“Say him sick,” he explained. “Think mebby Mistlee Westclott come -bimeby.” - -“Not this time, my wise Chink. Westcott’s homeward bound for Tucson just -about now.” - -“Whafor Mistlee Glad go away?” Wing Chang asked, ignoring the other’s -statement. - -“I d’ know, Chang.” The foreman whistled a few notes, meditatively. The -Chinaman drew nearer. - -“Whafor Bloome an’ Mistlee Westclott hatee him so?” - -Sandy regarded him severely. - -“See here, now, Chang,” he bluffed, “You think I’m a animated -booktionary work, guaranteeded to fit all your ‘whatfors’ with ‘is -whats’? Not on your life. Ain’t I told you your job ’s cookin’? You -don’t have to break out no question-marks on this here rancho. Sabbee -dat?” - -Wing Chang returned his intent look without winking. - -“Him two allee samee hatee Mistlee Glad,” he repeated. “Speakee ’bout -him allee timee, behind corral. Allee timee say ‘dlamn’, an’ spit, so.” -He illustrated on the desert. - -“Heap you know,” the foreman said, still more severely: “you think -you’re a blanked Pinkerton detective, don’t you? Well you ain’t. Your -job ’s beans, an’ bull meat. You go makee him.” - -He waved a hand in the direction of Chang’s official quarters, and the -Chinaman’s perennial grin returned. - -“Allee lightee,” he said, “Then you keep look see out on Mistlee -Westclott. Bimeby, he try do Mistlee Glad dirt, I makee my bull meat off -him.” - -He walked off, his hands in his sleeves, and Sandy Larch looked after -him thoughtfully. - -“Now I wonder what that Chink thinks he knows,” he mused. “Chang ain’t -no fool. He’s _hip_ to somethin’. ’T ain’t good discipline to ask -questions off’n a Chink; but I sure wish I could see into his shiny -skull.” - -He picked up the saddle and took it into the shack, returning, after a -moment, to stand in the door, humming— - -[Illustration: “But the cow was mad, and she tried to sing .... Thunder -an’ punkins!”] - -He did not realize his variation on the ordinary version of his song. He -had brought his warbling to a sudden finish, and stood peering out at a -horseman who was riding along the edge of the farthest corral. - -After a second he stepped back into the shanty, and watched through the -crack of the half-open door. - -“Sure’s shootin’,” he muttered, “The Chink was right. It _is_ Westcott.” - -His ear caught a low whistle that was presently answered from quarters. -Sandy remembered that he, himself, was supposed to be at the upper -range. He would have been on his way there but for the defect in his -cincha-strap. He stopped to consider, wondering whether he had been -singing loud enough for Broome to hear him. - -“That’s what comes o’ tryin’ to be a _prima donna_,” he muttered. “But -any way I bin still long enough to make him think I’m gone, if he did -hear.” - -He stepped out upon the sand. - -“They’s something sure goin’ on out yonder,” he said, “Sandy Larch, -you’re managing this here shebang while the _patron_’s away; why ain’t -you eligible to a box-seat?” - -A long row of outhouses and ranch buildings stretched out from the -foreman’s shack to the men’s quarters, and still beyond these were two -fodder-sheds. The last of these was about half full of hay. It stood at -the very edge of the farther corral, and Sandy noted that Westcott had -ridden up into its shade. - -The foreman slipped off his jangling spurs, and keeping well in the -shadow of the buildings, made his way to this shed. He went with -wonderful lightness and quickness for so big a man, and was presently -creeping among the hay bales. - -Outside, Westcott sat his horse, while Broome leaned against the wall. -Guided by the sound of their voices, Sandy worked his way along, close -to the boards, until he was directly opposite them. - -“What makes you think you know where the burro is?” Westcott was saying -as Sandy came within hearing. - -“That’s _my_ think,” was the sulky reply. “I ain’t no way bound to tell -you it, special as you say you don’t care about sittin’ in the game.” - -“Oh, I didn’t really say that!” There was a curious ring of exultation -in Westcott’s voice. - -“I only said,” he resumed, “that I had my own ways of finding out -things. I have; and I dare say I could put my hands on your burro, if I -needed it in my business.” - -“A heap you could,” Broome sneered. “Mebby you think you kin put your -hands on Gard, too, if you need ’im in your bizness. Well, mebby you -kin; an’ mebby you wouldn’t git smashed if you tried it.” - -“Put my hands on him—” The lawyer’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’ve -got the blasted fool between my thumb and finger now,” he said, “When I -get ready, I can smash him like _that_!” - -Sandy Larch heard the speaker’s two palms come together. - -“Not while Sandy Larch is ’round, my fine liar-at-law,” he muttered -under his breath. Then he heard Broome’s incredulous grunt. - -“What’s got you bug-house?” the cowboy asked, and Westcott laughed. - -“Do you want to know who this fine Mister Gabriel Gard really is?” He -sneered, and the listener in the shed fairly held his breath to hear. - -“Do you know? You said you didn’t.” - -“I just happen to,” Westcott said, deliberately. “And I know he could no -more file on a claim, or on anything else in this land, than that little -she-ass you seem so keen to get hold of.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because—” Westcott’s voice was vibrant with hate. - -“Because,” he repeated, “He’s a damned state-prison convict. That’s why -not!” - -Inside the shed Sandy Larch’s face shone white in the gloom. Outside -there was a sound of Broome’s hard breathing. Westcott’s statement -seemed to have deprived the cowboy of speech. - -“Do you remember Dan Lundy?” the lawyer said, and Sandy started. - -“I never knowed ’im,” Broome replied. “He was a pal o’ Sandy Larch’s.” - -“So? I didn’t know that. Then this here Gard won’t be so thick here when -Sandy knows. But he won’t be very thick anywhere, in the open, for that -matter.” Westcott laughed. - -“This fellow’s the one who did the business for Lundy,” he added. - -“Killed him?” - -“Knifed him in his shack. He did three years for it, and then broke -jail.” - -“How d’you know?” - -The foreman strained his ears to listen, a look of wondering -comprehension in his face. - -“That’s my business,” Westcott said. “I’ve got it down in black and -white. He came up to Blue Gulch when I was there, and Frank Arnold came -up to take him again. That was Arnold’s last job.” - -“He was drowned, I remember,” Broome spoke in a hoarse whisper. - -“Either that, or this fellow that calls himself Gard did for him, as he -did for Lundy. Arnold was a good man. Lord! When I think the other -fellow’s hanging around here with Larch this minute—” - -“He ain’t here;” Broome said. “He went off yest’day.” - -“Fury! Where to?” - -“I d’ know. He rode off some time in th’ afternoon. He’d lost somethin’ -when we was workin’ out them blame cows, an’ was mighty cut up, I heard. -An’ when he couldn’t find it he went off.” - -“Skipped—blast it!” Westcott seemed to consider. - -“I know what he lost, all right,” he went on. “Good thing for him Sandy -Larch didn’t find it. But I’ll land him all right, too ... But that -ain’t the point,” the lawyer continued. “The point is this: He can’t -hold that claim. There’s nothing to keep us from walking in and taking -possession, if you think you can find it.” - -“You bet your life I can find it,” Broome swore. - -“First, though,” Westcott spoke again, “I want to go up to Phoenix. I -can get the noon train. And I’m going to fix our Mister Gard—his name -was Barker in those days—as he ought to be fixed. He won’t be out of -reach so that the authorities can’t find him, and he won’t get away this -time. Then I’ll go down to Tucson and file that claim right. Since he’s -got no legal status anyone can do that. Then I’ll come back here and -we’ll talk about the rest.” - -“Look a’ here,” Broome interrupted, “You don’t do no filin’ till I’m -erlong, or you never gits to where the pay-streak is. You’ve gotter do -some work on it anyway, before you kin file legal.” - -“Oh, shut up! Tell _me_ what the law is?” Westcott’s tone was brutal. -“You blamed fool,” he said, “Do you think I can’t get along without -you?” - -“I ain’t sech a fool’s some,” was Broome’s retort, “I know you can’t, er -you wouldn’t be here. You want me to help find the spot, an’ you know -it.” - -“There’s no use fighting over it,” said Westcott, more moderately; “I -was going to Tucson this afternoon; but I’ll go up to Phoenix first. -Mind you, now,” he added, “No funny business while I’m gone, or it’ll be -a bad day for you.” - -Sandy Larch heard Westcott ride away. A moment later Broome’s step -sounded, returning to quarters. - -The foreman waited some time before venturing out. When he did come into -the light his face wore a strange, half-dazed expression. - -“Well!” he finally ejaculated, “I sure got my money’s worth that time.” - -He walked over to one of the corrals and stood staring with unseeing -eyes at a bunch of yearlings huddled together in a corner. - -“The dangnation fools!” - -His exclamation seemed to afford him no relief; for presently he -repeated it. - -“The dangnation fools!” - -“I should think,” he added, “that that there Westcott person’d wanter -kick himself fer a sunbaked ’dobe ape, when he finds out what he’s bound -to find out, when he gets askin’ questions along o’ Phoenix.” - -“The plumb fool,” he said, again. “To think he don’t know Jim Texas -confessed to killin’ Dan. The pizen-snake always said he would, an’ poor -old Dan was mighty foolhardy about it. - -“But, God!”—his tone was full of pity—“To think that ‘Gard’ was that -poor devil of a Barker! How in tunk did he ever git where he is now?” - -He picked up a bit of stone and flung it at the yearlings; not because -he bore them a grudge, but through sheer vexation of spirit. - -“If he’d only a’ told me,” his thoughts went back to Gard. “If he’d only -a’ trusted me, ’stid o’ writin’ it out fer that hell-dog to find.” He -leaned upon the top-rail of the corral and sighed. - -“Lord,” he said, “I’m pretty near all in. It’s too much fer Sandy!” - -He could not understand Gard’s agitation over the loss of his packet, -if, as he now surmised, it merely contained the papers by which Westcott -had identified him. He pondered the matter for some time, and then light -dawned. - -“Look a’ here!” he cried. “He’s in the same boat’s Westcott! He’s bin up -in the mountains ever since he made his getaway; that’s what! Fer some -reason or other he’s just come down, I wondered where in tunk he’d -drifted in from. An’ he ain’t found out yet about Jim Texas.” - -Silence again, while Sandy meditated upon the situation. Then another -phase of it struck him. - -“What’s he doin’ round here, anyway? Why ain’t he showin’ some -enterprise? What’s he hangin’ round Kate Hallard for?” - -He could not tell. It was the one thing about Gard that to him seemed to -need explanation, and he would trust his friend without that. He was -dismissing the matter when a fresh thought came. - -“If he _don’t_ know,” he muttered. “If he ain’t fixed his matters up, -then that sneakin’ law-buzzard’s right. He can’t file any claim. They -can _do_ him, there; even if they can’t jail ’im. By the powers! That’s -what they can do; an’ here I am, can’t leave the rancho!” - -He groaned as this thought came home to him. He realized that he must -stay at the Palo Verde: Morgan Anderson had left him in charge. - -“If ’twant fer leavin’ the little gal all alone—” He stood distractedly -considering. - -“I don’t know enough about it anyway,” he at last exclaimed in despair. -“Ah! That’s where Kate Hallard comes in.” - -The words were scarcely off his lips when looking up, he gave a low -whistle of surprise. - -“Sure ’s beeswax,” he said, softly, unconsciously straightening up. -“Here’s exactly where Kate Hallard comes in.” - -It was in fact Mrs. Hallard, riding in from the desert, her handsome -face more troubled in expression than Sandy had ever imagined it could -be. - -“Hello, Kate,” he called, going to meet her. “What’s up? You don’t look -like you was out fer your health so to speak.” - -“I ain’t.” Mrs. Hallard drew rein and looked down at the foreman. - -“I ain’t out fer my health an’ I ain’t sure what I be out after,” she -said, without further preamble. - -“Ash Westcott was in t’ the grille this morning tryin’ to make a deal -with me in a matter Mr. Gard’s been tendin’ to fer me. I wouldn’t swap -no lies with him and bimeby he gets mad an’ runs off a lot o’ talk I -don’t seem to get straight, but it sounded like he had Gard nailed, an’ -was goin’ to do ’im dirt. Sure’s you live, Sandy, he’s meanin’ mischief. -I’m worried.” - -She turned her horse toward the shade, Sandy walking beside her. - -“I d’ know what to do,” she continued. “Mr. Gard, he’s gone off on -business o’ mine an’ I d’ know what Westcott _is_ cookin’ up against -him. I know he’s got a good-will to do him all the harm he can, though, -an’ I come over to talk to you about it.” - -The cow-puncher stood regarding her, intently. - -“Kate,” he said, “do you know who this Gabriel Gard really is?” - -She looked at him blankly, her hard face set. - -“You don’t need stand me off,” he cried. “If you’re his friend you know -I am, too. An’ he’s sure needin’ us both.” - -He told her, with picturesque brevity, of Gard’s loss and Westcott’s -find, and of the talk which he had overheard between Westcott and -Broome. - -“Them blamed sneakin’ coyotes is puttin’ up a cinch game on our man,” he -said, when he had finished, “an’ something’s gotter be done about it. -Where’s Gard gone? Is that his real name? Why ain’t he lookin’ after his -matters?” - -Mrs. Hallard was thinking fast. Sandy’s story had been illuminating in -many ways. - -“You’re dead right about one thing, Sandy,” she said. “He don’t know -about Jim Texas. That’s what’s bin eatin’ ’im.” - -She suddenly realized the significance of Gard’s answer to her question -about Helen Anderson. He did not know that his innocence was practically -established. - -“Well,” Sandy demanded, “what in thunder’s he doin’ round here then? Why -ain’t he tryin’ to fix things up fer himself? He’s got a’ plenty cash. -He ought to be gittin’ a good lawyer an’ seein’ if he can’t prove his -innercence. As ’tis now, he must think he’s likely to be jugged any -minit.” - -Kate Hallard’s eyes flashed. - -“He _does_ think so,” she cried. “He’s afraid of it, too. That I know. -An’ bein’ afraid, here’s what the man does.” - -She leaned from the saddle and looked Sandy in the eyes. - -“He somehow gits hold of a deed o’ Sam Hallard’s, to that Modesta range -Sam bought just ’fore he was killed. I give that deed to Arnold to -record, an’ Mr. Gard ain’t said nothin’ to me, but I figure he an’ -Arnold was together when the cloudburst come that gits Arnold. He got -Frank’s coat, someway, an’ that deed was in the pocket. I d’ know where -he’s bin all this time, but I know one thing. He ain’t bin in no -wickedness.” - -“Bet your life not,” Sandy assented. “Drive erlong, Kate.” - -“Well: the deed’s bin lost these two years, an’ that devil, Westcott, he -found it out, an’ he done me out’n the prop’ty. Oh! He’s a side-winder, -fer sure!” - -“That’s no lie,” was Sandy’s comment. - -“It’s plain ’s day,” Mrs. Hallard went on. “You say he’s got a’ plenty -cash. _I_ know he could light out from here an’ go where he could live -like a lord. He’s got that much a’ plenty. But ’stid o’ that he comes -back here to this God-forsaken place; an’ what for? Why to help me. He -must a’ tracked over half the territory to find me an’ gimme back that -deed; an’ when he finds how things stands he settles down here to see I -git my rights. With this thing a’ hangin’ over him, so far’s he knows, -he’s gone back where he was known, to try ’n’ find a feller that -witnessed the transfer....” - -Kate Hallard was all but sobbing with excitement and fear. - -“Lord above us,—if they is any!” she gasped. “They ain’t never a man -like that. He’s pure angel!” - -“Naw; he ain’t that, quite,” Sandy said, swallowing hard. “He’s man -enough to need that gold-mine in his business, one o’ these days, an’ he -stands to git robbed o’ that, I’m afraid.” - -“How can they touch it? He’s an innercent man.” - -“Yes; but he’s a criminal yet, in the eyes o’ the law, if he ain’t bin -pardoned an’ cleared. So his notice an’ filin’ ain’t legal.” - -“Hell!” he exclaimed, and begged pardon next instant. “I wish I was in -Prescott,” he added. - -“What would you do in Prescott?” Mrs. Hallard asked, eagerly. - -“Do? I’d see the Gov’nor; git them papers made out, an’ scoot fer Tucson -an’ bring that there filin’ up to date.” - -“Heavens an’ earth! Kin anybody do that fer ’im?” - -“Sure.” - -“Then look here, Sandy Larch: _I’m_ goin’ to Prescott.” - -“You?” - -“Yes, me; why not? You say anybody kin see the Gov’nor fer ’im. Well: -they ain’t many people knows Dave Marden much better ’n I did once. I -rather reckon he’d do ’s much fer me ’s fer you.” - -There was a deeper hue in the speaker’s cheek than even excitement had -touched it to: but the foreman did not notice it. - -“Bully fer you Kate!” he cried. “I’m inclined to think well o’ that -scheme o’ your’n.” - -“I’ll have to hustle if I’m goin’ to git away to-day.” Mrs. Hallard was -practical and alert at once. “I guess I can skip back an’ git ready to -catch the night train. That’ll get me to Prescott in the morning.” - -“Westcott, he’s just gone up on the noon run,” Sandy explained. “He’ll -be goin’ on to Phoenix I reckon.” - -“Lord! I don’t wanter see him. I’m glad I couldn’t get that train if I -tried.” Mrs. Hallard was already riding away. - -“So long, Sandy!” she cried, over her shoulder. “I’ll do my best.” - -“Good luck to you!” Sandy waved his big cowboy hat. - -“Kate’ll fetch it I reckon,” he muttered, turning toward the sheds. “But -now who’d a’ thunk we’d a’ fixed it up that a’way? Gosh-hemlock! What -funny things you see when you ain’t got a gun!” - -Kate Hallard, meantime, was thinking of many things as she rode back to -Sylvania. The tide of old memories was at flood as she thought of the -man whom she was going to see in Gard’s behalf. She had spoken truly -when she told Sandy Larch she had once known the Governor well. How -well, was a matter that lay deep in her heart, a part of her hard, -sordid, unprotected girlhood, dead and buried now these thousand years, -it seemed to her. Something within her that she had thought was dead -with it shrank from the encounter of the morrow, but cowardice was not -one of the woman’s weaknesses. She set her shoulders squarely at the -memory of what Gard was braving for her. - -“They’s one thing sure,” she said, half aloud. “Dave’ll do anything -_can_ be done. I reckon I can bank on that. He wa’ n’t a bad sort in the -old days.” - -The road ran along the edge of an ancient lake, now a sea of sand, and -for many years, in the new order, the great rodeo ground of the region. -The entrance was yet marked by two big posts, one of which bore a great -yellow-and-black poster, such as the Salvation Army puts up through the -desert wastes, seeking to turn the plainsman’s thoughts to higher -things. - -Beneath the poster, on the sand, a bull-snake and a burrowing owl -fraternized comfortably at the mouth of the hole that was their common -dwelling. Above it a carrion crow perched, cawing dismally at the scene. -The poster itself was sun-bleached and weather-worn, peppered with the -bullets of passing cowboys who had taken jocular shots at it, and beaten -by the blown desert-sand, but still legible. Kate Hallard had seen many -of its kind; had passed this very one on her way out that morning. She -glanced at it now. - -“_FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY-BEGOTTEN SON, THAT -WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH ON HIM SHOULD NOT PERISH—_” The rest was -obliterated. - -In her softened mood the words held her attention as they had never -before done. She checked her horse to read them again. - -“I d’ know much about it,” she murmured. “The desert’s always been a -mighty handy place fer perishin’; if they _was_ a God, now, an’ He was -int’rested enough to give us a few more folks like this here Gabriel -Gard, I guess mebby believin’ ’d come handier, too.” - -She rode on again, still thinking of Gard. - -“We’ve got to help him out o’ this.” A dull flush crept up to her hair -and her black eyes suddenly filled with unfamiliar tears. - -“Go to Dave Marden fer him—” she cried, “Lord! I’d go to the Old Nick -himself to help him, an’ that’s the truth!” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -“Upon my word, Kate! Upon my word: this is the biggest surprise I’ve had -since I came down with the mumps last New Year’s!” - -The Governor of Arizona sprang up from his big desk chair and crossed -the room as Mrs. Hallard came into his private office. His manner was -cordial, the more so, perhaps, that it was tinged with a nervousness of -which he was uneasily aware. If Mrs. Hallard was aware of this -nervousness, she made no sign. Her own manner was strangely quiet. - -“It’s the biggest kind of a surprise,” the Governor said, again. “I -could hardly believe it when they brought in your name.” - -He established his visitor in a big arm-chair, and seated himself -opposite her, his face a little in the shadow. - -“Why,” said he, “I haven’t seen you, Kate, since—” He paused, abruptly. - -“It’s a long time since you seen me, Dave; that ’s straight,” Mrs. -Hallard said, “But I’m mighty glad you ain’t fergot me.” - -“Forgotten you!” Governor Marden’s tone was reproachful. - -“Do you think ten years is enough to forget friends in?” he demanded. -“Why—” with a laugh,—“even a political memory’s longer than that, Kate.” - -There was silence for a moment, and silence was the last thing the -Governor desired at that time. - -“I never heard where you went after Ed’s death,” he said, tentatively. - -“You wouldn’t a’ bin likely to,” was the reply. “I moved round -considerable after that.” - -“So? How’s the world used you, on the whole? Pretty prosperous?” - -“Up an’ down. I ain’t so awful prosperous; but I ain’t complainin’ -neither. I’m alive, an’ what I am, workin’ fer my livin’ an’ neither -better nor worse ’n some other folks.” Mrs. Hallard spoke lightly, and -her tone was non-committal. - -“I’ll bet you aren’t any worse than other folks,” the Governor said, -with bluff good-will. “You were always better than ninety-nine -hundredths of the men, Kate,” he added, “while as for the women—” - -Kate Hallard interrupted him. - -“Don’t you bother about them, Dave,” said she, “I ain’t matchin’ myself -up with no women. It don’t pay.” - -She laughed, a hard little sound, and a dull flush went up to the -Governor’s hair. - -“You might, for a fact, though, my girl,” he persisted, half sullenly. -“There’s lots of women with straight-laced ideas that I wouldn’t trust -half so quick. Unlace their ideas a little and they’d go to the devil so -quick you’d never catch ’em. The lacing’s all that holds them.” - -Mrs. Hallard made no reply; her companion sat regarding her, but seeing, -instead of the woman before him, the quick, handsome girl of a dozen -years earlier. Old “Soaker” Lally’s daughter had been in her teens when -first he knew her, handsome as they made ’em, he thought, now, -remembering. And he had been a young fool—and worse—but not wholly a -villain; not that. - -“I—I’d have made things right, Kate, if you hadn’t sent me off,” he -said, lamely, speaking out of old memories. - -“Yes,” the woman flashed, “an’ we’d a’ had a nice little hell all to -ourselves, after.” - -The man demurred. - -“Yes we would!” she went on, “_I_ know. First place, Dave—I didn’t sense -it then, but I have since—we didn’t neither of us really care. We was -only hot-blooded young fools that thought we did.... Anyhow: it’s -sleepin’ dogs now,” she added, conclusively. “Best let ’em lie. You done -more ’n most men would, I’ll say that much, when you wanted to marry -me—but I saved you that, anyhow,” with another laugh; “I’d a’ looked -sweet, wouldn’t I? tryin’ to make good as Governor’s lady?” - -“You’d make good at anything you undertook, Kate,” Marden insisted, -sturdily. - -“Maybe so: but thank my stars I know, yet, when I ain’t got the hand to -stack up on. What a man wants in a wife, Dave, is a woman ’t can -chaperon his daughter when he gits one.” - -Mrs. Hallard hesitated a moment, her voice softening. “I never had no -watchin’ over, myself,” she said, “I wouldn’t a’ stood fer’t from the -old man, an’ my mother died when I was a kid; but a girl needs it: an’ -it takes the right sort o’ woman to give it.” - -“That’s nothing here nor there, though,” she went on, in her wonted -tone; “Ed Hallard married me with his eyes open, an’ I was a good -straight wife to ’im.” - -“That’s just what I say,” Marden repeated. “I’d back you to be a good -straight anything you undertook. That’s your nature. I’m not passing you -any bouquets, my girl. You were always as straight as a man.” - -Mrs. Hallard laughed, with cynical good humor. - -“Lord, sonny!” she cried. “If them ain’t bouquets, be a little easy with -whatever ’t is you do call ’em. Admirin’ the men as I do, such is some -overpowerin’.” - -Governor Marden flushed again, and edged away from ground that he felt -to be precarious. - -“Look here,” he said, “What do you mean by saying you’re working for -your living? Is that a figure of speech? Ed Hallard ought to have left -you well fixed. I heard he sold that claim of his for a good round sum. -Didn’t he do right by you, Kate?” - -“He meant to. He thought he did. I’ll tell you about that later.” Mrs. -Hallard waved a hand in careless dismissal of her own matters. - -“Dave,” she began, earnestly, “I want a favor off you.” - -Governor Marden was alert in an instant. - -“Anything I can do for you, ‘for old sake’s sake,’” he answered. - -“This ain’t any old sake’s sake,” was her answer. “It’s just fair play -an’ justice.” - -“Ah! That’s different. Fair play and justice are complicated things to -meddle with.” The governor shook his head. - -“You bet I’m learnin’ that,” was Mrs. Hallard’s reply. “But they ain’t -nothin’ much complicated about this business. It oughter be plain -cuttin’ out an’ ridin’ off.” - -“Were n’t you District Attorney when Dan Lundy was killed, Dave?” she -asked, suddenly. - -The governor started, glancing quickly at his interrogator. Then he was -silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at a map of Arizona on the -wall back of Mrs. Hallard’s chair. - -“Lord; that’s what I was!” he finally said with a sigh. “I don’t like to -talk about it,” he added. - -“Why not?” - -“From your bringing the matter up I guess you know why not,” Marden -frowned, as over some painful memory. “I reckon you’ve got some idea how -it was,” he continued. “I did my duty as I saw it; but we bagged the -wrong man, and I’ve never been able to feel happy about it.” - -“Then it was true about Jim Texas confessin’?” - -“Yes. He confessed when he was dying, but it didn’t do the other poor -fellow any good. He was dead already.” The governor sighed again.... “I -told you justice and fair play were ticklish things to handle,” he said. - -“But he ain’t dead.” - -“Who ain’t?” - -“The other fellow. He wasn’t killed when Frank Arnold was.” - -Governor Marden sat silent, his eyes questioning his visitor. Kate -Hallard explained, briefly. The governor touched a bell, and his -secretary appeared. The latter had been Marden’s clerk in his district -attorney days. - -“Seth,” the official said, in a voice that rang with suppressed -excitement. “You remember the Lundy case, don’t you? Whatever became of -Barker, who went up for it?” - -The secretary considered. - -“Why, yes,” he began, “he broke jail.” His auditors nodded. - -“I remember about it,” he went on, “because of Jim Texas, and what came -after. He got away to some place in the mountains, and then he was -re-arrested. A deputy-sheriff went down on information from Ash -Westcott—” - -“What’s that?” Mrs. Hallard’s tone was explosive. - -“Who d’you say?” she demanded. - -“Ashley Westcott,” the secretary repeated. “He’s—” - -Kate Hallard interrupted again, her eyes blazing. - -“I know who he is,” she flashed. “He’s the same cur-dog that’s tryin’ to -down ’im again. He’s the same—oh, D—Governor Marden, you was askin’ why -Ed Hallard didn’t leave me better fixed. Well: here’s why—” - -The story came pouring out at white heat, while the two men listened, -now and then exchanging significant glances. - -“In the name of heaven, Kate,” the governor said, when Mrs. Hallard -paused for breath, “why didn’t you come and tell me of this deviltry? -We’d have stopped Westcott’s game so quick he’d never have known he -chipped into it.” - -“I didn’t know any better,” the woman said, bitterly. “I don’t know as -I’d a’ come here with it; but if I hadn’t bin an ignorant fool I’d a’ -knowed I could do something; but I never did till Mr. Gard told me.” - -“You say this chap calls himself Gard? Is that his real name, or Barker? -What makes you think he’s the same man?” - -“Only what Westcott said—that Sandy Larch heard. He must a’ found -something that put ’im wise.” - -“It looks that way,” the governor said. “Westcott’s no fool, knave -though he is. And do you know, Kate—he’s laying his lines to be the next -District Attorney! It looked, till you came in and told us this, as if -he’d led his line clean to Washington. Didn’t it, Seth?” - -The secretary gave a grunt. Governor Marden turned again to Mrs. -Hallard. “We’ll meet his game this time,” he said. “See him and go him -about a thousand better. You’ve done me a big favor, Kate. What’s the -one you want done?” - -“I want Mr. Gard’s pardon fixed up,” his visitor said, promptly. “That’s -what I come for. I want the papers fixed up right, an’ then I wanter -know if they ain’t some way to put a cinch on that there claim.” - -“Sure there is,” was the reply. “The pardon’s dead easy; only it’ll have -to be Barker’s pardon. Seth, you fix up the papers will you, and I’ll -sign right off. - -“Glory be!” The governor heaved a mighty sigh as the secretary went back -to his own room. He got up and took a turn about the office, throwing -back his shoulders with an air of relief. - -“That thing’s weighed on me,” he exclaimed. “You don’t know what -mistakes like that mean to a man. It’s been a dead weight, sometimes.” - -He turned, quickly, and took down a volume of mining-law. - -“I suppose,” he said, after pouring over its pages for some moments, -“yes, I guess Westcott _could_ do something about that. I don’t know as -he’d dare try, when he finds out the truth, but it’s best not to take -any risks with a ‘sarpint’ like that, and I’m going to have Unricht go -down to Tucson with you, Kate, and fix the whole matter right. There’s -time enough to get a night train if you want to—” He looked at his -watch. - -“That’s just what I do,” she replied, promptly. - -“All right, then.” The governor turned. Unricht had come in with a -document ready for the official signature. - -“I wasn’t sure,” the secretary said, “so I stopped to look it up in the -testimony. Maybe you remember, Governor,” he went on, “that Barker -claimed at the trial that he had retained Westcott and paid him a big -fee. He hadn’t any more money to pay a lawyer; so the court appointed -him one.” - -The governor was signing the paper. - -“By gum!” he exclaimed, looking up, “I do seem to remember. Sounded like -a cock-and-bull story then. Westcott had left town, you know. - -“But say, friends:” he straightened up and looked from one to the other -of his auditors,—“the desert’s got a beauteous lot of poison citizens,” -he said, “what with tarantulas, and sidewinders, and ground-rattlers, -and Gila monsters, and hydrophobia skunks; but it don’t breed anything -more poisonous than a man, when he _is_ poison.” - -He threw down his pen and handed the paper he had signed to Mrs. -Hallard. - -“That’s done,” he said, gleefully. “Unricht, can you fix it to go down -to Tucson to-night, and do a little business for me to-morrow?” - -The secretary consulted his calendar and decided that he could arrange -for the expedition. It was agreed that Mrs. Hallard and he should meet -at the station in time for the evening train. “About that matter of your -own, Kate,” the governor said, as Mrs. Hallard was leaving, “I shouldn’t -wonder if your Mr. Barker-Gard was equal to fixing Westcott; but if -either of you need any help you call on David Marden. Now don’t you -forget!” - -Unricht and Mrs. Hallard went straight to the proper office, on their -arrival in Tucson next morning, and the secretary saw to it that Gard’s -claim was correctly refiled, and the matter put in unassailable shape. -This done, they sought the St. Augustine, where Kate was to wait for the -forenoon train to Bonesta. - -“I’ll have to leave you a little while before it goes,” Unricht was -saying, as they stood in what had been the vestibule of the old church. -“My own train is earlier—” - -“Sh—hush—” - -Mrs. Hallard drew her companion back into the slender shelter of a great -pillar. “Look over there,” she whispered, and Unricht glanced in the -direction indicated. - -Westcott had just come into the building and stepped up to the desk. He -was making some inquiry about the next train south, and the watchers had -a good look at him. - -His face was livid, and drawn into an expression of concentrated rage. -He looked like a venomous creature of the desert, and as he crossed the -office and ascended the two or three steps to the great dining-room, his -step was wavering and uncertain. - -“And he don’t drink,” Unricht whispered to Mrs. Hallard. “I know that. -He’s just drunk with rage.” - -“But I don’t wanter go down on the same train with him,” Mrs. Hallard -whispered back. “I should be scared o’ my life.” - -Unricht reassured her. “He wouldn’t really hurt you,” he said, “but I -don’t blame you for wanting to dodge him. I shouldn’t wonder if he was -going down to see you, though. He must know he’s in a pretty pickle if -he can’t make terms with you. Maybe you’d better see him now, while I’m -along,” he suggested. - -Mrs. Hallard demurred. “I’d rather get home,” she said. “Mr. Gard may be -there.” - -“All right,” was the reply. “I’ll telephone Larch you’re getting the -afternoon train.” - -They slipped out and went to another hotel, thereby missing Gard, who -presently came in from up the territory, eager to get back to Sylvania, -and report to Mrs. Hallard. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Westcott’s state of mind, miserable as it was, would have been more -unenviable still had he known that Gard was on the train with him during -the journey to Bonesta. The lawyer was hurrying to Sylvania to secure -another interview with Kate Hallard in the absence of her champion. He -reasoned that she could not yet have heard from Gard, whose quest in the -north, he surmised, had something to do with her business. - -He was still puzzled to understand why a man like Gard should have -prepared such a statement as was contained in the packet which he had -found on the desert. In the light of what he himself had just learned, -it seemed as if he must have known that it was unnecessary. The paper -bore no date, and he finally concluded that it must have been written at -some time before Gard had learned of Jim Texas’ confession. Westcott -himself had not known of this before going north on this trip. He had -been willing to forget the whole business once he was sure that Barker -had disappeared forever. Now he was in a white rage at the position in -which he found himself. - -He had been in too great haste, after learning the facts of Gard’s -innocence, to think further of the mining claim. When Mrs. Hallard and -Unricht saw him in the St. Augustine he had just come in from the north. -He spent no time in Tucson, looking up records which he took for granted -Gard had already made right. He was sure that the latter’s first act -upon returning to civilization would be to put his own affairs into -secure shape. Only in some such way was it possible for a mind like -Westcott’s to understand a man’s willingly remaining in a position which -must otherwise seem to him perilous, for the sake of seeing right done -to a woman like Mrs. Hallard. He realized, too, with a horrible sense of -being trapped, that he himself was in Gard’s power. - -How that power would be used he felt no doubt. The man was probably only -making sure of his ground. He would have his case clear before he -struck, and no one knew, better than Ashley Westcott, how clear that -case could be made. He had reckoned absolutely upon the loss of that -deed, and upon Kate Hallard’s helplessness and ignorance; and the stolen -property now stood on record in his own name. - -The sweat started upon his forehead as he told over in his mind the -motives that would inevitably impel a man in Gard’s position to seek -revenge upon him. No wonder the fellow had taken this business up. No -wonder he had not been tempted to make a deal with him. Westcott -flinched inwardly, as he remembered his own fatuous proposition that -morning at the Palo Verde. How Gard must have been laughing at him, -behind that grave face. The matter stood out before him in the fierce -light of his own hatred; he could conceive of no other feeling actuating -his enemy. - -Any way he looked at it, the man was bound to be meditating his ruin. -Through the whirl of Westcott’s thoughts ran but one slender thread of -hope. If he could see Kate Hallard he might effect a compromise with -her. When last he saw her he had been sure that he had Gard in his -power. He had boasted to her that he meant to crush the fellow; to show -her what a helpless creature she had trusted. She had laughed at his -threats, but there had been anxiety under her laughter. He had seen that -as he departed, exulting. Perhaps he could work that line with her -again. He would see; he _must_ see! - -If he could not arrange with her there was nothing for him to do but to -run for it. He might be able to realize on the property before getting -away; a cattleman up north was even then considering its purchase. In -any case, Kate Hallard failing him, he must get out of Arizona; get out -of the country, even, if Gard’s hatred still pursued him. To stay, after -this, spelled jail. - -At the word Gard’s face came up before him as it had looked that night -in Blue Gulch, and the horror of it set him shivering. Remorse was no -part of his emotion; he felt only a sense of impotent regret at the -shattering of his plans, and a blind hatred of Gard as the cause of his -undoing. He cursed him in his heart as he sat staring out upon the -desert landscape slipping past the car window. - -Its desolation added to his horror, and his fury. It was a hellish -place, working its own infernal way with men whom fate forced to dwell -in it; but he had worked, and planned, and striven there; he had seen -his dear ambition coming within reach of his hand. Now he saw himself -hunted like a jack-rabbit from the scene of all his hopes and desires. - -And there was Helen. He believed that he had stood a chance there. And -he had meant, once he was out of this snarl, to live straight. With her -to help him he could go far. Arizona would be a state some day. There -were big possibilities ahead. He writhed in his seat at the thought, and -cursed Gabriel Gard anew for plotting his downfall. - -The horse that he had ridden to Bonesta several days before had been -sent back to Sylvania; so Westcott went up to the outfitting town in the -tri-weekly stage which was waiting at the train. This fact enabled Gard -the better to keep out of the lawyer’s sight. His own horse was in the -Bonesta stable. - -He was no more anxious to encounter Westcott than the latter was to meet -him. He had seen him at the Tucson station in time to seek another car -from the one in which the attorney seated himself, and now he had but to -keep out of view until the lumbering stage swung up the road with his -foe on board. - -Gard had found his man, and had in his pocket Sawyer’s affidavit to -having taken the acknowledgment of the Hallard deed. He had learned, -too, that this deed ante-dated the one of record to Westcott’s client. -This personage, he had ascertained, was a mere tool of the attorney’s. -The actual holder of the property was Westcott himself. - -He was greatly troubled, on arriving at Sylvania, to find that Mrs. -Hallard had gone away. He tortured his mind for an explanation of her -sudden journey. He was afraid that she had been again misled by -Westcott. If the lawyer really _had_ found that lost packet there was no -predicting the uses to which he might put it in making representations -to Mrs. Hallard. - -Sing Fat could give him no information beyond the fact that Mrs. Hallard -had ridden out to the Palo Verde, returning in “one velly big hully-up,” -to prepare for a journey to Prescott. He could not tell when she would -return. - -Gard pondered the matter in sorry perplexity. He could not fathom the -mystery, but he feared—everything. He dreaded what might have taken -place at the Palo Verde. What had taken Mrs. Hallard there? What had -Sandy Larch been told? What did Miss Anderson believe? - -The last was the question of his deepest thought. He was not fearful for -himself, of anything that might come. The doubts and the temptations of -the situation had all been settled in his mind. He had learned stern -lessons in solitude, and he brought them sternly to bear in this -exigency. This thing had been given to him, Gabriel Gard, to carry -through. Whatever might come to him as one human being did not count. It -was the life of the world that counted, and to see justice done was just -now, for him, a part of that life. If payment seemed to fall upon him, -who was he, that he could not bear his burden? Neither his courage nor -his purpose faltered before the outlook. - -But that Helen Anderson should believe of him the things he was sure -that Westcott would try to make her believe, was more than his reason -told him need be borne. The mastering desire of his soul at this moment -was that she should believe in him; that she should know the truth from -his own lips before she judged him. The vague plan that had suggested -itself to him on the way up now took definite shape. He resolved to ride -out to the Palo Verde; to see Helen if possible, and get her to listen -to the whole story. She should believe him, if there was any power in -truth to make its impress upon a true nature. - -“She _is_ true,” he told himself, recalling her clear, candid eyes, her -fine, fearless spirit. “She will believe me. She must believe me. Oh, -God, help me _make_ her believe me! It’s all I ask!” - -He had no intention of putting his fate to further test. When he should -be free; able to hold up his head without shame among men; then the -right to speak would be his. Then he would lay his life at her feet. It -was hers. But now, he would have given his last drop of blood just to -know that she knew, and that she believed him. - -He left Mrs. Hallard’s papers, securely sealed, in Sing Fat’s care, -seeing them put in a place of safety before he turned away to where he -had put up his horse. - -The animal was still feeding; for himself Gard had forgotten the need of -food. He hesitated, loth to take the creature out. - -“Goin’ far?” the stable man asked. - -“Out to the Palo Verde,” was the reply. - -“Better take one o’ our broncs, then,” the man jerked a thumb in the -direction of a flea-bitten roan standing in its stall. - -“That un’ll take you out there all right,” he said, “tho’ he ain’t no -shucks of a goer.” - -“He’ll do,” and the roan was brought out and saddled. A man who had -slunk from the stable when Gard came in lingered unseen at the head of -the alley to see him ride away. - -“Gwan,” he jeered in drunken exultation as horse and rider passed up the -street; “go it while ye can; yer time’s a comin’ my fine, pious -jail-bird. Here’s where yer wings is goin’ to be clipped sure’s my -name’s Thad Broome!” - -The cow-puncher had come into town breathing out wrath against Sandy -Larch, with whom he had had words. He was foregathering with certain -chosen companions, and had already succeeded in getting well on the road -to drunkenness. He was headed for Jim Bracton’s with his friends when -the quartette met Westcott, fresh from an effort to pump Sing Fat -regarding Mrs. Hallard’s whereabouts. - -Sing Fat had been non-committal. He knew that the lawyer was not in the -good graces of his mistress, and so, being a Chinaman, he had little -that was definite to tell him. Westcott was in a white rage when he was -hailed by Broome, too drunk now to be discreet. - -He answered the cow-puncher’s surprised greeting shortly, but Broome was -not to be put off. He was in a condition to attach importance to his own -personality, and he followed Westcott, who was walking away from the -town, too furious to endure contact with humanity. The puncher’s -companions trailed after. - -Out beyond the edge of the settlement the lawyer turned, enraged. - -“What in hell are you following me for, Broome?” he snapped, savagely. - -“Wanter word wi’ you, Misher Weshcott,” the fellow said, thickly. - -“What about? Why aren’t you on the range? What are you hanging around -here for?” The questions followed one another with a jerk. - -Broome burst into a tirade of profanity, the burden of which was that he -would take no bossing from Sandy Larch. He had defied the latter and had -been given his time. - -“So you got yourself fired,” Westcott commented in a slow rage. “You’re -an even bigger blasted fool than I thought you could be.” - -Broome blustered, drunkenly. Did Westcott think he was going to stand -any lip from Sandy Larch when he had a fortune in sight? - -“Fortune—hell!” Westcott’s fury broke bounds. - -“What you’ve got in sight,” he said, hoarsely, “is an asylum for damned -fools; or else a hemp necktie and a short drop. One or the other’s yours -all right.” - -The cow-puncher stared, stupidly. - -“Gwan,” he said, “Whatcher givin’ us? Gard ain’t made no drift; he’s -just now gone out to the Palo Verde; I seen ’im.” - -Westcott was startled. - -“What has he gone out there for?” he demanded. - -“How ’n hell do I know,” was the reply. “When we goin’ t’ land ’im?” - -“Shut up!” Westcott almost screamed the words in the intensity of his -nervous pain. “You can’t touch Gard, you blasted donkey,” he added; -“he’s made himself solid with the law. He’s pardoned all right.” - -“Pardoned!” Broome’s jaw dropped. “Did he bring away enough fer that in -them two bags?” he gasped. - -Westcott made no reply and the cow-puncher turned to his fellows. - -“Now wha’ d’ye think o’ that?” he roared, “You know this here Gard, Jim. -He’s that dod-gasted sawney that butted in when you was teachin’ old Joe -Papago the things he most needed to know that night up to the ‘Happy -Family.’” - -“I guess I know ’im all right, damn ’im,” snarled the one addressed. “He -done me out ’n a good thing that time. I stood to win—” - -“Done ye! Call that doin’ ye?” Broome snarled. “He done me out ’n more -’n he did you. Thousands o’ dollars he’s robbed me of.” - -“Aw, pull ’er in easy Broome,” interrupted one of the others, coming -close. “You never had a thousand in yer life.” - -“Ye lie! I had my eyes on the richest vein in Arizona, an’ this feller -lit on me an’ nearly killed me when he found I’d seen it. He chased me -out ’n it!” - -“I’d pot any man tried that on me,” the other said. “Where in tunk was -yer gun?” - -“Where ’t is now,” Broome growled, “an’ that’s none o’ your business. -I’ll git ’im yet. He’s a murderer an’ a thief, an’ I’ll git ’im yet.” - -“An’ hang for it.” This man spoke for the first time. “He ain’t worth -it.” - -“Not on your life would I hang fer ’t,” was Broome’s reply. “I tell ye -the man’s a murderer an’ a thief anyhow; an’ as fer his bein’ worth it, -I tell ye that claim he’s hanging onto’s got a million in plain sight.” - -“An’ to think of it,” he went on, dolorously, “that I had my two hands -on them bags, an’ hefted ’em, an’ saw their color.” - -“Pity you didn’t smell of them while you were about it,” sneered -Westcott. “It’s about all the good you’ll ever get of the stuff.” - -“Is it, eh,” Broome turned on him in maudlin rage. - -“It’s all I’ll ever git with any help o’ your’n,” he raged, “but I kin -do a thing er two yet, off ’n my own bat. By God! Just you lemme git my -two hands on the feller ’n I’ll twist his windpipe good ’n’ plenty!” - -He gasped for breath, tearing at the band of his shirt. - -“I’ll kill ’im,” he swore. “D’ye think I’ll let ’im live when he’s took -the bread out o’ my mouth like he done?” - -Westcott regarded him with narrowed eyes. - -“You’d be a blasted fool to stand it,” he said, speaking very low, “any -set of men are fools to let another man ride over them; but they’re -bigger fools if they don’t keep their mouths shut.” - -“That’s so,” one of the men commented. “You fellers wanter look out. -This here Gard you’re talkin’ about’s a stranger to me, an’ I d’ know -all he’s done, but such talk’s plumb dangerous.” - -He shook his head with drunken gravity. - -“Wha’d you wanter kill ’im for?” he asked of Broome. - -“I tell ye he’s a damned murderer,” was the reply. “He’d oughter be -killed.” - -“Is that right?” The man who did not know Gard turned to Westcott with a -profoundly judicial air. - -“Why ain’t he hung then?” he went on. “How d’you know he’s guilty?” - -Westcott hesitated, considering. He did not look at the questioner. - -“I saw the whole story written out in his own hand,” he finally said, -with a curious glitter in his half-veiled eyes. “I’ve just been up north -trying to have him arrested,” he continued. “Broome here knows that; but -I found the matter’d been patched up.” - -“Hell! That ain’t no ways right.” The speaker steadied himself, and -regarded the lawyer severely. - -“They ain’t no justice in that,” he resumed. “Murder’s murder; an’ the -punishment for murder’s hanging. I d’mand t’ know why he ain’t hung?” - -“You’ll have to answer your own question,” was the quiet reply. “What -are you going to do about that?” - -“I know what I’d do about it,” Broome spoke this time. “I’d hang ’im -myself, quick’s that,” snapping his fingers, “if I got the chance.” - -“Lynching’s gone out of style,” sneered Westcott. “We’re law-abiding in -Arizona now.” - -“Law be damned,” Broome blustered. “Lynching’s too good fer ’im; but -it’d serve, I guess.” - -The word passed from one to another of the drunken group. The men looked -at one another, and fell into a confused discussion. - -“Did you say you saw that there confession in his own handwrite?” the -stranger presently turned to ask of Westcott, but the lawyer had already -hurried away. - -“Don’t you worry none about that,” Broome answered for him, with an -oath. “I tell ye, Hickey, I know what I’m talkin’ about. The man’s an -escaped jail-bird that was in fer murder. He’s dodged the law, but hell! -he ain’t dodged Thad Broome yet!” - -The talk went on among the men, but Westcott was not there to hear it. -He had seen to it that he should not be, and was well on his way back to -town. - -He had not put the idea into their heads, he told himself. Nor was it -likely that anything would come of their drunken vaporings. - -But if anything should—His heart was beating excitedly, and his breath -came quick as the possibilities of the situation hammered at his brain. - -“Curse the fellow,” he muttered. “The very devil himself is always -sending him my way. Well, whatever happens to him this trip he’s brought -it upon himself.” - -He walked on, his thoughts growing more definite. - -“Nothing can be proved against me,” they ran. “I can’t be supposed to -know what a lot of drunken punchers are likely to do. The fool ought to -have been careful how he interfered with them. - -“Still, if anything _should_ happen,” caution suggested, “I may as well -be away from here.” - -He glanced at his watch. - -“Too late for the afternoon train,” he reflected. “But there’s the mixed -freight at nine-thirty. I might ride over to the junction and get Billy -Norton to stop that for me. I’ll do that. Plenty of time after supper. -Yes: that is what I will do.” - -He did not continue his walk, but sought the little hotel and shut -himself into his room, explaining to the friendly proprietor that he was -dead tired, and wanted to make up lost sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -Sandy Larch had driven to Bonesta to meet Mrs. Hallard, Unricht’s -telephone message having reached the Palo Verde in due season. The -cowboys were all out on the range. There was no one about the corrals -when Gard reached the rancho. He had not expected that anyone would be, -but the place seemed curiously quiet and deserted. A bunch of future -polo ponies in one enclosure were the only creatures in sight as he rode -on toward the casa. These nickered to his own horse and the sound -brought Wing Chang to the door of his adobe kitchen. The Chinaman’s face -wrinkled in a genial smile as he recognized Gard. The latter waved a -hand to him and turned toward the horse-rail; for he had caught sight of -a slender figure under the cottonwoods. - -She rose from the low chair in which she had been sitting, reading, and -awaited his coming, there beneath the trees. She was dressed, as usual, -in white—a soft, clinging serge to-day, for the December afternoons were -growing cool—and she stood, serene and quiet, smiling welcome as he -approached, but the eyes veiled by her long lashes were like stars. -Gard’s heart cried out to her as he took the slim little hand she held -out to him in greeting. He felt like a man reprieved. There was no -aversion in her look or manner. Westcott could not yet have wholly -blackened his good name before her. - -“So you have come back to find everybody gone,” Helen said, offering him -the long chair he remembered so well. “This seems to belong to you.” - -He declined it—his errand was not one that invited the soul to ease—and -took, instead, a camp-stool near the little garden table. Patsy, who had -been lying beneath it, came to greet the guest, with wagging -recognition. - -“There’s nobody gone that I came to see,” Gard answered her remark with -a directness that brought the long lashes still further over those -starry eyes. Helen had seen him coming far on the desert; had recognized -him with a quick, exultant leap of the heart, and had schooled herself -to serenity, stilling the tumult within long ere he stood before her. - -Nevertheless, she was exquisitely aware of his presence; aware too, that -the secret fear of her heart, lest memory might after all have played -her false with reference to this man, was dispelled. This was indeed the -Gard of her musings. Her veiled eyes took swift woman-cognizance of him; -of the strength and poise of his spare, supple frame; the clean -wholesomeness of his rugged good looks. - -Almost before he spoke, however, she was conscious that something -vaguely portentous pulsed beneath the quiet of his manner; something -which her own mood failed of grasping. He was stirred to the depths by -something not wholly of the present moment. The joyous light of that -first instant of meeting had faded from his face, and a shadowy trouble -lurked deep within his eyes. She raised her own to meet it with the -steady, level glance he remembered as peculiarly her own, seeking to -answer the need of his soul. - -Gard’s courage was near to failing. It came home to him with terrible -force as he met her pure glance, what a monstrous thing this was that he -had brought to lay before her sweet, untroubled consciousness. He would -have given his life to keep sorrow from her; yet he was hungering this -moment to tell her his own. - -But he could not let her hear it from other lips than his, and he -believed that she must inevitably hear the tale very soon. In a flash he -saw, too, that if she but believed him that belief would rob the -knowledge of its malignant power. The friendliness of her eyes calmed -the storm in his spirit. In that instant he loved her supremely; but for -the moment she was more the friend to whose soul he longed to lay bare -his own, than the woman he loved, whose faith he longed to feel -assurance of. - -He had no knowledge of the arts of circumlocution. He drew from his -pocket a folded paper and began his story where, in his thought, he had -meant to end it. - -“I have brought you something to keep for me,” he said, opening out the -paper and handing it to her. - -She looked it over wonderingly. There was a rough sketch of a -mountain-range, with one peak indicated by a little cross. At one side -was a little map, with directions and distances plainly set out, and -half a page of minute instructions as to routes and trails. Gard’s -training in the surveyor’s gang had served him in good stead here. - -“What is it, precisely?” the girl asked; for complete as it seemed, -there was no word to indicate just what it was intended to show. - -“That’s what I want to tell you,” was his answer. “It wasn’t best to put -_too_ much on the paper. I got taught that the other day; but what is -set down there would guide you straight to my gold-mine if ever you -wanted to go.” - -She flushed, slightly. - -“Why should I ever want to go?” she asked, on the defensive against his -eyes. “Don’t prospectors generally consider it imprudent to show such -things as this?” - -“Awfully imprudent. You must put it away where it will be very safe, and -keep it for me.” - -“But why do you wish _me_ to keep it? I think you are rash.” Helen held -the paper toward him, but he put her hand back, pleadingly. - -“Please keep it for me,” he urged; “I—I wish it above all things. I am -afraid—I expect to have to go away for a time, to a place where _I_ -could not keep it—for a long time, perhaps.” - -“Where do you expect to go?” Helen strove to keep out of her voice the -dismay that was in her heart. - -“There was a boy, once,” he said, apparently not hearing her question. -“He wasn’t a bad boy as boys go, but you couldn’t have called him a good -boy, either. And he wasn’t smart, and he wasn’t stupid.” Gard looked out -across the desert, considering. - -“This boy went away from home the way boys do. He thought it was slow on -the farm back in Iowa; and he drifted out to Arizona....” - -He paused. He found the story even harder to tell than he had expected. -Helen, watching him intently, leaned toward him ever so slightly. - -“I want to hear about the boy,” she said, softly, and Gard went on, -without looking at her. - -“He got out to Arizona and went prospecting. He found a claim, and had -it jumped. He got some dust together, and lost it. He lost a good many -things; his real name, for one thing, and a lot of other things it does -boys good to keep. He was getting into bad ways; getting mighty -worthless; and then he got into trouble.” - -Gard’s face was pale under its tan, and a white dint showed in either -nostril. Helen was studying the sketch of the mountains. - -“A man was killed—” - -The girl gave a little gasp, and Gard turned to her quickly. - -“The boy didn’t do it,” he cried. “Before Heaven! he hadn’t anything to -do with it. Miss Anderson—” He bent toward her, eagerly. “Can’t you -believe—no matter what comes up—won’t you—oh, you must believe that the -boy hadn’t anything to do with it!” - -Her eyes were on his face, searching it as though she would read his -hidden thoughts. - -“I can believe that,” she said at last, “if you say it is true.” - -He drew a deep, tremulous breath. - -“Tell me exactly what happened,” Helen urged, and the way opened, he -went on with the whole pitiful, sordid story, the girl listening, never -flinching, though her very lips grew white when he told her what his -sentence had been. - -He told her of his escape, but omitted mention of his visit to Blue -Gulch. He did not bring Westcott’s name in at all, or dwell upon the -treachery he had met with. He told of finding Mrs. Hallard’s deed; of -his search for her, and of the trouble he had found her in, and Helen’s -heart warmed toward him because of what he still did not say; for she -recognized Westcott’s share in this matter. He came at last to the lost -packet, and the danger that he was in if anyone found it. - -“I think somebody has it,” he said, “and that somebody will be getting -after me. I am going to try to move first; but may be I sha’ n’t be able -to.” - -“Do you think it was Mr. Westcott who found those papers?” Helen asked, -suddenly, and Gard started. - -“Did he say anything to you?” he demanded. “What did he tell you?” - -She drew herself up, proudly. - -“I am not in Mr. Westcott’s confidence,” she said. “He has never spoken -to me on the subject.” - -“Sandy and I, we _do_ think that,” Gard admitted. “He, Mr. Westcott, -ain’t a friend of mine,” he added, “and if he did find them I’m sure to -hear from him before long.” - -Helen pondered his words. She knew, in various ways, that Westcott was -not friendly to this man. She began now to understand why, and she -realized that the attorney could be a venomous foe. - -“Any one of the others would have handed the papers over to Sandy, would -they not?” she asked, and before Gard could reply turned to answer -Jacinta, who was calling anxiously from the house. - -“Jacinta thinks it’s getting too cool out here,” she explained, -laughingly. “It troubles her if she thinks I am running risks. Shall we -go into the house?” - -The afternoon was waning. Gard hesitated. - -“I must be getting back,” he said, following her, “but I’d like to -explain that diagram to you. I want you to have it in case ... if -anything should happen, I—want it to be yours. You get your father to -have some work done on it, and file the claim right for you. My -filing—isn’t legal.” - -The words came hard, and the color mounted to his forehead. The girl’s -hands were trembling. Outside the sound of men’s voices came vaguely on -the afternoon stillness. - -“Is it as late as that?” Helen asked, surprised. “Are the men getting -back?” - -Glancing out of the window they saw Wing Chang coming from the kitchen -to the house. Near the kitchen door a man on horseback was waiting. - -“Mistlee Glad!” Chang’s yellow visage wore a startled look as he -appeared in the doorway of the big living room. - -“Man outside,” he said, addressing Gard. “Four, fi’ men; holler; swear; -say you come out. Say you gotta come out.” - -The man by the kitchen door now rode forward. - -“Hey, you, Misher Barker, Gard, whatever you call yourself,” he yelled -thickly, “come out ’n that in th’ name o’ law o’ Arizona!” - -“Oh!” Helen cried, “what does he want?” - -Gard turned to her with agony in his face. - -“It’s—what—we—thought—might happen, I guess,” he said. - -“Has—has someone come to take you? Don’t go! Don’t let them take you! -Oh, surely there is some other way!” The girl’s voice was full of -horror. “Oh!” she moaned, “if only my father were here! Or Sandy!” She -looked at him with eyes whose revelation almost broke the man down. - -“Be you comin’, in there?” the thick voice outside sounded nearer. -“They’sh plenty of ush to take you,” it went on. “Y’ ain’t goin’ to hide -in there along o’ no girl, Misher murderer!—We’ll take you both ’f you -don’t come out ’n be quick ’bout it!” - -Gard caught the words and his face grew suddenly stern. He opened the -door and stepped outside. The man on horseback swerved, at sight of him, -and galloped back a little distance to where his fellows had come up. -Gard could still distinguish them all in the increasing dusk. - -“Come out here you damned murderer!” - -It was Broome’s voice, malignant and thick. - -“You’re goin’ git what ’s comin’ to you this time,” he added, -tauntingly. - -There was no mistaking the menace of the group; Gard realized, as he -surveyed it, that this was no posse, but a band of drunken cowboys ripe -for any mischief. At all hazards, he must keep them from the house. - -“Ride the murderer down!” someone roared, drunkenly. But none of the men -moved nearer to attack the motionless figure on the door stone. - -Gard was thinking fast, and the burden of his thought was the girl -shivering on the other side of the door. He must get these men away. She -must not know. - -Deliberately he stepped back into the room. As the door closed behind -him a bullet buried itself in the upper panel with a savage “ping!” amid -a chorus of savage yells. Helen was at the window, ears and eyes -strained to the scene without. She came toward him, swiftly. - -“You must not go out there!” she cried. “Those men are not officers; -they mean harm!” - -Her hand touched his arm lightly in terrified appeal. The white -womanliness of her upturned face made his heart ache with tenderness. -His soul thrilled to a trembling sense of the sweet possibilities of -life. Then the instinct of the protector awoke. - -“I must go,” he said, speaking low and fast. “I must go now; I must meet -these men and—and have it out with them. It is the only way. But I’m -coming back. Don’t you worry. I’m coming back clear and clean—” - -“Don’t go!” she whispered in terror; for he was moving toward a long -French window that opened toward the cottonwoods. - -“I must!” His voice was tense with pain. Outside, he knew, death lurked -for him—just when life had grown so precious! But more precious still -was this slim, white girl. For her sake he must draw the evil crew away -from the casa. She must not know! - -“Kick in the door! The patron’s away! The coward’s hiding there -with—yah!” - -A fleeing figure burst from the shelter of the cottonwoods, Gard’s horse -still stood at the rail, the bridle reins on the ground. The drunken -horsemen turned their own mounts and blundered confusedly against one -another as their quarry, with a defiant shout that left them no doubt as -to his identity, threw himself upon his horse and dashed away into the -gloom. In an instant they rallied from their confusion, and wheeling, -were after him. - -Gard made for the great rancho gate. He knew the horse he bestrode; knew -that it was not in the mongrel brute’s poor power to carry him far, at -any speed; but at least he had a start, and was leading his pursuers -away from the Palo Verde. - -“Head ’im off there!” - -“Shoot him!” - -“Damn it! Don’t shoot! Catch the damned sneaking dog an’ we’ll string -’im up!” It was Broome’s voice. - -The words were borne to Wing Chang’s horrified ears and he raised his -own high, falsetto tones, in a cry of warning to Gard. Helen, hovering -beside the door, heard also, and rushed out. - -“Chang! Chang!” she called, gathering her skirts as she made for the -corrals; “come and help me saddle Dickens!” - -She seized him by the arm and literally pushed him before her. “Quick!” -she cried. “You catch the horse. I’ll get the saddle.” - -She must get help. She meant to ride out and meet the men who must soon -be returning from the range. She was coming from a shed, bearing saddle -and bridle, when Sandy Larch and Mrs. Hallard drove through the great -gate. Wing Chang rushed toward them, shrieking. - -“Slandy! Slandy man!” he wailed, forgetful of the discipline the foreman -was wont to enforce in the matter of his name. “You savee him! Makee -dlam hully up! Savee him!” - -“What’s eatin’ you?” Sandy roared, struggling with his startled horses. -“What’s the matter? Talk straight you fool heathen! Save who?” - -“Mistlee Glad! They killee him! Go! Go!” - -Wing Chang’s hands beat the air as though he could thus impel the -listener forward. Helen now ran up and Mrs. Hallard caught her hand, -leaning forward eagerly. - -“What is it?” she cried, and the girl explained, in quick, excited -sentences. - -“We must get out there quick,” she said. She turned with a glad cry: in -their preoccupation they had not heard the cowboys, who came galloping -in for supper, singing as they rode. - -Sandy Larch now comprehended the situation sufficiently to act. He gave -a few quick orders, and in a moment half a dozen of the men had faced -about and were riding over the desert. - -“Round up anything you see,” the foreman shouted after them. - -“I’ll be with you in a jerk.” - -He meant to leave Helen and Mrs. Hallard at the casa, but they refused -to listen to such a plan. Helen sprang into the buckboard, and as the -last horseman swept out at the gate the sweating team was in pursuit. - -Four of the men rode out upon the plain. Two, of whom Manuel was one, -kept to the road, and after these Sandy lashed his horses. He came up -with them a mile beyond the gate. Manuel was off his bronco, studying -some tracks that just here turned abruptly from the way. - -“They must have turned off here,” Sandy said, springing out and -straining his eyes to make out the hoof-prints in the baffling gloom. -“Gard’s got a poor horse. They headed him off.” - -“Oh!” Helen cried, wringing her hands. “Why didn’t he ride back to the -rancho?” - -“Gard wouldn’t do that, with you alone there,” answered Sandy. “But oh, -Lord! Why didn’t some of us turn up sooner?” - -Sago Irish, who had ridden out upon the plain, while Manuel studied the -hoof-prints, now came back. - -“Did you pick up the trail?” the foreman demanded, sharply. - -The cowboy shook his head. - -“Sand’s too hard,” he said, sorrowfully, “an’ it’s gettin’ too dark.” - -Sandy’s eyes searched the dusky landscape. He was breathing hard. - -“Cannot we do _something_,” Helen pleaded, in a voice of agony. - -“If they catch the señor—” Manuel spoke very low, but the women’s -straining ears caught the words—“they will ride off where is the little -west fork. There they find—” - -A word from the foreman hushed his speech. Sandy turned his horses and -in an instant they were flying in the direction Manuel had indicated. -For the first time Kate Hallard’s nerve was shaken. - -“Oh, my God!” she muttered, “Manuel meant they’d find _trees_!” - -As she spoke a revolver shot rang out distantly, upon the air, and with -a wild yell the two cowboys dashed off, leaving those in the buckboard -to follow. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -So this was to be the end! - -Gard, securely roped, stood with his back against a cottonwood tree, -looking at his captors. There was no mistaking their condition, and they -left him in no doubt as to their intentions. - -He had not expected this. Re-arrest; re-imprisonment: these had -presented themselves to his mind as possibilities; he had not looked to -win justice and reinstatement without a struggle, but this—surely no -sane mind could have foreseen it as a possibility. - -The quick dusk of mid-December had fallen, but one of the men was -provided with a stock-lantern. This had been lighted, and threw a -miserable glare upon the sodden faces of the men who had him in their -power. He glanced from one to the other, finding ground for hope in -none. - -It was Broome who had captured him. The cowboy had secured the loan of a -fellow puncher’s horse, standing at the rail before Jim Bracton’s -saloon. It was a good horse, more than a match for the indifferent beast -Gard rode. There had been a mad race across the desert, a realizing -sense that the danger was real and imminent, and Gard was in the act of -drawing his revolver when the rope that Broome flung settled over his -shoulders, and pinned his arms down. - -“Now you know how it feels, damn you!” Broome said, when the crowd had -their captive bound and again in saddle. - -“But you don’t git no blindfold,” he sneered. “You’re goin’ to see all -that’s a’comin’ to you, good ’n’ plain.” Broome’s face was thrust into -his, drunken, distorted, malignant. - -“Now my fine Mister Barker-Gard,” the thick voice snarled, “it’s prayers -fer your’n. You’ve killed your last man, you sneakin’ coyote you. You’ll -swing in jest about two minutes.” - -There was a growl of assent from two of the others, and Gard recognized -them as the same two ruffians that were fleecing Papago Joe when he had -quietly but effectively stopped their game. The fourth man was a -stranger to him. It was this one who carried the lantern, and he now -held it unsteadily on high, surveying the prisoner with drunken gravity. - -“Tell ye what,” he announced to Broome, “Thish ’ere thing’s gotter be -done right. Thish ’a free ’n glorioush country. We don’t hang no man -’thout ’n he gits a fair trial.” - -“Trial be damned!” Broome roared. “Don’t you go bein’ no fool Sam -Hickey. This feller ’s bin tried an’ found guilty long of a real judge -’n jury, already.” - -Hickey turned upon him with inebriate severity. - -“If you wa’n’t so dangnation drunk, Broome,” he said, “I’d swat ye fer -that remark. But y’ ain’t responsible now; that’s whatch y’ ain’t; Thish -’ere thing’s gotter be done decent, I tell you. We ain’t no murderers. -We’sh populash o’ Arizona, seein’ justice done; an’ damn you, we’re -goin’ to see it.” - -“You bet we be!” interjected one of the others. “An’ quick! This -feller’s _had_ his trial.” - -“Not s’ fast, Hank.” Hickey swung the lantern perilously. - -“There’sh a judge, thash me; an’ there’sh jury, thash gotter be you -fellers. There—now. Thash all fixed.” - -Oh, God! Was it really to end in this tragic farce? Gard pondered it -with a sick heart. If it was, why could he not have died in the storm, -with Arnold, two years ago? - -He realized the futility of any appeal to the creatures before him. They -were drunk; irresponsible as dogs at play, and they held his life in -their hands. His life: with all its new hope, and love, and aspiration! -Moreover, three of them hated him. He owed even these few more moments -of breath to the maudlin vagary of the one who did not know him. - -“Prish’ner at the bar,” Hickey was mumbling, “You are accusht o’ bein’ -convicted o’ the murder o’—Who ’n hell was it he murdered, Broome?” - -He turned to Broome with an effort at dignity that nearly flung the -lantern in the latter’s face. Broome dodged it, with an oath. - -“Dan Lundy, you slitherin’ fool,” he snarled, “Git ahead with your -lingo, or we’ll swing you when he’s done fer.” - -Hickey ignored the threat. - -“Well, prish’ner at the bar, guilty er not guilty?” - -“Not guilty! I never touched Lundy,” Gard said, earnestly. “I found him -dead in his shack, and they came in just as I was trying to lift him -up.” - -“Corsh: corsh: very proper to pleade ‘not guilty’. Reg’ler thing—we’d a’ -hung ye anyway if yer hadn’t—fer’n example! As ’tish, we’ve gi’n you -fair tri’l. Be there anything you wanter say, before thish court -perceeds t’ ex’cute sentensh?” - -Gard’s soul was in revolt. - -“Hickey,” he said, speaking very slowly and distinctly, “This is murder -you men are doing. You’ll know it when you are sober.” - -As the lantern cast its light upon Hickey’s face it seemed to Gard that -he looked startled. He realized, with a sick feeling of helplessness -that the fellow’s participation in this deed was due solely to his -condition. He even felt a sort of pity for the man when to-morrow’s -awakening should bring the knowledge of what he had done. If he could -but reach the real man buried in the addled brain. - -“I did not kill Dan Lundy,” he insisted, still addressing Hickey; “You -will know that some day. Killing me to-night will not be the end of it. -Death ain’t such an awful thing that a man’s got to be afraid of it, -beyond a certain point. We’ve all got to die some time; so it stands to -reason it can’t be such a bad thing as we think. But if I do die -to-night, you’ll be alive yet, to-morrow morning, Hickey, and what do -you think you’ll do about it then?” - -Hickey was staring at him, his jaw loosened, the lantern hanging in a -listless hand. - -“Aw, shut up,” interrupted Broome. “You’ve said all you got any call to -say. We know there’s bin a mistake made, n’ we’re goin’ to fix it up -right here. You savez?” - -Gard ignored him, still looking at Hickey. - -“Know Mrs. Hallard?” he asked, with the quiet of desperation. Since by -no endurable possibility could he send a message where, alone, he longed -to, he must at least get one word to Kate Hallard. - -“Yesh;” was Hickey’s reply. “Know Missish Hallard. Mighty fine lady.” - -“Will you tell Mrs. Hallard,” he cast about for words that should guide -Mrs. Hallard without enlightening these ruffians. “Try to remember this, -please. Tell Mrs. Hallard that Sawyer’s all right. Tell her not to give -in to anybody. Anybody, I say. Tell her not to be afraid. Will you -remember?” - -Hickey carried his lantern a little distance away and set it down at the -foot of a tree. - -“I’ll tell ’er”; he said, gravely. “Hate ter hang a frien’ o’ Missish -Hallard,” he added, “just plum hate ter do’t; but you see yourself how -’tish; law’s gotter take its course; so we gotter hang you.” - -“Where’s your rope?” one of the men now demanded, and it was developed -that the only rope in the company was the horse-hair riata with which -Gard was bound. - -“Take it off n’ hang ’im with that,” Hickey ordered, and three men laid -hold of their victim, while Broome proceeded, savagely, to loosen his -bonds. A wild hope sprang up in Gard’s heart. - -It seemed as if Broome would never get done fumbling with the rope, but -at last it fell away from his feet. His arms were already untied, but -three men held them. - -With a quick wrench he shook one free and planted a blow in Broome’s -face. The fellow went down, heavily, and Gard fell upon the three -others, glorying that at least he could die fighting. - -But he did not mean to die. If he could but get an instant’s start he -could back his sober wits against their drunken ones, in the darkness. - -Hickey proved unequal to battle, and a single thrust put him temporarily -out of the fight. Then Gard heard Broome’s voice. - -“Shoot ’im! Shoot ’im, somebody!” he roared, and Gard realized that one -of the men he struggled with had drawn a gun. - -He seized the hand that held the weapon, and there was a three-cornered -fight for its possession. - -Broome was on his feet, now, trying to find a point of attack. Gard was -doing more than fight for the gun. He was gradually forcing activities -in the direction of the horses. If only he could shake free for an -instant, and make a run for it! He meant to secure Broome’s mount. In a -dash for freedom he felt that the odds would be with him. - -Broome had by now got into the struggle again, and hurled himself, from -behind, upon the man he hated. Gard felt the fellow’s great hands -closing about his throat, when suddenly, the revolver for which he was -fighting was discharged. - -Broome sank back with a yell and a moment later, somewhere, far out on -the plain, another revolver cracked. - -“Somebody’s coming!” the fellow called “Hank” gasped out, wrenching -free. “We’d better git!” - -The sense of approaching danger sobered him, for the instant, and he -sprang toward his horse. The other fellow would have followed, but Gard -held him fast. He, too, realized that help was at hand, and the -realization renewed his strength. A moment later, with wild yells, and a -rush of swift hoofs, two riders dashed up. - -Hank threw himself into the saddle. Manuel Gordo was quicker than he, -however, and bore him to the ground with one sweep of a heavy arm, while -Sago Irish, Manuel’s mate, dashed to Gard’s assistance. His ready rope -had already secured the fellow called “Jim,” when the buckboard -appeared, Sandy lashing his broncos to a mad run. - -The stars were out, lighting the sky with a brilliance that shamed the -lantern’s yellow glow, and Gard’s heart leaped when he saw the lithe -figure that sprang from the back-seat, as Sandy Larch brought the horses -to their haunches. - -The foreman was already hurrying to his friend, but he stopped short as -Gard, never seeing him, turned toward Helen. Mrs. Hallard, too, had -fallen behind, and the two stood face to face in the bright starlight. - -“Helen!” - -It was all that Gard could say, but his voice was full of wonder, and -joy. He never noticed that he had called the girl by her first name. - -Nor did she. For an instant she poised, bird-like, her shining eyes -seeking his. All thought of their surroundings had fallen away from -both; there was for them, in that moment; only the holy mystery of love, -filling their souls. He held out his arms and she came to him as -naturally as a child seeks its mother. - -Neither spoke. His face was against the bewildering fragrance of her -hair as her head lay upon his breast. He held her close, in the safe, -sweet haven of his arms. - -He tried to raise her face, that he might see it, but she kept it -hidden, blessing the kind, wise stars, that would not reveal her scarlet -cheeks. - -“Look up, darling! Oh, my love, let me see your eyes!” - -For answer her arms stole up to his neck, and she clung the closer -against the strong, brave heart that had borne so much. - -“Did they hurt you?” she whispered. “Are you all safe now? Oh, oh, my -dear heart—what if you had not been!” - -She was trembling from head to foot. He took her two hands in one of -his, carrying them to his lips. - -“I am all right,” he said, “if I can only be sure I am awake. But how -_can_ I believe you are here if I do not see your face?” - -She raised it at last, turning it up to his gaze under the pure -starlight, and the sight held him in a hush of wonder. - -“You see it _is_ I.” She forced a little smile to her trembling lips, -and looked at him, half afraid. - -“Yes, yes,” he whispered, “it really is. And you came to me. Don’t go -away, will you? Don’t ever, ever leave me!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -Yelling wildly through the night, the other Palo Verde riders came -pounding over the sand. Sandy Larch, who, with Mrs. Hallard, had been -investigating the extent of Broome’s injuries, straightened up. - -“Where’s Westcott?” he shouted. “Any of you seen the black hound? Wing -Chang said he had something to do with this business.” - -Broome gave a sort of howl, whether of pain or of protest, no one -heeded, no one cared. The new-comers crowded around the foreman. - -“Where is he?” They demanded, excitedly, “Which way’d ’e go?” - -“Search me,” was Sandy’s reply. “He must a’ drifted before I come up. -All I know is Wing Chang said he was one o’ the devils after Gard.” - -Hickey, who had been taken with the others, roused from his drunken -slumber at the sound of Westcott’s name. - -“He ain’t here,” he muttered, “Weshcott’s in Sylvania, takin’ care of ’s -health. Thash where he ish.” - -The cowboys were off before he had finished, and as no one noticed him, -he slumbered again. - -“What will they do with him?” whispered Helen. She had drawn away from -Gard when the others appeared, but he still held her hand. - -“Nothing, dear,” he replied. “They won’t find him. He’s safe at -Sylvania. I only wish you were as far away from here as he is.” - -“She will be in a shake,” Sandy Larch called, overhearing him. “An’ -so’ll you be, too.” - -Sandy had assured himself that bad whiskey and rage were more -responsible for Broome’s groans than the bullet which had shattered his -collar-bone, and ploughed his shoulder. The fellow’s howls and oaths had -been silenced by a kick, and no longer made night hideous. - -“Sago,” Sandy said, turning to one of his cowboys, “I reckon you ’n’ -Manuel’s equal to the care o’ these citizens. They kin all sit their -horses, I guess, an’ you two kin ride herd on ’em, into Sylvania. I’d -gather in their guns, if ’t was me doin’ it, on’ leave ’em with fatty -Harkins till mornin’. I dare say they’ll be some peacabler by then.” - -The foreman had already eased Broome’s shoulder, crudely enough, by -means of an arm-sling, improvised from the riata that the fellow had -meant to use for Gard. - -“He’ll do till he gits to Sylvania,” he said, with an indifference that -was not feigned, “Mebby there’ll be somebody there to tend to ’im.” And -he left the would-be lynchers to the tender mercies of their captors. - - -Ashley Westcott was mounting his hired horse in front of the hotel, when -a stranger, on a hard-ridden, pacing buckskin, stopped beside the rail. - -“Say, friend,” he drawled, catching sight of the lawyer, “Your name -happen to be Westcott?” - -“Is that any of your business?” snapped the owner of the name. - -“Not a bit,” was the calm reply, “an’ I don’t care a damn. It only -happened I was rounded-up, awhile back, by a parcel of fellers ’t said -they was from the Palo Verde. They’d mistook me fer you, an’ you sure -have some enthusiastic friends. They’re a whoopin’ it up yet, I guess, -’lowin’ they’re seekin’ your society.” - -“Who were they?” Westcott asked. - -“I didn’t exchange no cards with the gents,” the stranger replied, -grinning. “’Twas enough fer me to know they was friends o’ yourn’. An’ -seein’ you now, to realize your lovely disposition, I don’t know ’s I -wonder at the warmth o’ the feelin’ they showed fer you. They may be yer -dearest friends,” he went on, more seriously, “an’ you may be goin’ to -meet ’em this minute, but what I sot out to say was, that if a party o’ -_my_ dearest friends was lookin’ fer me in the tone o’ voice them -fellers was exhibitin’ I’d either stay where I was, if I thought it was -a good place, er I’d git on my nag an’ I’d drift, mighty lively.” - -“Bah!” was Westcott’s reply, as he got into the saddle. “I don’t know -why anyone should be hunting for me, and I’m not afraid of them if they -are. People generally know where to find me if they have business with -me.... Thank you, though,” he muttered, recollecting himself. - -“You’re sure welcome,” the stranger said, turning away, as the lawyer -rode down the street. - -“You’re sure good an’ welcome,” he added, to himself, “to all ’ts likely -comin’ to you.” - - -“There are a lot of things I’ve got to straighten out.” - -It was Gard, who spoke, from his place beside Sandy Larch in the -buckboard. - -“I think, too,” he added, addressing Sandy, a note of sadness in his -tone, “that I must tell you good friends about them, right away.” - -No one spoke, but before he had time to wonder at their silence Helen -leaned forward and thrust into his hands a big, official-looking -envelop, which Mrs. Hallard had given her, with a few whispered words of -explanation. - -“What’s this?” Gard asked, peering at it in the uncertain light. - -Helen laughed, happily and Sandy Larch gave a low chuckle. - -“It’s something that’ll interest you a lot,” said he, “an’ I reckon -it’ll keep; but good Lord, Gard! Why ’n’t you ever let on?” Sandy’s -voice was full of loving reproach. - -“If you’d only put me hip,” he continued, “a word’d a’ fixed it. But I -get the shivers yet, thinkin’ o’ all might ’a’ happened.” - -“Don’t, Sandy,” pleaded Helen. She was still trembling, with excitement -and horror. - -“Tell him; quick!” she urged. - -“Tell me what?” Gard was dizzy with weariness and bewilderment. He held -his big envelop up, trying to make out what it was. - -“To think—” Sandy was still unable, for very eagerness, to come to the -point. “Who’d a dreamt you never knew Jim Texas confessed, after all!” - -“Confessed?” Gard’s voice thrilled with sudden joy. - -“God! But it’s good to be a free man again!” he said softly, and the low -spoken words sent a thrill through his hearers. Years of suffering -seemed expressed in them. - -Then the others’ tongues were loosened, and by the time the Palo Verde -was reached, the story had been pieced together, bit by bit. - -“Friends,” Gard said, as they walked together from the corrals to the -casa, “I don’t know what to say; but I—I sure thank you.” - -He bared his head, and looked up at the stars. They were still there, -swinging their ancient round as they had done, night after night, above -the glade. - -“Yes,” he said, speaking to them as often and often he had done before, -when he watched their solemn progress across the sky. “You knew. You -told me ’t would come out all right, and it has.” - -Then, as Jacinta appeared in the doorway, full of anxiety about Helen, -they went into the house. - -“I’ll see you to-morrow morning,” Gard said an hour later, to Helen, as -they stood together near the cottonwoods. Sandy had gone to the corral -for the horses; he meant to ride back to Sylvania with his friend. Helen -had persuaded Mrs. Hallard to remain at the hacienda for the night. - -“I must see you just a little while,” Gard said, “before I go away.” - -“Go away?” - -Helen’s voice was full of surprise as she repeated his words. “Where are -you going?” she asked; for he was smiling down at her as though the -thought of separation gave him pleasure. - -“Mexico,” was the reply. “Sandy says your father is down in Sonora.” - -“Why, yes: but he will be home within a week. He wouldn’t be away over -Christmas.” - -“I know; but I can’t wait. I’ve got to see him. I’ve got to ask him—” -Gard’s voice sank to a whisper, “I’ve got to ask him what he’s going to -give me for Christmas.” - -“Oh!” the girl’s shyness held them both silent for a moment, ere she -found speech again. - -“I know what _I_ want,” she presently said, edging away from the other -matter. - -“What?” - -The word sounded like a guarantee that what she wanted would be -forthcoming. - -“Jinny.” - -They both laughed, like children, at the idea. - -“Jinny’s yours,” Gard said, promptly: “but she ’nd I go together. We -can’t be parted. I couldn’t bear the separation.” - -“Perhaps—” He had to bend his head to catch the low-spoken -words—“Perhaps—Father’s Christmas present will—will reconcile you.” - -What his answer was is not of record. There was but a moment to give to -it; for a whistle from Sandy presently warned Gard that his horse was -ready, and the two whispered their good-night, in the friendly darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Gard and Helen were married late in January. Gard’s patience, and -hard-won philosophy, seemed wholly to desert him at the thought of -longer delay. - -“One would think,” Helen laughed, as he pleaded with her to set an -earlier day, “that you were afraid I might vanish.” - -“I am,” answered Gard. “I always have been, from the minute I saw you -come around the corner of the house that morning, with your tray and -grape-fruit, I’ve been expecting I’d wake up some day and find that this -part of the dream isn’t true.” - -Helen’s cheek lingered against the hand which he put out as if to -reassure himself of her presence. - -“It is true,” she said, softly, “truer than the other parts, the hard, -cruel parts. _They_ are the things that have vanished, dear.” - -“I guess you’re right,” was Gard’s reply. “They were the dream, and this -is the waking-up; the blessed waking-up.” - -“Do you know,” he suddenly said, “it was the longest kind of a time—up -in the mountain—before I got over being afraid, just before I’d open my -eyes in the morning?” - -“Afraid?” - -“Yes. That I might see—might _not_ see—the open.” - -“Yes, dear?” - -Helen spoke quietly, though it seemed to her as if her suffocating heart -beats must betray to him what she was feeling. Gard had told her of his -escape from the cloudburst; all the incidents of his Robinson Crusoe -life, as she called it, of the coming of the camel; of that wonderful -journey to the glade; of the glade itself; but this he had never spoken -of. She had thought of it as a door in his heart yet closed against her. -Now it was opening, to admit her to his chamber of sorrow. - -“I don’t know what kept me alive through those other years,” he -continued. “Sometimes it seems to me there wasn’t much there worth -keeping alive. There wasn’t much got away but a rack of bones, held -together by hate.” - -Helen’s hands stole out and found both his as he went on. - -“I thought I’d got to get out,” he seemed as if thinking aloud, “I -thought I’d got to get out some day, just to kill Westcott. Then when I -did get away, I hadn’t anything left but the longing to crawl off -somewhere and die. I’m not sorry about that now, though often, in the -mountain, I raged, to think I couldn’t have killed him that night. Then -I learned better. But I feel mighty thankful now, that I never hurt -him.” - -“You would never have hurt him,” Helen murmured. - -“There were times when I would if I could have got to him,” Gard -replied, “but I got over my hate. Somehow, that kind of thing can’t live -in big, clean places like that I drifted to. The desert’s a hard place, -my girl. It don’t look lovely as this when you’re fighting for life in -it. It’s fierce as a tiger, but there ain’t any hate in it. That’s only -in men, but it’s deadlier than anything the desert’s got.” - -“There’s got to be desert, I guess. There was a man in the surveyor’s -gang I was with once, years ago, always said that. He said you take away -the desert and some of the glorious climates on this slope would all be -gone.” - -“I’m talking a lot”; he interrupted himself with half a laugh, “but just -once, this thing’s got to be looked at; because it was so black, and I -can’t let you think I wasn’t black with it. It took that, I guess, along -with the rest of it all, to make me see things the way I do now; but I -ain’t asking pity for it. It was a desert place, sure enough, but now -it’s over. I guess I learned some things worth while. Then when I got -out on the big desert, dear, I found God there, same’s I’d believed when -I was a boy, back on the prairie. I shouldn’t wonder if He’d been there -in the jail, too. That’s the truth of it.” - -The girl leaned quickly, and gathered both his hands to her lips, love, -thankfulness, and pride in his manhood, all struggling for expression. -Stout old Chaucer’s brave words came to her mind, and she said them -aloud, with lips yet trembling with tenderness. - -“And truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede.” - -“That sounds like one of your old poets,” he said, “and I guess he may -have been in the desert and learned. ‘There is no drede’,” he repeated, -thoughtfully. “I suppose he means no fear. That’s right.” - -He was looking into Helen’s eyes, his two hands closing over hers. - -“There is no fear,” he asserted. “There is nothing _to_ fear. Oh, -girl—my girl! With hate gone, and love come in, there’s nothing in the -wide world to fear!” - -February was well along when first they saw the glade together. Morgan -Anderson and Gard had organized a company which, later, was to exploit -the mine. Gard had seen to it that Sandy Larch had an interest, and Mrs. -Hallard. Kate Hallard had gone away from Sylvania, but her matters were -in good hands. She had sold her business to Sing Fat, and gone to -California. - -“For one thing,” she had said to Helen, when the two had a long talk -together. “I’m goin’ to learn t’ talk decent. I can’t stand it. -Sometimes when I’m sittin’ still, not sayin’ a word, jes’ listenin’ to -you, seems’s if the language I’m thinkin’ in is makin’ a noise, it is so -howlin’ bad. - -“Don’t you think I don’t know; ner don’t you b’lieve it don’t make no -difference. It makes a difference inside me. I’m sick of it. Sick of all -’t means to me. I never had a chance to find it out before; but now I -know, an’ I can’t bear it. I’m goin’ t’ learn somethin’, an’ then, so -long’s I always want to work—you couldn’t make a lady o’ the likes o’ -me, not if you laid the money on with a trowel,—I’m goin’ to work at -something worth while, an’ if I ain’t too old I’m goin’ to learn to be a -nurse. Anyhow, it’s good-by the eatin’ house fer mine!” - -Helen and Gard went with the first outfit of mining-supplies to the -claim. These were taken by wagon to the foot of the mountain, and -thence, up the trail, on the backs of the mules that had pulled them. -Gard had gone for Jinny, bringing her by rail to Yuma, their point of -departure, and she and Helen had become friends forthwith. Together they -led the procession up the ancient wash; for Helen insisted upon walking, -and her saddle horse and Gard’s followed in the rear. - -The glade lay in the pleasant afternoon sunshine much as it had done the -day that Gard said good-by to it. A big live-oak branch had fallen -across the ocotilla bed where he had often rested. Helen surveyed the -rude structure with quivering lips, as he pulled the branch away. - -Sandy Larch was unloading the animals, piling up the stores, and getting -things into shape, with the help of the three men of the outfit. By the -big fireplace against the rock Wing Chang, who had cast in his fortunes -with the new company, was taking stock of Gard’s culinary apparatus. - -“What do you think of it, Chang?” the latter asked, as the cook -investigated the upturned bean-pot. - -“Where you catchee him?” the Chinaman demanded, much mystified. - -“I made it. Made them all.” Gard waved a hand at the various -fire-blackened clay pots. Chang tapped the bean-kettle with an -investigating knuckle, testing its soundness. - -“Him no clacked,” he said, with a grunt. “Mebby you no clacked; mebby so -allee lightee.” - -And no further expression of opinion could be won from him. - -Helen made a swift round of the place, Gard following, scarcely able to -believe in his own happiness. She inspected the cabin, and cast her vote -for living outside it. The seats and tables that Gard had contrived gave -her great delight, and she rejoiced in the flaming green of the -volunteer crop of oats into which Jinny had already found her wilful -way. - -“I dare say your gold-mine’s all right, Gard,” Sandy said, coming up to -survey the oat patch, “but if it shouldn’t be, there’s another one right -on this here plain, if that water was turned acrost it.” - -“I vum!” He pulled a head of oats and examined it. “The Palo Verde’s a -howlin’ wilderness,” he avowed, “to what a man could have here.” - -Gard laughed as he led Jinny ignominiously out of her green field. - -“No reason why you shouldn’t be that man,” said he. “It’s government -land, all ready to be entered upon.” - -“If that’s a fact,” was Sandy’s reply, “an’ you ain’t got no intentions -on it, then Sandy Larch, cow-punch, is likely to blossom out as A. -Larch, rancherio. Can’t you see me a swellin’ señor?” - -Wing Chang’s bright fire was lighting up the trees and rocks when Helen, -who had been bestowing her belongings inside the cabin, came out with -something in her hands. - -“What is this?” she demanded of Gard, still hovering near. - -He took the big shell from her and stirred the palo verde thorns about, -his mind a surge of emotions. - -“What are those for?” Helen asked, again. - -“Why,” he said, at last, “they’re my tally of the days I lived in the -glade.” - -She looked at them, in the twilight, her face touched with wonder. - -“How many, many there seem to be,” she murmured. - -“There ought to be somewhere about seven hundred, I suppose,” was Gard’s -reply. “We don’t need ’em any more. Let’s help along the blaze with -’em.” - -She caught his hands, with a little cry of dismay. - -“No! No!” cried she, “You must not destroy them! Your record of days; -hard, thorny days.” She covered the thorns with one hand, in a -passionate gesture of protection. - -“They were good days,” he answered, trying to comfort her. “I got a lot -of good out of them.” - -“But oh, the price you paid!” Tears glistened in her eyes. - -They were in the shadow of a big live-oak, and he drew her to him. - -“It was sure a _man’s_ price,” he said, looking into her face. “But I -got full value for it.” - - -The night was far spent when Gard awoke. A late moon rode high in the -heavens, flooding the glade with white light. The familiarity of the -scene bewildered his rousing consciousness. The circling trees, the -murmur of water, the far-seeming faint glow of embers in the great -fireplace, his narrow ocotilla bed with its bear-skin covering: how well -he knew them all! Had he but slept and dreamed, to awaken after all to -the daily round of his accustomed solitude? - -He raised himself upon one elbow. On the cot which they had brought for -her, there, within reach of his hand, Helen lay sleeping. A beam of the -white light sifted down through encircling trees and fell across her -face, round which the night wind had fluttered her hair to soft -disorder. Her head was thrown back, her chin nestling in one supporting -palm. The pure, tender outline of brow and cheek thrilled him as he -gazed, his soul touched to awe. - -Long, long he looked, worship and wonder stirring the deeps of his -nature. It was no dream; she was there beside him; there was no drede. - -He sank back upon his pillow, tears of supreme happiness brimming his -eyes, and yielded him wholly to the quiet and peace of the large place. - - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 3. 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} - div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; } - .chapter { clear: both; page-break-before: always; } - .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; } - .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; } - body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; } - table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid; - clear: both; } - div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; } - div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } - .ph1 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; - margin: .67em auto; page-break-before: always; } - .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; - page-break-before: always; } - .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } - /* ]]> */ </style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The well in the desert, by Adeline Knapp</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The well in the desert</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Adeline Knapp</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 10, 2022 [eBook #68279]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WELL IN THE DESERT ***</div> - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c001'>THE WELL IN THE DESERT</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>BY</div> - <div><span class='xlarge'>ADELINE KNAPP</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_title.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'>NEW YORK</span></div> - <div><span class='large'>THE CENTURY CO.</span></div> - <div><span class='large'>1908</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div><span class='small'>Copyright, 1908, by</span></div> - <div><span class='small'><span class='sc'>The Century Co.</span></span></div> - <div class='c004'><span class='small'><em>Published August, 1908</em></span></div> - <div><span class='small'>All rights reserved</span></div> - <div class='c002'><span class='small'>THE DE VINNE PRESS</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div><span class='small'>TO</span></div> - <div class='c004'>A. L. C.</div> - <div class='c004'><span class='small'>IN MEMORY OF DESERT DAYS</span></div> - <div><span class='small'>AND GREEN PASTURES</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c005'>BOOK ONE<br /> THE VALLEY OF BACA</h2> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span></div> -<div class='chapter ph1'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>THE WELL IN THE DESERT</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<h3 class='c006'>CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Blue Gulch was relaxing after the ardors of -its working-day. From the direction of the -Cheerful Heart Dance Hall issued sounds of mirth -and festivity, and a weaving fantasy of shadows -on its canvas walls proclaimed to those without that -the cheerful hearts were in executive session.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A man coming furtively along Upper Broadway -made a detour to avoid the bar of light that shone -through the open door of the hall. He passed behind -the building, and around the big fandango, -where the trip of feet mingled with the tinkle of -a guitar and the whirr and thump of a wheel of -fortune.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It can’t be anywhere along here,” he muttered, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>coming back to the road and pausing to survey the -starlit scene.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Blue Gulch had but one street, the two sides of -which lay at different levels, separated by the wide -yawn of the gulch itself, thrusting into the mountain -from the desert below. From where the man -stood he commanded a very complete view of the -place. In nearly every house was a light, and the -shadows thrown upon the canvas walls gave a fair -clue to the occupations of those within; so that -during the early part of each evening at least -neither half of the town need be in any doubt as -to how the other half was living.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The life and gaiety of the community in relaxation -seemed to gather upon the upper plane. -Across the gulch Lower Broadway lay in comparative -darkness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man drew back again as a couple of -shadowy forms came wavering down the road. -One of these carried a lantern, which hung low at -his side, revealing the heavy miners’ boots of the -pair, and casting grotesque shadows up the mountain-side.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where’s Westcott? Why ain’t he along?” -one asked, as they passed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The skulking figure in the shadow strained his -ears to listen, one hand pressed upon his mouth to -keep back the cough that would have betrayed him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>“He’s back at his office, digging,” was the careless -response. “Westcott ain’t a very cheerful -cuss.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The two laughed lightly, and disappeared within -the dance-hall.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When they were out of sight the man came -forth again, hurrying past the glowing windows -of the Red Light Saloon, stopping beyond it to -muffle with his shapeless hat the cough that took -toll of his strength. He leaned panting against a -boulder, waiting to regain his breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The way was more dimly lighted now. He was -nearing the civic center of the place, the one bit of -level ground in the gulch. Here, a faint light -showing from one window, was the mining company’s -hospital. Beyond this the man passed a big, -barn-like structure of wood, that announced itself, -by a huge, white-lettered sign, showing faintly in -the starlight, as an eating-house. Next it was the -low adobe hotel of the place, and farther on, beyond -a dark gap, was a small building, boasting a -door and two windows in its narrow front.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The visitor regarded this place consideringly. -He thought it more than likely that it was what -he sought. Light streamed from both windows -and, stepping close, the prowler looked within.</p> - -<p class='c008'>What he saw was a man writing at a rough pine -desk. The room was not large. One or two -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>chairs, a couch, and some rude shelves, where a -few law books leaned; a small earthen-ware stove, -now glowing with heat, completed its furnishings. -The watcher’s eyes yearned to that stove. He was -shivering in the chill autumn night, and he wore -no coat. With a muttered curse he opened the -door and stepped quickly into the room.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man inside looked up from his writing, -peering past the lamp the better to see his visitor. -For a moment he stared, incredulous, then, as recognition -was confirmed, he softly slid a hand -toward one drawer of his desk. The new-comer -noted the movement.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You can stow that,” he snarled, scornfully, “I -haven’t got any gun.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The other’s fingers had already closed upon the -handle of a revolver that lay in the drawer. With -the weapon in his hand he crossed quickly, from -one window to the other, and carefully pulled down -the shades. The intruder had stepped into the full -glare of the lamp, and now bent forward, his hands -upon the desk.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As he stood thus, gaunt, haggard, panting, he -seemed little calculated to awaken fear. The -hands that clutched the table’s edge were trembling -and emaciated, and of a curious, waxy pallor. -This same pallor was in his drawn, sunken face, -and from out the death-like mask of its whiteness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>the man’s deep-set eyes gazed, heavy with despair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I haven’t got any gun, Westcott,” he repeated. -“You needn’t be afraid. You played a damned, -dirty trick on me, three years ago, but that’s all -done with. I ain’t here to throw it up against you; -but I want you to do me a favor.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The lawyer had turned the key in the lock and -stood near the door, watching him intently, noting -the close-cropped head, the thin, pallid face, the -nondescript garments of the wayfarer.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You managed to escape,” he finally said, slowly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, I did.” The man coughed, clutching the -table for support.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I got away last week,” he explained, panting. -“Yes—and I stole the clothes,” with a glance at -the sleeves of his rough gray shirt. “I’m a thief, -now, just like you, Westcott.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The other made an inarticulate sound in his -throat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ll let all that pass,” the intruder said, with -a toss of one gaunt hand. “I’m up to no harm, -but I’ve got to have help. I’ve got out of that -hell you left me in at Phoenix; but it won’t do me -any good. I’m dying!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Another fit of coughing shook him, until he -reeled. Westcott pushed a chair toward him and -he sank into it, still gripping the table.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m dying,” he said again, when the cough -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>had spent itself, “and I want to get back and die in -God’s country.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott sat down opposite him, still watching -him, intently.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I can’t walk back,” the man went on, “and I -ain’t fit to beat it back. You’re welcome to the -fifteen hundred you got off me; but can’t you—for -the love of God, <em>won’t</em> you—give me the price -of a ticket back to Iowa?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His dull, sunken eyes were akindle, and he -leaned forward, an agony of eagerness in his eyes. -The prison-born look of age fell from him for the -moment and it became apparent that he was not -only a young man, but must once have been a -comely one, with a powerful frame.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I heard you were attorney for the Company -here,” he went on, as Westcott still kept silent. -“You ought to be able to do that for me. You had -fifteen hundred of mine.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The attorney flinched, ever so slightly, then he -rose, dropping the revolver into his coat-pocket, -and took a turn about the room.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I—I wasn’t such a beast as it looks,” he finally -said, speaking with difficulty. “I’ve been -ashamed of myself: I meant to stay and try to -clear you. I don’t know how I came to do it; but -Jim Texas swore’t was you; and I lost the money -playing faro at Randy Melone’s.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>The brief glow in the sunken eyes had burned -itself out. The man surveyed Westcott, apparently -without interest.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jim Texas lied,” he said, apathetically, “and -now <em>you’re</em> lying. You paid some of that money -to Raoul Marty for a horse; and you got away -with most of the rest of it in your clothes. You -can hear things, even in jail.” This was said with -a weary laugh, in which was no mirth.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You don’t always hear ’em straight,” the attorney -replied, with studied gentleness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I <em>was</em> ashamed, Barker,” he went on, quickly. -“I’ve been sorry ever since.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then you’ll give me the price of a ticket?” -Hope gleamed again, in the dull eyes. Westcott -considered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I haven’t got the money here,” he mused; -“but I think I can raise some by to-morrow. How -would you get down to the railroad?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll take care o’ that—” another siege of that -racking cough. Barker leaned back in his chair, -faint and gasping. Westcott drew a flask and -poured some of its contents into a tin cup. The -other drained it, eagerly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’ll help,” he murmured, handing back the -cup. “I ain’t always so weak as this; but I’ve -been hitting the trail for a week, without much -grub.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>“Did anyone see you come in?” Westcott asked, -with apparent irrelevance.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No. I kept out of sight.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good!” The other nodded. “That’s what -you’ll have to keep doing.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve got to go out and see what I can do about -that money,” he continued; “and you’ve got to -have something to eat. I guess I’ll have to lock -you in here while I’m gone, in case anyone -should come along. You needn’t be afraid but -that I’ll come back,” he added, as the other looked -up, in quick suspicion. “It’s safer so, and I want -you to have something to eat.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I sure need it,” was the reply. “Mighty bad.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know you do; I’ll bring it soon’s I can.” -Westcott moved toward the door. “You lay low -till I get back.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re not going back on me?” Barker still -studied him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Going back on you?” Westcott laughed, -shortly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord!” he exclaimed, “Do you think I didn’t -have enough of that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He threw some lumps of coal into the little -stove. “I’ll have to douse the glim,” he explained, -“since I’ll be out around town, and someone -might wonder who’s here. You can lie down -there.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>He waved a hand toward the couch and Barker -nodded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m pegged out,” he said, wearily. “I’ll just -sit here by the fire. Lord! How long is it since -I’ve been warm?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He drew his chair nearer and bent to the glow. -Westcott lowered the light and blew out the flame.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll lock the door on the outside,” he said, -“And don’t you worry, Barker: I’ll take care of -you. Just trust me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess I’ve got to trust you,” was the helpless -reply, “I can’t do anything else.” And Westcott -stepped out into the night, locking the door behind -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Once outside he walked along the plaza to the -head of the gulch and stood looking down upon -the town. The varied sounds of a mining settlement -at night came plainly to his ears. A new -dancer from over the border was making her first -appearance at Garvanza’s that evening, and the -Mexicans were gathered in force. There was a -crowd of miners in the Red Light Saloon. He -could hear their voices.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How I hate it all,” he muttered. “I wish I was -out of it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The post-office was on Lower Broadway in the -Company’s store, where a single light burned, -dimly. Farther down was the school-house, where -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>the school-teacher labored by day, with the half-dozen -white children of the town, and twice as -many young Papegoes. Behind the gulch, climbing -heavenward, verdureless, copper-ribbed, austere, -lay the mountain, where the mines were.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott had been in Blue Gulch for more than -a year. He had drifted out of Phoenix after the -Barker affair, glad to get away, where he was sure -no one knew of the matter.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There had been no question about Barker’s guilt. -Jim Texas swore to having seen him knife Lundy. -He couldn’t have saved him if he had stayed, -Westcott told himself. He had never understood -why they had not hung the fellow, instead of sentencing -him for life.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Better have done it outright than to kill him -by inches in their hell of a jail,” he thought.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But now what was to be done with the man? -Westcott stood scowling at a house down the gulch. -There was a light inside that threw upon the canvas -side-wall the gigantic figure of a woman, -coughing. It reminded him unpleasantly of Barker.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Damn the fellow,” he muttered. “Wha’d he -come up here for, anyway? He’ll never live to -get back east.” He walked on, turning up the -collar of his coat. “It’s coming winter. The -cold’ll kill him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>Again he stood pondering, while one by one the -lights down the gulch went out. Then he bethought -himself of his errand and went stumbling -down Lower Broadway in the dark.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The storekeeper was just closing up, but the -young fellow turned back to wait upon him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I won’t keep you more’n a minute, Farthing,” -he said, and proceeded to buy bread and cheese, a -tin of meat and a couple of bottles of beer. A -little package of tea was an after-thought.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Going prospecting, Mr. Westcott?” the clerk -asked, as he made up the packages.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Maybe,” was the reply.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott was at the door as he spoke. Young -Farthing was putting out the light.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, Johnnie,” the attorney said, with the air -of just remembering, “I want to telephone ... -‘long distance.’ I’m afraid it’ll take some time.” -He half hesitated.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The boy looked disappointed; he had planned -to get over to the fandango in time to see the new -dancer. He spoke cheerfully however.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s all right, Mr. Westcott,” he said, and -turned up the lamp again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why can’t I lock up, Johnnie?” Westcott -asked; “I’ll bring the key up to the hotel when I -come.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If you wouldn’t mind—” Farthing looked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>relieved, “Everything’s all right but just turning -out the light,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right.” Westcott gave him a little push; -“You go on,” he said, cordially; “I can lock the -door as hard as you!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess that’s true, Mr. Westcott,” the boy -laughed, and with a relieved “good-night,” he departed, -as Westcott was turning toward the telephone-booth.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Half an hour later the attorney was in his own -office, boiling water in a tin pail, on top of the -little stove, while Barker, warmed and cheered, -made great inroads upon the bread and cheese and -the tinned meat. Presently Westcott made tea in -the pail.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Seems like old prospecting days, don’t it?” he -said with ostentatious cheerfulness, as he filled the -tin cup. “I dare say you’ve had your share of -them?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Some.... A-a-h!” Barker drank, blissfully, -of the strong, scalding brew.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I located a good claim once,” he said, setting -down the cup. “But it was jumped. All I ever -got was—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He paused, in some embarrassment, and changed -the subject. “Great stuff, that tea,” he said, and -Westcott refilled the tin cup.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve done better for you than I hoped to,” he -volunteered presently. “I couldn’t raise the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>money in the town—too near pay-day; but I got a -pal of mine on the ’phone. He can let me have the -cash, and I’ll get it to-morrow. Don’t you worry, -Barker.” He answered the question, in the other’s -eyes, “I’m looking out for you all right. You -don’t need to worry.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m a pretty sick man,” Barker answered, his -white face flushing. “I know I’m done for; but I -want to die in the open.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you talk about dying.” Westcott went -about the place making it secure for the night. -“You’ll be snug as can be here,” he added, “By -seven o’clock to-morrow morning this town’ll be -practically empty. All the men’ll be at the mine. -Sime’s going down to the plain to meet the stage, -and the school-teacher’ll be busy. We’ll get you -off in good shape.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He took some papers from the desk and put -them in his pocket.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wouldn’t show myself, though,” he said. -“Keep the curtains down, and lay low. Lock the -door after me, and take out the key.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>At the last words the man’s look of anxiety vanished.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right,” he replied. “I’ll sure lay low. I -haven’t slept much in a week. I’ll be glad enough -to take the chance.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So long, then,” Westcott said, slipping out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So long,” and the key turned in the lock.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER II</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Having secured the door, Barker took the key -from the lock and hung his hat upon the knob.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t want anyone peeking in,” he murmured, -as he resumed his seat by the fire. He was no -longer cold, but there was companionship in its -glow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The meager little office was a palace compared -with the cell from which he had escaped, he -thought as he looked about him in the dim light -from the open door of the stove.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If he plays me any more tricks—” His mind -reverted to Westcott, and the cold sweat stood -upon his forehead at the idea of possible treachery.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pshaw!” he muttered. “There’s nothing more -he can do. He’s done it all. God! To think I -swore to kill him at sight, and here I am begging -favors of him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The angry snarl in his voice changed to a cough, -and ended in a whimper.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I couldn’t do anything else,” he pleaded, as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>though arguing with someone. “I want to get -back east. I want to die in the open. Hell! I was -going mad in that hole.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He rested his head between his fists, torturing -himself with memories of the days before he -crossed the Divide, the youngest chain-man in the -surveyors’ gang of a projected new railroad. He -had come from Iowa, and boy-like he sang the -praises of his native state all across the alkali -plains, until, in derision, his fellows dubbed him -“the Iowa barker.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The name stuck. In Nevada he was plain -“Barker.” The others seemed to have forgotten -his real name, and as Barker, when he left the -outfit, he drifted down into Arizona. He blessed -the easy transition when the trouble came that fixed -the killing of big Dan Lundy on him. He had -kept his real name secret through all that came -after.</p> - -<p class='c008'>What had it all been about? What was he doing -here to-night? Why hadn’t he killed Westcott, -instead of sitting here by his fire?</p> - -<p class='c008'>He passed a wavering hand before his eyes. Oh, -yes. Now he remembered. Westcott was going -to send him east—to God’s country. Meanwhile, -he was dead for sleep. He caught himself, as he -lurched in his chair, and rising heavily, he threw -himself upon the couch.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>It was past noon when he woke. The sun lighted -the yellow curtains; the door stood open, and -Westcott bent over him, shaking him by the -shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Barker! Barker!” the attorney called.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Barker! Wake up! Time to get out of this. -I’ve got a chance to send you down to the railroad.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>By degrees he struggled to consciousness, and -sat up. Westcott had brought him a big cup of -steaming coffee.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Drink this,” he said, not unkindly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“My friend came up with the money,” he went -on, as Barker drank, sitting sidewise on the couch. -“He’s going to take you down in his buggy. He’ll -fix you up all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Barker was still dazed with sleep. His ears -rang, and the lawyer’s voice sounded strange and -far away. The coffee made him feel better. It -soothed the cough that had racked him the moment -he sat up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now eat some grub,” Westcott said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had brought food from the hotel. Barker -was still too far off to wonder at this. He had no -desire for food, but he ate, obediently.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott, meantime, had gone outside. In front -of the hotel stood a big, rangy bay horse, hitched -to a light road-wagon. Near the outfit lounged a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>tall, determined-looking man, who came forward -when he saw the attorney.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve got to be getting a move on soon,” he -said. “It’ll be late night, as ’tis, before we get -there.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll be ready in the shake of a horn,” the -other replied.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say, Frank,” he continued. “He don’t know -who you are. I’ve let on you’re a friend of mine, -going to take him down. Let him think that till -you get out of town.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Must be a dead easy one,” the man addressed as -Frank said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well, you see,” Westcott laughed, nervously, -“I doped him pretty well last night—the poor devil -coughed so,” he added, in explanation, and the -deputy sheriff gave a grunt that might mean anything. -It brought a flush of embarrassment to -Westcott’s face.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Come on,” he said, shortly, turning toward his -office. The deputy climbed into his buggy and -drove after him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Got to hurry, Barker,” Westcott called, opening -the door.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He escorted his charge briskly outside.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This is Mr. Arnold,” he mumbled, beside the -wagon. “A friend of mine that’ll see you fixed -all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>The man holding the reins scrutinized Barker -closely as the latter climbed up beside him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right,” he decided, finally, speaking to -Westcott, and handed the attorney a folded paper.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s what you were after,” he said, briefly. -“So long.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A word to the bay colt and they were swinging -down Upper Broadway at a pace that made Barker -catch his breath as he noted the narrow road, and -the steep cañon-side.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’d sure be a long fall,” his companion said, -answering his look, “But we ain’t goin’ to take it. -You can bank on the colt. He’s sure-footed as a -deer.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t afraid,” Barker responded. The fresh, -sweet air was beginning to clear his brain and he -sat up straighter, a touch of color coming into his -death-like face. The other man avoided his glance, -giving all his attention to the colt, who was swiftly -putting distance between them and the town. The -exigencies of the steep, rough road made such -attention necessary and neither man spoke again -until they had traversed the narrow pass, and were -out of the gulch. A sudden turn of the way -brought them among the foothills, the broad, yellow -expanse of cactus-dotted plain before them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Doesn’t seem as far as it did when I footed it -in last night,” Barker said at last, with an attempt -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>to smile, and Arnold nodded. The bay colt was a -good traveler, and they were on the level now, following -the road that wound its spiritless, grey way -among the cacti. The colt took it in long, free -strides, that promised to get them somewhere by -daylight.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good horse you got there,” Barker said, with -a country-bred man’s interest in animals. “Mighty -good shoulders.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet!” was the deputy’s hearty response. -“Good for all day, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I raised him myself,” he went on, “and he’s -standard bred, too, Daystar, out’n an Alcantara -mare.” He spoke with proper pride, as the owner -of a good horse may.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They raise some fine stock back in Iowa,” Barker -remarked, and his companion’s fount of speech -seemed suddenly to run dry. Barker waited, expectant, -for some little time.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where are we going to hit the railroad?” He -asked, at last.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The railroad?” Arnold looked puzzled.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Westcott said you’d land me where I could -get the train east,” the other explained. “He said -you had the price of a ticket for me. It’s all on -the level, ain’t it?” he demanded, his voice going -higher.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh—Oh! yes, yes! It’s all fixed. Don’t you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>worry none.” The bronze of the deputy’s face -crimsoned.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you worry none,” he repeated, with a -glance at the sky.</p> - -<p class='c008'>An ominous cloud lowered, overhead. The sun -was hidden, and the air had grown chill. A fit of -coughing had followed Barker’s flash of excitement, -and he crouched in his seat, shivering -slightly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look here,” Arnold exclaimed, “you ain’t -dressed warm enough. They’s some kind of -weather breeding.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He reached beneath the wagon-seat and pulled -forth his own coat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Put this on,” he directed. “I’ve got my -sweater on, and don’t need it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Barker pushed it back.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m all right,” he said. “You’ll need that -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You do what I tell you,” the deputy insisted. -“Put it over your shoulders. The wind’s at your -back.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He thrust the garment across his companion’s -wasted shoulders and Barker drew the sleeves -across his chest.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As he did so his hand touched something hard, -under one lapel. He glanced down at it, and -started.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>“What’s that?” he cried, turning the metal -badge up for closer inspection.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A groan of horror escaped him as he recognized -the object.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He sprang to his feet, his long, gaunt hands -reaching for the deputy’s throat. Arnold swept -him back with one motion of his powerful arm.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you do anything like that,” he said, with -rough kindness. “You’d be just a skeeter if I -took hold of you, and I don’t want to. Suffering -snakes!” he pleaded, “Don’t look like that! I’m -sorry, man; by Heaven, I’ve hated this job like -blue poison, ever since I laid eyes on you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The words died away in his throat before the -dumb misery in the other man’s face. The wasted -figure was slumped forward in an abandon of -despair. All the man’s pride and courage died in -the face of his fearful disappointment.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, God! Oh, God!” he moaned. “And I -thought I was going to die in the open.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned to the deputy, a sudden hope lighting -his woe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Let me get out,” he begged. “Let me get out -right here. I can’t get anywheres: I’m bound to -die; but it’ll be out in the open. Please let me -out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I can’t.” The words came through Arnold’s -set teeth.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>“Why not? I never killed Dan Lundy. Before -God, I never laid a finger on him.” Barker spoke -fast and thick, in his eagerness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I went to his shack and found him there, -knifed to death. And Jim Texas swore he saw me -do it. Swore it, mind you; when Hart Dowling -and I both knew Texas had threatened Lundy -time and again.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A fit of coughing interrupted him, but he went -on as soon as he could, his hoarse voice breaking -now and then.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And Westcott came sneaking ’round to see -what there was in it for him. He was just starting -in then, and I’d heard he was a smart fellow. -I told him of the fifteen hundred dollars dust I -had hid in my shack. He was to find Dowling. -Dowling ’d gone up into Wyoming. Westcott -was to get him down here as a witness. And the -damned coyote was to have my fifteen hundred.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Again the racking cough, and his voice trailed -off in a choking struggle for breath. He was -shrieking when he continued.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And Westcott took the money! Took it out -of my shack, and never came near me again. Left -me to die. They’d ha’ hung me, sure, if some of -the jury hadn’t believed Jim Texas lied.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The deputy’s face was twisted with pity and -shame; the man was so horribly broken.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>“They’s a flask in the pocket o’ that coat,” he -said. “Take a pull; it’ll brace you up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t want it,” Barker snarled. “It chokes -me more.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had drawn the coat about him, the sleeves -tied across his chest.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And Westcott went back on me this time, -too.” He took up the pitiful tale again. “He -couldn’t be satisfied, the devil, with what he’d -done. He had to do it over. But what for? -What for? I say? I never did <em>him</em> dirt.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The deputy gave a start of surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why Westcott got—” he began, then pity -kept him silent. If Barker had not guessed he -would not tell him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Westcott ... hell!” He spat savagely out -upon the desert, shaking his head with pity, as he -glanced again at the huddled figure.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Westcott’s a damned side-winder,” he muttered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were descending into an arroyo, once the -bed of a creek; dry, now, for more than a year. -The road crossed it, here.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’re going to get our weather, quick,” the -deputy said, as he noticed that the bottom of the -arroyo held tiny pools of water.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Even as he spoke a little stream came trickling -down.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>“It’s us for the level! Quick!” he shouted, urging -the bay.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In an instant darkness was upon them. A sudden -flash of steely blue rent the sky; almost with it -a quick roll of thunder was all about them and a -bellowing rush of water came tearing along the -arroyo.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The bay colt squealed with terror, plunging -sidewise, heedless of whip and voice. The deputy -tried to turn him back to where the bank sloped, -but already they were sweeping along with the -torrent.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A cloudburst,” Arnold shrieked, and with the -words he was wrested from his seat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The shafts of the light vehicle snapped short at -the gear. The colt, plunging, open-mouthed, was -hurled forward in a fearful somersault, and went -under, just as the wagon and its remaining occupant -rolled over and over, as a boulder might roll, -in the churn of maddened water.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It was far into the night when, amid a matted -drift, half-way up one bank of the arroyo, something -stirred, faintly. Caught in a web of debris, -and a tangle of mesquite roots that thrust far out -from the soil, a man strove feebly to disentangle -his head from a smother of something that enwrapped -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>it. When at last he partly succeeded he -looked up at the calm stars, lamping the sky in -solemn splendor. Below him he could still hear -the rush of water, but above all was peaceful.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Long he lay, more dead than alive, trying to remember -what had happened. By the bright starlight -he managed to make out that the body of the -light wagon had caught upon an out-thrust web of -mesquite roots. He was lying on his side in the -wagon box, one arm thrust, to the shoulder, -through something that he could not see. About -his neck and head was a tangle of cloth which he -made out to be the deputy’s coat, and a long thong -of leather, probably one of the harness reins. -This was wound, as well, about what remained of -one of the seat braces.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Slowly, by agonizing degrees, the man began to -work himself loose from the tangle. Then he discovered -that the thing binding his shoulder was -the strap of a horse’s nose-bag, and the bag itself. -It was caught over a long, splintered fragment of -the reach, which had broken through the bottom -of the wagon box. The bag seemed to be about -half full of oats.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Inch by inch he cleared himself, and laying hold -upon the mesquite roots, rose slowly, until he stood -up. Every movement was pain, but he persisted -doggedly, climbing little by little up the bank, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>clinging now to a root of mesquite, now to a point -of rock, pausing for breath, or to ease the strain -upon his tortured muscles. At last he grasped the -trunk of a mesquite and dragged himself out upon -the desert, where he fell helpless upon the sand.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER III</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The shadowy bulk of distant mountains -changed to pale blue as the purple of night -slowly lightened. The stars faded, one by one, -and a spectral moon slipped wearily down the sky. -Beyond the scant mesquite fringing the arroyo -the desert lay still and gray, like a leaden sea.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man woke, and moved slightly, groaning -as his wrenched and stiffened body protested. -Consciousness strengthened, and he struggled to -his knees to stare about him. The chill of early -morning had him by the bones, and he shook in -its grip. After a little he got to his feet and tried, -painfully, to swing his arms.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Away westward a subtle hint of color crept -across the pale sky, heralding a coming radiance in -the east; but it brought no sense of comfort.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s no one left alive but me,” the man -whispered, as his gaze took in the awful solitude. -“No one but me, Gabriel Gard!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sound of that name, spoken all unconsciously, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>made him start, and look furtively about. -The loneliness of the plain had betrayed his jealously -guarded secret. Then his mood changed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve a right to die with it, at least,” he muttered. -“They can’t steal that from me. Barker’s -dead, already. Gabriel Gard goes next. Hear that, -Gabriel? You go next. Y-a-a-h.... God!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A sudden agony of pain shook him as he began -to cough. Every muscle in his body was sore. -Then, as the racking grew less, he stood transfixed, -staring across the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A crimson glow from the coming sunrise flushed -far across the eastern sky, and coming toward -him, touched by its glory, was a figure that his -astonished brain sought to define.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was no mirage. He knew the marks of that -supreme cheat of the desert. This was no trick of -refraction or of reflection. He saw, as a man -sees, this creature silently, steadily drawing near.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was a strangely familiar shape; vague, uncouth, -incredible, it seemed; yet he recognized it. He recognized -the slender, shuffling legs, the swinging -gait, the mis-shapen body, the ungainly, crooked -neck and high held head; but why, in the name of -reason, should a camel be coming to him, out of -nowhere?</p> - -<p class='c008'>Nearer and nearer the creature drew, the uncouth -form now a wonder of azure and crimson, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>as the light became stronger, and still the man -gazed, his bewildered mind refusing to accept the -testimony of his eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was filled with awe. It was true, then, what -old prospectors had lately declared, that this solitary -wanderer was still in the desert, sole survivor -of the old Jeff Davis caravan.<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c010'><sup>[1]</sup></a> Old man Dickson, -and again young Bennett, swore they had seen it. -Dickson told, indeed, of having had the creature -about his camp for nearly a week.</p> - -<div class='footnote' id='f1'> -<p class='c008'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. When Jefferson Davis was Secretary of War he imported a -caravan of camels into the desert, to carry supplies for the army. -The creatures stampeded the army mules, whenever they appeared, -and the soldiers took to shooting them, on the sly. In time so -many were killed that not enough remained to form a caravan, so -the survivors were turned loose in the desert. Here they were -hunted by tourists, who shot them for “sport,” until it was supposed -that all had perished. It is known now, however, that one, -at least, survives. This solitary one still wanders about the desert, -and the writer knows of more than one prospector who has encountered -it, very recently.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>On came the camel, looking neither to the right -nor the left, its shuffling stride getting it over the -ground with curious swiftness. When it was very -near it stopped, under the mesquites, and seemed -to wait for the man to approach. Recovered -somewhat from his amazement, Gabriel Gard drew -nearer and, reaching out a tentative hand, touched -the creature’s neck.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The animal neither started nor flinched, but began -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>cropping beans from the mesquite trees, quite -as if the man were not there. Gard, noting the -action, became aware that he was himself faint -with hunger.</p> - -<p class='c008'>On the desert, where he had thrown it in rising, -lay the deputy’s coat, and tangled with it Gard -found his own canteen. He took this as a good -omen.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I may need you, yet,” he whispered, as he took -it up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In one pocket of the coat was a nickle watch, -made fast by a leather thong, to a buttonhole. -Another contained the deputy’s pipe, some loose -tobacco, and a water-tight box, in which were -fourteen matches. Gard counted them, carefully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned to the other side-pocket, with but -faint hope that the flask which he had scorned the -day before would be in it yet.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was there, however, and beside it, in a greasy, -crushed packet, a big beef sandwich. The deputy, -accustomed to provide against long rides in the -desert, had secured this before leaving the hotel.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man ate it eagerly, and took a swallow from -the flask. The food, and the fiery liquor, warmed -him, and revived his courage.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In the coat’s inner pocket were papers, a worn -memorandum book, an envelop covered with -figures, another, longer one, containing a document. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>As Gard turned them over a postal-card -fell to the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He picked it up. On the back were a picture, -and some printing. The man read the latter -through before he realized what the card was for. -It published his escape from jail, and the fact that -five hundred dollars reward was offered for his -capture.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Now he remembered the deputy’s unfinished -sentence, and knew why Westcott had betrayed -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott had got that reward! He had sold -him back to death as he had sold him before. -God! Why could he not have had his fingers upon -that lying throat just once? He would have found -strength for the job that needed doing!</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stretched forth his wasted, jail-bleached -hands, and regarded them, snarling. Then he -raised them, shaking them at the sky.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll live to do it yet! Do you hear?” he -shrieked, “I say I <em>will</em> live!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He beat the desert air with his clenched fists.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“God—devil—whatever you are that runs this -hellish world, you’ve got to let me live. I’ll -make that infernal side-winder wish he could hide -in hell’s mouth, before I die!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The torrent of his rage was stemmed by a -vicious attack of that racking cough. It tore his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>chest, and flecked his lips with blood. When it -was over he lay upon the sand for a long time, -sobbing the dry, anguished sobs of a man’s helpless -woe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sun, rising above the distant mountains, -shone red upon him. The camel left the mesquite’s -thin shade for the warmer light and the -pad of its soft feet aroused Gard. He must not let -the creature get away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He rose, painfully, and went to it, considering -the brute carefully. A plan was dawning in his -brain. He took the strap that served him for a -belt, and buckled it around the camel’s neck. The -animal followed him, docile as a sheep, when he -led it back to the mesquite. Then he bethought -himself of the oats, in the horse’s bag, below.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Going to the edge of the arroyo he could see it -in the wreck of the road-wagon, and he made his -way painfully down to it. As he was clambering -back he noticed that the back spring of the light -rig still clung to it by a single bolt. A slight -wrench brought it away, and he secured it, with a -vague feeling that it might prove useful.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The full horror of his position was becoming -clear to him. He was alone in the desert, without -food or weapons. He put the thought away, summoning -all his faculties for the need of the moment.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>The camel was indifferent to the oats, turning -from them to the mesquite, after a tentative investigation. -With his belt and the harness rein, Gard -proceeded to fashion a sort of rude hackamore, -which he put over the creature’s head. The great -beast, as soon as it was adjusted, settled itself, -as by instinct, in an attitude of waiting, while -Gard proceeded to fill his canteen and to gather -quantities of mesquite beans, bestowing them -in the feed bag, and in the pockets of Arnold’s -coat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He threw the coat across the camel’s back, the -buggy-spring and the bag secured by its knotted -sleeves. Then he took the leading strap in his -hand, spoke to the animal, and they moved out -upon the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had no idea in which direction it was best -to go, but he argued that the camel knew the plain, -and its fastnesses. For himself, he had but one -thought—to hide, to rest, to gather strength for -vengeance. At that thought he stifled the cough -that rose in his throat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Once they were started he let the strap hang -loose and gradually fell behind. The camel went -forward a few paces in the direction ahead of -them, but feeling no guidance, gradually deflected -its course toward the west. Gard followed every -movement eagerly, until presently they were going -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>forward at a steady pace, as travelers with a definite -aim.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sun was well up now, and its beams warmed -the man’s chilled, sore body. The desert was no -longer gray, but a glowing yellow. Even the air -was warm-hued, suffusing the landscape with a -roseate loveliness that yet seemed less of life than -of death.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Everywhere were the desert growths, travesties -of vegetation, twisted, grotesque, ghostly gray and -pale green in hues. A profound stillness, insistent, -oppressive, was upon everything. The yellow -sand, the glowing air, the cloudless dome of the -sky, the far-off mountains, all seemed to soak up -sound. The world lay hushed in fierce, tense quiet, -as though waiting the appearance of some savage -portent.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The camel did not hasten. Gard, walking beside -it, had a feeling that the creature was very -old. Its eyes were bright, its coat silky and fine, -but deep under the hair’s soft luxuriance the man’s -fingers felt the skin, wrinkled and folded over -shrunken muscles.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But there was neither feebleness nor hesitation -in the forward progress of the desert pilot. It -moved forward with a sort of inexorableness, its -padded feet making no sound on the hard sand, its -gaze bent steadily ahead, its inscrutable visage -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>wearing ever, a look of centuries-old scorn for all -things made.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They passed a huge bull-snake sunning upon a -rock, and here and there a silent bird flitted to or -from its home in some thorn-guarded cholla. Once -a coyote tossed lightly across their vision, a blown -gray feather along the horizon, but no other signs -of animal life stirred the death-like plain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sand grew warmer in the sun’s rays, till -permeating heat radiated from it and hung over it -everywhere, a palpable, shimmering mist of lavender -and gold, between earth and air. By mid-forenoon -the sun’s rays were oppressive, and they -halted in the shadow of a giant suhuaro.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The camel, when the man released the leading-strap, -lowered itself slowly to rest, doubling down -its legs like the shutting of a jack-knife, and settling -upon the sand with the curious, sighing grunt -of old age.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard, in the meantime, set about the preparation -of a meal. He shelled a handful of tree beans and -crushed them between two stones, mixing them -with water from his canteen into a sort of paste, -which he ate. The suhuaro’s fruit was yet hanging -upon its great branches, dried, somewhat, by -the autumn sun and wind, but palatable and nutritious -still. Gard found a long pole, once part of -the frame of another giant cactus, and with this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>succeeded in knocking down some of the fig-like -growths.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When he had eaten them he stretched himself -upon the sand, filled the deputy’s pipe, and lighted -it with one of the precious matches. The unwonted -luxury brought him comfort, and ease of -mind. He smoked slowly, making the most of it -in delicious relaxation, his head in the shade, his -weary, sick body basking in the heat of desert and -sunlight.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Lying thus there presently spread out before his -eyes the sudden vision of a great, island-dotted sea. -The surface of the water dimpled and sparkled in -the sun; the islands shone jewel-like with verdure, -an exquisite suggestion of rich color was over -it all.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His eye was not deceived, though his mind half -accepted the vision. He knew that it was a mirage, -but he lay for a long time watching its changing -beauty, a half-amused sense of superiority to illusion -ministering pleasantly to his pride. The -scene was so very like what it seemed to be.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Suddenly, from the surface of the sea rose a -monstrous thing, huge, formidable, portentous, and -endowed with motion. Gard turned upon his side, -with a gasp. The mystic sea still wavered in the -distance, but the shape was no part of it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>An instant he studied it, then sank back with a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>sigh of relief. The apparition, upon scrutiny, had -resolved itself into a little wild burro, perhaps a -quarter of a mile away, passing across the face -of the mirage. It was such a germane little shape, -this familiar of the desert, that he was cheered by -the sight of it. The next instant he noted a -tarantula, hairy, vicious, glaring at him from a -tiny eminence of sand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Acting upon impulse, Gard hurled at it the -rounded stone with which he had crushed the -mesquite beans. The missile struck the sand close -beside the tarantula and the huge spider sprang -upon it in a frenzy of stupid ferocity. The man -laughed silently, a laugh not good to see.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A shadow floated across the plain, and then another. -The man glanced upward, to see three or -four great black forms circling against the blue.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You would, eh?” he shrieked, springing to his -feet. “Yah! Not yet, you devils! I’m not dead -yet!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He shook his fist skyward at the huge, waiting -birds.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m alive yet!” he yelled. “You don’t get me -yet; not till I’ve had <em>my</em> meat.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cough seized him, and ere it let go its hold -the disappointed vultures, with never a stroke of -their wide wings, faded into the skyey depths.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But Gard had no heart to linger further. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>sight of the desert scavengers had shaken him -sorely, he hastened to rouse his strange fellow, -and soon the pair were again threading that weary -way from nowhere to the unknown.</p> - -<p class='c008'>All day they had moved steadily mountainward, -and now they began to draw nearer the range that -ever since dawn had reared a jagged line along the -horizon. Gard had not known whether they would -reach the mountains that day. One does not predicate -distances in the desert. They may be long, -or short; the lying air gives no clue.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But as the afternoon shadows were turning to -mauve and blue, what had for hours looked like -sloping foothills, leading gently toward further -heights, suddenly reared itself before them in a -long stretch of high, perpendicular wall.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Straight toward it the camel went, never pausing -or looking around at the man beside him, and -when another forward step would have found their -progress barred, the creature swerved to the left, to -enter a narrow pass that appeared as if by magic -in the seemingly unbroken wall.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Now the way wound upward along a dry wash, -climbing almost imperceptibly, at first, growing -steeper, by degrees, though at no time a sharp ascent. -The shadows closed in upon them, and the -air grew chill, but still the camel walked on, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>beside him, clinging, now, in his weakness, to the -animal’s long hair, toiled the man.</p> - -<p class='c008'>More and more often he paused for breath, his -lungs tortured by the pace. He was faint with -fatigue, chilled by the shadow-cooled air, but a -drink from the flask gave him brief strength, and -he struggled on.</p> - -<p class='c008'>An hour, and they were well within the mountains. -The way wound now among greasewood -and scrub oaks, with only here and there a cactus. -The chaparral drew dense, and Gard could hear -birds calling in its depths.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The trail began to widen, and patches of coarse -grasses cropped out, here and there. The altitude -was not particularly great, but it was beginning to -tell upon the man when his strange guide halted in -a little open glade, where the wash ended abruptly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Night was falling, and Gard could make out -very little save that the forest growth closed in -the glade on all sides. Overhead he could just -get a glimpse of the purpling sky, where the stars -were already out. Off at one side he could see -these reflected in water, and he could hear, as well, -the gentle splash of a stream.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The camel stood beside him, wearily patient -until, lifting a hand, he removed its load and -slipped the hackamore from its head. Freed, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>creature turned away, and presently Gard heard -him drinking, not far off.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He followed the sound until he reached water, -and passing beyond the camel, knelt to drink his -fill from a clear, cold fountain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Later he gathered such dry sticks as he could -find and kindled a fire, as much for protection as -for warmth. He was too weary to think of food, -but crouched before the cheering blaze, alternately -dozing, and rousing to feed the flame.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As often as he did the latter he could see, in the -darkness beyond the blaze, the gleaming eyes of -small forest-prowlers, come to stare in wonder at -the strange thing by the pool. Nothing molested -him, however, and toward dawn he fell into a -profound, restful slumber.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER IV</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The morning light did not confirm Gard’s impression -that he was in the deep woods. Beyond -the thin region of growth fed by the pool the -little valley into which he had been led lay sandy -and cactus-grown, like the desert. The stream that -should have watered it, that had probably, at some -time, made its way down the dry wash which he -had traversed, now found some underground outlet, -and was swallowed up by the vampire plain -below.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Above the glade was a steep, rockbound ravine, -down which the stream still flowed. The pool -seemed to be its last stand against the desert. -Gard, tentatively exploring the lower end of this -ravine for fuel, found a few blackberries, drying -upon the bushes, and ate them, eagerly, with appetite -still unsated by his breakfast of mesquite beans. -The mesquite grew here, too; with manzanita and -scrub oak, arrow-weed, and black willow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man’s chief sensation was a vague surprise -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>at finding himself still alive. He was too sick—too -weak—after his exertion and his rages of the -day before, to consider the problem of keeping -himself alive. He was chilled to the marrow, and -yearned like a fire-worshipper toward the warmth -of his camp-glow. He tended the fire carefully. -He dared not let it go out; for that meant the -sacrifice of another precious match.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The elemental appetite awoke when, stooping -to drink from the pool, he saw fish darting about -in its clear depths. He worked with the cunning of -a pre-historic man until, by means of the feed bag, -which he emptied of its contents, he succeeded in -catching two of these.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A long thorn of palo-verde served him for a -knife in dressing them, and he cooked them in the -earth, with hot stones, laying each fish between the -split halves of broad lobes of the prickly pear. -They were insipid, and full of bones, but they -served to satisfy his hunger.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He decided to keep a record of the days that -he should spend in this place; by sticking palo-verde -thorns into an out-reaching branch of willow, -near the pool. He would stick in a thorn for -each day. He cursed the first one, as he thrust -it against the wood; because he felt powerless to -do anything else.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Following, half sullenly, a mere human instinct -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>to be busy about something, he set about making -a knife from the smallest plate of the buggy-spring. -He heated it in his fire till the paint came -off, broke it in two and spent the day working one -thin end down to a cutting edge, on a big, rough -boulder. By night he had six inches of blade with -one rounded, sharp end.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He used this, next day, to cut ocotilla-stalks, to -make a bed, scraping away the thorns with sharp -stones. He worked all day; less because he wanted -a bed than because he dimly realized that sanity -lay in occupation. That night he set a snare, and -before morning managed to catch a cotton-tail -which he dressed and roasted for his breakfast.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was getting over the feeling of being hunted. -They would not search for him now, he reasoned; -they must feel satisfied that he had died in the -cloudburst. He bathed in the pool that day, -when the sun was high, and set about constructing -a fireplace against the big boulder. This would -make fire-keeping easier.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The days slipped into weeks. Little by little the -man was adapting himself to his environment. He -learned to dry the mesquite beans and grind them -between stones into a coarse flour. This he made -into little cakes, which he baked upon a flat stone -before the fire. Later, he turned over a patch of -earth, watered it, and sowed it with the oats he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>had saved from the storm. Now, however, his -food was the mesquite, the prickly pear, the century -plant, and the fish and small game that he managed -to catch.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As he grew stronger he fashioned himself a -bow of oak, shaping and smoothing it with his -rough knife, and stringing it with fibres from the -century plant. His shafts were those of the desert -Indians, the arrow weeds growing close at hand, -and he tipped them with the cruel, steel-hard dagger-points -of the yucca.</p> - -<p class='c008'>With this primitive weapon he gradually grew -skilful; and at last he shot a buck, as the creature -came down to the pool one night, to drink. He -dried the meat, and used the skin, when he had -made it ready, as a covering for his bed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Twice, during the winter, the camel came back -to the pool. The creature went as it came, silent, -inscrutable. Whither it went Gard did not know; -the pool was evidently one of its ports of call while -going to and fro on the mysterious business of -being a camel. It accepted the man as a matter of -course, and left him, when ready, with the indifference -of fate, though Gard could have begged -it on bended knees, to remain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was horribly lonely, with nothing but his -hate, and a sick longing for vengeance upon life, to -bear him company. There were days when he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>cursed the chance that had kept his worthless hulk -alive, while sending Arnold, in all his strength, -down to death. He had no doubt but that the -deputy had perished. Nothing could ever have -come, alive, through the rush of water into which -he had been flung.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The weeks became months. His oats were coming -up, a little patch of cool green on the yellow -sand, and he had occupation to fend the field from -the small desert creatures that coveted it. He also -worked at times at making various utensils of the -red clay that he found in the valley, baking them -in a rude kiln of his own fashioning.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He came by degrees to love this work, and took -great pleasure in it. He even tried to contrive a -potter’s wheel, but was balked by lack of material. -He had to content himself, therefore, with modeling -the clay into such shapes of use and beauty as -his untaught hands could achieve. In time he came -to ornament his work as well, graving designs on -the edges of his plates and bowls. The camel’s -counterfeit presentment figured on one or two of -the larger pieces, and upon the others, as the impulse -prompted, he put inscriptions, until the -homely articles of his daily use came to be a sort -of commentary, seen by no eyes save his own, of -his moods, and the longing for their expression.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He wrote thus upon other things as well. Lacking -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>paper or implements charcoal and sharpened -sticks became his tools; the rocks and trees; his -broad earthen hearth; the plastic clay; even the -yellow sand of the desert, his tablets, and little by -little all these became eloquent of his lonely -thoughts.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He put them down upon whatever served, for -the mere comfort of seeing them; scraps of lessons -conned in the old brick school-house; sums; fragments -of the multiplication table; roughly drawn -maps and sketches of boyhood scenes; lines from -half-remembered poems and hymns; familiar Bible -verses that his mother had taught him. They came -back to him bit by bit, in his solitude. And one -and all his soul found them camps by the way on -its long journey up from despair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>From one of his excursions into the valley he -brought home the empty shell of a desert turtle. -This he split, and fashioned the upper half into a -bowl to contain the palo-verde thorns of his record. -They were already crowding the willow branch, -and but for them he could scarcely have realized the -passage of days.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There were a hundred and forty-seven thorns -on the day that he transferred them to the new -receptacle. Gard could not be sure that he had -one for each day in the desert, but he knew that -each one there actually represented a day.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>“I’ve had every one of that lot,” he told himself, -talking aloud, as a solitary man gets to do. -“Had ’em in the open, in spite of the law -sharks.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He still lived from day to day, however, despite -his vows, and his threats of vengeance. He had -known, when he sought Ashley Westcott, begging -the price of a ticket east, that he was a doomed -man.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s all borrowed time,” he muttered, shaking -the turtle-shell.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His face darkened.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’T ain’t either,” he cried. “It’s time won back. -They stole it from me down there. They robbed -me of three years, the filthy thieves! What’s a -hundred and forty-seven days against that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He remembered an occasion when to get away -from the wood-pile that was his special charge, in -his boyhood, he had heaped a scant supply of split -wood over a pile of chunks yet untouched by the -axe, and exhibiting the result as his finished task -had escaped with his fellows upon some expedition -of pleasure. He had meant to return in time to -complete his work before the cheat should be discovered, -but he forgot it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His father had first thrashed him well for his -wickedness, then lectured him tenderly about it. -The wicked, he had told him, would not live out -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>half their days. Gard’s laugh as he recalled the -words was more nearly a snarl.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He was a good man all right,” he said, “but he -didn’t know it all; not by an eternal lot.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He tormented himself with other boyish memories: -the broad grassy stretches of the prairie came -up before him; the woods that neighbored his -father’s farm; the pleasant fields, and occasional -low hills that had seemed to him so high, before -he had seen mountains; the swimming-pool where -he and the fellows played in summer; the skating-pond -where they raced and built forts and fought -mimic battles in winter; the red brick school-house -at “The Corners”; the white church at “The Centre,” -where he had gone to Sunday school; the little -shed chamber with its creaking stairs that his -mother had climbed, how many cold nights! to see -if he were warmly covered. She was gone from -earth now, but the old boyhood places were left, -and he yearned for them all, with yearning unspeakable.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I thought I was going to get back to it,” he -groaned, through his set teeth. “I trusted that -poison-snake to help me; God! If I could get -these hands on him, just once!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>But the quiet of his hundred and forty-seven -days, and the balm of the healing air, had wrought -within him more than he knew. His excursions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>afield grew longer, day by day, and in the gray -of one beautiful morning he started out to explore -the mountain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had traversed the cañon before now, climbing -over rocks, and around mighty boulders -washed down by ancient avalanches, or torn from -above by titanic storms, until he came to where -the mountain stream took a leap of some seventy -feet, and the sheer face of the cliff barred his way. -This time, however, he followed the cañon’s edge, -to which the trees clung precariously, sycamores, -oaks, and, to his delight, some walnuts. He -marked the spot where they grew, as a place to -be visited in the nut season.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The morning was far spent when he reached -this point, so he lingered to rest, to eat the jerked -venison and mesquite bread he had brought with -him. Then he resumed his climb until he was well -beyond the timber growths and had to fight his way -through chaparral.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He crawled among this on hands and knees, now -and then, frightening birds, and other small game, -from their hiding-places, and at last came out upon -the rocky open, and the broad spaces where the -large creatures of the mountains make their homes. -He noted more than one faint trail leading over -the wastes, and now and again he caught sight of -deer in the distance.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Higher still he climbed, into the regions of white -sunlight, until the cold, pure air of the snowy -ranges blew through his hair, and he began to feel -the altitude. In spite of this he pressed on, and -at last reached a ridge where grew a few scattered -heralds of the great pine belt above him. Here, -quite unexpectedly, the vast waste of the desert -suddenly met his gaze, far, far below.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was a strange, horrible unreality about it. -The far gray plain; the mountain’s bare, brown -bones; the wind-distorted trees; the solemn, snowy -sierras, even the blue arch of the sky, seemed but -components of some fearful nightmare.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m not asleep,” he muttered; “and it’s no -dream; I’ve died, and gone to hell!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The bitterness of desolation was upon him. His -very soul lay bare in the bright, white sunlight of -the heights, and he cowered, like a child afraid of -the dark.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As he stood thus, from out the silence a soft, -clear whistle rose upon the air. It was repeated, -then taken up, farther away. The man quivered -as though the sound had struck him. Then his -tense muscles relaxed; he saw the whistlers to be -a covey of quail, moving along the rocks a little -below him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They came nearer, walking in single file, full of -curiosity about him, alert, speculative, keeping up -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>a murmur of little ornithological remarks among -themselves, the while. The gentle fearlessness of -the small, pretty creatures filled all that grim place -with an ineffable grace. A sob strained at the -man’s throat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Just as if they were in a garden!” he whispered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Long he stood watching the birds, who presently, -as if satisfied that no harm dwelt in him, -scattered about the rocky waste in search of food. -One only remained on watch, guarding the flock -from a little eminence where he stood motionless -save for his pretty crest, which the wind blew from -side to side. Gard watched him, fairly hushing his -own breath lest he alarm the small sentinel, who in -turn regarded him, with bright, innocent eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“To think of it,” the man murmured, “the little, -little things, so fearless, up here in this—this—secret—place—of—the—Most—High!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stopped, in vague surprise at his own speech. -He had not meant to say that, but from some -neglected recess of his boyhood’s memory the -words had sprung, vital with meaning.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wish,” he finally began, after a long pause, -and ceased speaking as a wave of sickening despair -swept over his soul. The idleness of the phrase -mocked him; the folly of wishing anything, helpless -there in the bitterness of desolation, came -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>home to him with cruel force. Then the ache of -his spirit’s yearning drew his clenched hands up -toward the blue vault.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wish,” he breathed, his heart pounding, his -brain awhirl with a sudden vision of the infinite -wonder of things, “I wish that—if there is such a -thing as God in the world I might come to know -it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Slowly his hands came down to his sides. The -sentinel of the rocks gave a soft little call of reassurance -to the flock, which had halted, observant -of the gesture, and the birds resumed their feeding. -Gard turned for another look at the snowy -ramparts on high; at the vast plain below. All -their horror was gone, for him, and he began the -descent of the mountain with the peaceful visage of -one who has been in a good place.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Far into the night he awoke with the feeling of -something stirring near him. In the dim firelight -he could make out a shadowy figure on the hearth, -and he sprang up in haste. A second glance, however, -as he sat upon his ocotilla bed, showed him -that there was no harm in the visitor shivering -there by the coals.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was a burro, and the listless pose, the drooping -ears and the trembling knees proclaimed a -sick burro. It was too miserable even to move, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>when Gard threw an armful of brush on the fire -and speedily had a blaze by which he could see the -intruder plainly. His first glance revealed a -jagged, dreadful sore on the shoulder next to the -light.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Speaking very gently, he drew nearer to the -burro and though the little creature trembled violently, -it let him bend down and examine the -wound.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A great spike of the long, tough crucifixion-thorn -had somehow become imbedded in the flesh, -and the whole surface of the shoulder was swollen -and inflamed. Gard made a little sound of pity in -his throat, and the burro, turning, tried to lick the -sore.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No use to do that yet, Jinny,” the man said. -“That thorn’s got to come out first.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The burro had probably never before been -touched by hands; but not for nothing was Jinny -wide between the ears. She scrutinized her -would-be helper closely, for a moment, through -her long lashes, and drooped her wise-looking little -gray head still lower. Gard threw another armful -of light stuff on the fire and when the blaze was -brightest attacked the thorn, using one of his -sharp arrows as a probe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Once or twice the creature flinched. Once she -snapped her strong teeth at the hurting side; but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>Gard worked steadily and quickly, and presently -had the offender out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look a’ that, Jinny,” he cried, triumphantly. -It was a joy to hear himself speaking to something -alive.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look a’ that!” he repeated, “Ain’t you glad -you found the doctor in?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He dipped warm water from an earthen pot in -the ashes, and washed the wound carefully, talking -all the while to the still trembling patient, silently -regarding him. When the place was quite clean -he made a poultice of prickly pear and bound it -on with a strip of deer-skin.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lucky I shot another buck, Jinny,” he said, “or -you wouldn’t have that nice bandage.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The little burro expressed no thanks; only stared -solemnly at the fire. Gard strode out into the darkness -and pulled, recklessly, an armful of his precious, -growing oats. He threw the green stuff -down before her and she sniffed it curiously before -she began, ravenously, to eat it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hungry, weren’t you?” the man said, sympathetically. -“Been too sick to eat. Well, well, -make yourself at home.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He threw a big stick upon the fire and went back -to his bed, leaving the burro chewing, meditatively, -before the blaze.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was just falling asleep when he felt something -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>warm fumbling about him, and he awoke -with a start, and an exclamation that quickly turned -to something very like a laugh. The grateful little -burro was licking his hands.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why, Jinny!” he cried, sitting up. “Well, well, -Jinny! Well, I’ll be jiggered!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He slipped an arm over the rough little neck and -the two watched the fire till dawn.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER V</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The burro got well and throve. Gard devoted -the period of her convalescence to teaching -her the essential arts of the higher companionship. -Her first lesson in burden-bearing was to bring -ocotilla-stalks from the valley. With these she -saw the oat patch fenced in from her own depredations, -and lifted up her voice in remonstrance when -she found herself barred out of that delectable -ground. Gard explained the matter to her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This is a world, Jinny,” he said, “where we -have to wait till the things we want are ripe. I’m -waiting myself, Jinny, for my time to come. It -will, some day, ah—some day!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was thinking of Westcott, but the curses that -he was wont to call upon his enemy’s head died -upon his lips. It was not that his hatred had died, -but there seemed, somehow, to be other things -than hate, even in his tiny world.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He hunted up a palo-verde thorn with which to -mark his day, Jinny keeping him company. He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>still kept the record on the willow branch, removing -the thorns and putting them away whenever -he had ten. There were that number this morning.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Spring was well advanced, now. The air was -soft, and sweet with the scent of manzanita in the -chaparral. For days past hundreds of wild bees -had been hovering about the pool, and the underbrush. -Gard had a line on them, and thought he -knew where the bee-tree was located. His oats -were nearly ready for harvest; a century plant in the -valley was sending up a long bloom-stalk, and the -sound of water leaping down the cañon mingled -with the voices of birds in the chaparral.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As Gard put back his shell, with its contents -of thorns and turned toward the pool sudden -recognition came to him of a heretofore unsuspected -truth.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“By the great face of clay, Jinny,” he said, drawing -a long breath, “We’re not so bad off, after -all!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Again his eyes ranged the green circle of the -glade; at the farther side, where the growth was -sparse, he could see the valley with its yellow sands -and rose-tinted air. The bright red of blossoming -cacti made vivid patches here and there in the -waste; even the great barren felt the touch of -spring.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“God may have forgot this country,” the man -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>said, after a long silence, “But He sure made it, if -He made the rest. It’s got the same brand, when -you come to see it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess, Jinny,” he continued, still gazing afar, -“that the best of one thing’s about as good as the -best of another. What do you think about it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>As Jinny did not commit herself he sat down -upon a rock and reached out to scratch the shaggy -gray head.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If I’d got back to Iowa when I wanted to,” -he went on, “I’d most likely be dead by now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Jinny’s head drooped till her nose rested upon -his knee, and she nodded off to sleep. Gard let -her stay and sat looking off across the valley, his -mind full of new emotion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A man might think,” he slowly mused, considering -the mystery of his coming to this place, “that -’twas what old Deacon Stebbins used to call a -‘leading’.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned the thought over in his mind.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why not?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His eyes rested upon one toil hardened hand as -it lay upon Jinny’s back. He held it up, surveying -it curiously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Rather different, from what it was,” he -thought, clenching it into a great fist. “Yah—” -with sudden anger, “It’ll be different for Ashley -Westcott if ever he comes to feel it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>His mind dwelt upon that possibility.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If ever I do get hold of him,” he muttered, and -then paused, as half-forgotten memories of that -faithful teacher came flocking to the front.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The deacon ’d be down on that idea,” he reflected. -“Wonder how he’d work his pet hobby o’ -forgiveness here. He couldn’t judge of everything,” -his thought still ran on. “The deacon he -never got so near Hell as Arizona. If he had he’d -have found it a place his God of Mercy hadn’t got -on His map.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He put Jinny aside and set to work fashioning -himself a new cup. He had broken his only one -the night before.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess I was wrong about that last notion.” -His brain took up the question again as he shaped -the red clay. “I guess He must have this place on -the map. Looks like His mercy’d been trailing me -here, so to speak.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He paused to contemplate the proportions of -his new cup, staring, half startled, at its rounded -surface. Phrases from the old psalm that mothers -love to teach were beating upon his brain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Goodness and mercy,” he murmured, feeling -his stumbling way among the words, “goodness -and mercy shall follow me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The familiar glade grew new and strange to his -sight, as though he saw it for the first time.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>“Why!” he cried, a sudden light dawning, “Is -<em>that</em> what it means?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Almost mechanically he went on patting and -pressing the clay.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess it does mean that,” whispered he at -last, pinching up a handle for his cup. “I didn’t -think I’d be alive till now when I came up here. -I’ve wanted to die, many a time; but I’m glad, -now, I didn’t. I may get out of here some day, -too. I may live to get Westcott yet!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“‘Goodness and mercy shall follow me.’” Was -that so he could live to see his dream of vengeance -fulfilled?</p> - -<p class='c008'>Ah! He could not give that up! It could never -mean that he must give that up! Else where were -the good of remaining alive?</p> - -<p class='c008'>No; no; it did not mean that! Even the old -deacon wouldn’t have thought he must forgive -what he, Gabriel Gard, had borne.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, Lord,” Gard said aloud, “It can’t mean -that! It ain’t in human nature that it should mean -that!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cup in his hand was crushed again to formless -clay. He tore and kneaded it viciously, great -drops of sweat beading his forehead.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s against human nature,” he groaned as he -sought to bring the plastic stuff again into shape. -“I can’t do it! But—” The words rose to an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>agonized wail as his spirit recognized the inexorableness -of this demand upon its powers—“I’ve -got to. I’ve got to!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His mind went back to the day upon the mountain-ridge, -when he had seen the quail, and he remembered -his wish, the wish that had been almost -a prayer; remembered it with a hushed feeling of -awe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If I’d sensed it,” he said in a voice tense with -his soul’s pain, “If I’d sensed that this is what -comes of knowing there’s a God, I guess I -wouldn’t have dared wish that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hour after hour the battle was fought over the -wet, red clay, and the day was far spent before -the cup was ready for the kiln. When at last -Gard, weary, but at peace, brought it for the final -perfecting of the fire, he paused, ere he thrust it -in, to read once more the rude letters graven deep -in its fabric.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>THE CUP OF FORGIVENESS</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ll see how it comes out,” he muttered, -grimly, but already the hope grew in his heart that -the clay would stand the test.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Throughout the spring Gard busied himself with -building a cabin. He needed a place in which to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>keep his stores from prowling creatures. A brown -bear had secured a good part of the last deer he -had shot—secured it while it was drying on -branches of the mesquite—and the birds and small -beasts of the chaparral took toll of all his scanty -supplies. Then, too, he took a man’s delight in -construction, and the building of the cabin had -come to be a labor of love, as well as of necessity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The walls of the structure were of desert stones -laid up in mud. For the roof he brought skeleton -stalks of suhuaro. Later he meant to plaster these -with adobe, into which he should work straw, and -the coarse gramma grass of the region.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He worked upon the building at odd times, as -the summer went on, taking increasing joy in -bringing it to completeness. He mascerated -prickly-pear cactus in water and soaked the earthen -floor with the resulting liquor, pounding it down -afterwards until it was hard and smooth as cement. -He made his door of ocotilla-stalks laid side by -side and woven with willow-withes. In the same -way he contrived a shutter for the window, and he -constructed a second, smaller, fireplace, within the -cabin.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“When we have distinguished visitors, Jinny,” he -told the little burro, “We’ll kindle a fire for them -here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He still used the larger hearth outside. He had -learned, after many trials, to kindle a fire with the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>aid of flint and steel, and was no longer dependent -upon matches.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When his shelter was complete he contrived -furniture for it, for the sheer pleasure of construction. -Lacking boards, or the means to manufacture -them, he wove his table-top of arrow-weed -and tough grasses from the cañon. It was beginning -to be a source of delight to him to contrive -solutions for each new problem of his hard existence.</p> - -<p class='c008'>One night, in the early autumn, Gard was wakened -by a fearful crash of thunder. He sprang -from his bed, to find Jinny already huddled against -him. All about them was the roar of the sudden -storm.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The pool had overflowed, and swept across the -glade in a broad stream, pouring down the defile in -a whelming tide. The heavens seemed to have -opened, torrentially; Gard’s bed was beaten down, -and the fire was flooded. Gard himself was almost -thrown to earth by the thrashing rain ere he could -reach the cabin, into which he darted, Jinny close -at his heels.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The shelter was built against huge boulders, out -of the track of the flood from the pool, but the mud -and thatch roof leaked like a sieve. It served, however, -to break the fierce violence of the storm, and -they huddled there miserably till the worst should -be over.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>The sounds without were like those of a battle: -the echoing rattle of thunder down the cañon; the -rending of rocks; the crash of falling trees; the -screaming of the wind—all mingled in a fierce, -wild tumult.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A flash of lightning revealed a great scrub oak, -torn from its anchorage above, crashing down into -the glade. The next instant the whole place -seemed filled with some giant thing that raged and -snarled, hurling itself from side to side in mighty -struggle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It dashed against the fireplace, flinging the great -stones of it in every direction, and fell upon the -uprooted tree in a frenzy of titanic rage.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Its horrible roaring shook the cabin, and Jinny, -pressing against Gard, was almost beside herself -with terror. Gard himself, peering through the -window of the hut, could make out nothing definite, -until another flash suddenly showed him a -huge grizzly, reared upon its hind legs, striking -madly at the empty air.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The storm had moderated, now, and he could -hear, as he strained to listen, the fearful snarls of -the bear rising above the roar of the wind. The -threshing tumult of its plunging had ceased, however, -and even the snarling had grown weaker.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The rain ceased, but the wind still swept the -glade, and the pool had become a lake. Gard was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>chilled to the bone, but dared not venture without. -He had not heard the grizzly for some time, but -Jinny still cowered against him, trembling.</p> - -<p class='c008'>At dawn he looked from the window upon a -scene of devastation. The ground was strewn with -debris. Great boulders had been hurled down by -the torrent’s force, and beside one ragged block of -granite lay the grizzly, terrible, even in death. -One side of its savage head was crushed in, and a -shoulder shattered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Jinny was still too terrified to venture outside -the hut, but Gard went out and set to work to restore -some semblance of order about the place.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The roof of the shack was a wreck. Gard had -to clear away a part of it that had fallen, before -he could find his precious matches and get a fire. -There were nine of the matches left, and it took -two to start a blaze with the soaked wood. He -breakfasted upon dried venison, which he shared -with Jinny, grown catholic in her tastes, and then -set about skinning and dressing the bear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stretched and scraped the great hide, and -pinned it out upon the earth, (it meant warmth -and comfort to him through the coming winter -nights,) and cut the meat into long strips, to dry. -It would be a welcome change, later, from venison -and rabbit.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was noon before his toil was completed and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>the traces of it so far removed as to ease Jinny’s -perturbation. He was obliged to bathe in the enlarged -pool before she seemed comfortable when -near him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As he dressed, after his ablutions, his eye caught -a broken bit of rock lying at the water’s edge. He -picked it up, a curious tightening in his throat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There is something about the glitter of a -streak of yellow in a bit of rock that would set -the heart of the last man on the last unsubmerged -point of earth to beating fast. The piece of float -was freshly severed and the flecks of yellow showed -plainly in its split surface. Gard scrutinized the -mud round about, and beyond the pool found another -bit of float.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Forgetful of all else, he sprang up the cañon. -It, too, was full of debris, witness to the mighty -power of the storm. He hardly knew the place as -he climbed along, making a new way for himself; -for the swollen stream roared wildly where but the -day before he had been able to walk.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cañon walls on either side were wrought -and twisted by the action of ancient heat, scarred -and eroded by the force of ancient waters, but -they revealed no fresh break, though he scanned -them eagerly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He kept on, however; for a quarter of a mile -above the pool another bit of float pointed the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>way. It was a savage climb, but mounting, circling -and crawling past heaped up boulders and masses -of earth, he presently found progress checked by -a landslip, beneath which the rushing water was -already cutting a channel.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Here lay the vein, uncovered, the gleaming particles -in the cloven rock making the man’s breath -come thick as he studied them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was no doubt about it: he had discovered -pay rock of the richest sort. How rich it was he -had no means of determining, nor did he then -dream; but he knew that right in sight was more -gold than he should be able to get out with any -tool at his command, and hope was already high -within him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stooped and picked up small fragments of -broken rock that lay among the debris. How -heavy they were! What power they represented! -What dreams might come true, by the aid of their -yellow shine!</p> - -<p class='c008'>Here was his ticket east. Here was a ticket to -the uttermost parts of the earth. With it he could -go away, stand rehabilitated among his fellows. -Golden vistas of power and pleasure spread out -before him as he stood gazing long at the cleft, -yellow-flecked rock before him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Whoever runs this outfit,” he whispered, “has -remembered it, after all.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>It was long before he could bring himself back -to reality. Only the gathering autumn gloom, -coming early, in the cañon’s depth, finally recalled -him. He began turning over in his mind the means -he must contrive with which to meet this emergency. -If only he had the tools!</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s up to me to make some,” he said -aloud, and at the words he suddenly turned and -looked back at the golden vein he was leaving.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re great!” he shouted; “You’re bully to -have; but you ain’t all there is to it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He spread out his hard hands. “These that can -make the things to get you out with are better yet,” -he said, speaking more slowly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>For he suddenly remembered the pit from which -he was digged, and the man’s heart yearned to his -fire beside the clean pool, and for the life there that -he had wrested from nothing.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER VI</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Gard and Jinny were on an expedition after -salt. The instinct hidden in the gray little -hide was so much more useful in the case than the -thinking machinery beneath the man’s thatch of -hair, that she had long ago led him to a desert -supply of this commodity, which he had longed -for, without being able to supply his need.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was utilizing the trip in an effort to make -Jinny bridlewise, a proceeding which filled her -with great displeasure. She was a sturdy little -brute, of good size for a wild burro, and she bore -his weight without apparent effort; but she had a -fondness for choosing her own direction, and objected, -strongly, to the guiding rein. She protested, -now, raising her voice, after the manner of her -kind, when Gard, from her back, essayed to turn -her at his will.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jinny! Jinny!” he remonstrated; “Not for -the world would I call you anything but a lady; -but I can’t be so mistaken, Jinny! You’re not a -nightingale!”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Jinny was persistent, however, in her determination -to travel eastward, and although her companion, -had he been allowed a preference, would -have elected to go toward the west, he had learned -enough about his small gray friend to be willing to -trust her judgment in the matter.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Though I must say, Jinny,” he remarked, reproachfully, -as he gave her her head, “that it’s -spoiling the making of a good saddle-burro.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was well toward the end of Gard’s second -year in the desert. In all this time he had but once -encountered his own kind.</p> - -<p class='c008'>On that occasion, too, he had been after salt, and -he had met a desert Indian afar on the plain. They -had talked together, after a fashion, by the aid of -signs, and Gard had learned that the railroad lay -three days distant, toward the north-west. This -was a matter about which he had often speculated, -and he was glad of the information. Because of -it, he proffered the Indian the deputy’s pipe, which -he had with him, happening, on that day, to be -wearing Arnold’s coat. The brave took it, the -gift only serving to strengthen his already formed -opinion that the gaunt white man with the great -beard was loco.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was a year since the discovery in the cañon. -Gard had worked the vein, in a primitive way, -making for the purpose a rough mattock, from his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>useful wagon-spring. It was by far the best tool -he had constructed, and he regarded it with even -more pride and pleasure than he took in the two -heavy little buckskin bags for which he had made -a hiding-place in the chimney of the rehabilitated -cabin.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had arrived in these days at a strange content. -He loved the vast reaches of his large place; -the problems of his elemental environment. The -luminous blue sky, the colorful air, the immensity -of the waste plain, gave him pleasure. Even the -weird desert growths no longer oppressed him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“After all, Jinny,” he said, as they threaded -their way gingerly past a great patch of cholla, -with its vicious, hooked spines, “there’s as much -life here as there is death. I never sensed it before; -but everything’s got a claw to hang onto life -with.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The thought of returning to civilization was put -away with ever increasing ease. He had not abandoned -the idea, but it came as a more and more -remote possibility. Even his dream of vengeance -had long been put aside. He had learned the -futility of hate in the nights when he watched the -great stars wheel by, marking the march of the -year.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s nothing in it,” he had finally said to -himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>“It ain’t a man’s job to be staking out claims in -hell for another fellow.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>If Jinny, who heard this, did not understand, she -at least offered no contradiction, being by that -much wiser than many of her kind on a higher -plane.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The desert stretched away before Gard, vast, -silent, untamed, at this moment a thing of gold -and flame, touched, far in the distance, by great -cloud-shadows, that sent the man’s gaze from the -fierce plain to the wide blue overhead. But not a -cloud was in sight and he realized that, probably -for the hundredth time, he had been deceived by -patches of lava cropping up among the red and -yellow sands.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Something that was not a cloud arrested his attention. -Far in the sky half a dozen great black -birds flew, now high, now lower, but circling always -above one spot. Gard watched them with -an understanding eye.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jinny,” he said, “There’s something dying, -over there. You and I’d better go see what it is.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had dismounted some time since, and was -walking beside the burro. Now he started forward -at a faster pace. It might be only a hurt -coyote that the hideous birds waited for, but it -<em>might</em> be a man! The thought quickened his steps -still more, till Jinny had to trot, to keep pace with -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>Once an aerial scavenger swooped lower than -any other had yet done, and at the sight the man -broke into a run. The birds still kept off, however. -Whatever it was, lying out there, somewhere, it -was yet alive.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were traveling along the edge of a deep -barranca that yawned in the desert, and presently -Gard caught sight of a dark object lying on the -sand, at the bottom of the fissure. It was a man. -The banks of the ditch sloped just there. Evidently -he had attempted to cross, and had been -caught in quicksand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was lying on his back, his arms outstretched, -his feet wide apart, a curious rigidity about his -whole figure. Gard’s long stride left Jinny far behind -as he ran.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hold on!” he shouted. “Somebody’s coming!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was no response from the man. He lay -as one dead, save for the occasional lifting now -of one arm, now of the other.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Down the sloping bank Gard ran, to the very -edge of the shifting sand. Here he stopped, and -began cautiously to tread, his feet side by side, -stamping, stamping, moving forward half an inch -at a time, but never ceasing to tread. He was -harried by the need of haste, but he made sure of -his progress as he went, knowing that the sand -must be solidly packed, every inch of the way.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>From time to time he spoke to the man, and at -last got a mumbled word or two from the swollen -lips. The need of haste was increasing every -second, and Gard worked breathlessly, now, till at -last he could touch his fellow, lying there.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Still marking time with his feet upon the sand, -he slipped from his own waist the riata he always -carried when he came down to the plain. He had -made it himself of finely braided hide, suppled and -wrought with faithful care, and he knew its -strength. Working fast, he raised the man’s -shoulders, ever so little, and slipped the rope -beneath his arms. He knotted it into a loop and -adjusted it over his own shoulders. Then, getting -a strong hold with his hands under the man’s arms, -he straightened up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sand slipped, and ran, gurgling horribly, -sucking, sucking, loth to lose its victim, but the -pull of rope and hands together counted. Gard -took a backward step and gained a few precarious -inches.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A second time he stooped, and straightened, repeating -the performance again and again, until the -man lay upon the trampled path. Gard could use -his strength to better advantage now, and half lifting -the dead weight, he drew it back to the edge -of the sand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man was barely conscious, but Gard laid -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>him on the sloping bank and gave him a little -water from his canteen.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It revived him somewhat, and was repeated, after -a moment. He was able to mumble now, begging -for more, which Gard gave him as fast as he dared, -till at last the poor fellow got to his hands and -knees, and was able, with help, to crawl slowly up -to the plain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Here, Gard soaked a little cake of oat flour in -water, and fed him like a baby, but it was an hour -before he was able, after many attempts, to get -the man upon Jinny’s back.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He could not sit erect, but Gard walked beside -him, supporting him, and the little cavalcade set -out for home. The rescued man was half delirious, -and muttered continually, between his pleadings -for water, of the heat; of thirst, and of the vultures. -Gard could not make out what particular -disaster had befallen him, but the empty canteen -slung at his back, and the absence of anything like -food, or of an outfit, was eloquent witness that a -desert tragedy had been averted.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Before they had gone far up the trail to the -glade the delirious muttering ceased; the man -swayed toward his rescuer until his head rested -upon the latter’s shoulder, and so they went on. -Whether he was asleep, or in a faint, Gard could -not tell.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>“He’s had a tough pull, that’s certain, Jinny,” -he said, giving the burro an encouraging -pat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Could Jinny have spoken she might have said that -she was herself having a hard pull. She had often -carried Gard, on the plain, but this dead weight, -on an up-grade, was a brand-new surprise for her. -She wagged her solemn little head sorrowfully as -she plodded on, and not even the oat cake that -Gard reached forth to her seemed to impart any -charm to life as she then saw it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They reached the glade at last, and Gard got the -stranger upon his own bed, covering him with the -great bear-skin robe. He brought him nearly all -that was left of the deputy’s whiskey, cherished -carefully all these months, and set to preparing a -meal.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He kicked aside the smoldering ashes of a nearly -burned out fire on the hard earth, and with a few -thrusts of a broad, flat stick, disclosed the earthen -jar of mesquite beans that he had left to cook in -his absence. Simmering with the beans were the -marrowbone of a deer and the carcass of a rabbit -caught that morning. The savory whiffs from the -steaming mess made the exhausted man on the bed -turn his face to the fire.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How in all git out,” he began, feebly, and -stared in amazement; for Gard had flanked the -bean-pot with another, taken from the fire he had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>quickly kindled by transferring the still smoldering -sticks from the bake-fire to the fireplace. The -visitor sniffed at this second pot, incredulously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where ’d you git coffee?” he demanded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sweet acorns,” Gard explained, briefly. He -was tasting the full joy of hospitality as he brought -wild honey, and more oat cakes, from the shack.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The stranger reached eager hands toward the -acorn coffee.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gimme some—hot!” he pleaded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard filled a crooked earthen bowl with it and -brought it to him, steaming. He drained it, almost -savagely, handing the bowl back with a sigh of -satisfaction that left nothing for words to express.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Partner,” he said, his little close-set eyes taking -in the scene, wonderingly, “This is sure a great -layout. How’d ye find the place, an’ what’s yer -game?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I got up here by chance,” Gard said, evasively. -“I liked the spot, and so I’ve stayed along. My -name’s Gard,” he added, remembering that he had -not told it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mine’s Thad Broome,” the other replied, “an’ -I’m runnin’ the hell of a streak o’ luck.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had moved his little table up beside his -guest, and now he proceeded to serve his meal on -flat, clay plates of rather nondescript shape. He -had a fork and a spoon, rudely fashioned of wood, -and these he allotted to the stranger.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>“Did you make everything ye’ve got?” Broome -demanded, examining them curiously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Very nearly,” was the reply, and the new-comer -began to eat, eagerly. At intervals, during -the meal, he told his story.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m a cowman myself,” he said, flinging a -bone out across the glade, “An’ if ever I git back -on the range ye kin fry me in skunk ile first time -ye ketch me off it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He took another great draught of the acorn -coffee, swearing, savagely, as he set the bowl down.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Seems like I’d never git the taste o’ the desert -out’n my mouth again,” he muttered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I was with the ‘K bar C’ outfit,” he went on, -“Up Tusayan way. Know it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard shook his head.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then ye’re that much better off,” Broome said, -gloomily. “The grub was fierce; they was a foreman -that was seven hull devils all rolled in one, -an’ a range that’d drive ye crazy to ride. I was -mighty sick of it, a while along, an’ I met up with -a cuss one day that ’d bin out prospectin’ an’ -struck it rich. So, bein’ a blame fool, I got the -fever.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He paused to watch his host, who was gathering -the remains of the meal and putting things shipshape -with a certain fine neatness that had become -the habit of Gard’s solitude.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>“D’ye allus put on as much dog as that?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“As much as what?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Cleanin’ camp like an old maid school-ma’am,” -was the reply. “Jus’ you alone: wha’d ye bother -for?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It had to be that, or to go on all fours.” Gard -offered no further explanation. Thad Broome’s -type was familiar enough; he had foregathered -with it by many a camp fire. He had saved this -man from a horrible death, and the fellow was his -guest; yet he realized, with a feeling of shamed -hospitality, that Broome’s presence was irksome.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Been here long?” the latter asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Longer than it has seemed, maybe,” laughed -Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s a difference in things,” he added, -lightly. “I guess, now, the time you were down in -the quicksand seemed longer than it really was?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell, yes!” Broome was launched again on -the stream of his troubles. He resumed the narrative, -sprinkling it liberally with oaths. He had -started out with a full equipment and a good -bronco, and the creature had “died on him,” a week -before, in the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You should have had a burro,” Gard said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So they said. But I stuck to the idee of a -bronc. I ain’t no walkist.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>“He didn’t last but three weeks,” he added, “an’ -when he croaked the damned buzzards was on ’im -before I got out o’ sight.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where were you going when you struck the -quicksand?” the other asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Tryin’ to strike the railroad, afoot,” was the -reply. “It’s me fer ridin’ when I can. I said I -wan’t no walkist. I got turned ’round. I kep’ -lightin’ load, an’ my grub gin out. Then I run -out o’ water.” He gave a shuddering gulp, and -continued:</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I run round a lot, lookin’ fer’t, till I got in the -quicksand. That was just before you hollered, I -guess. But them buzzards was Johnny on the spot -the minute I was down. I most went mad with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Didn’t you have a gun?” Gard asked. “Why -didn’t you fire it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gun? You bet yer life I had a gun. I fired all -my am-nition an’ then I fergit what. I guess I -threw the damned thing away. I got dotty, havin’ -no water.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And there was good water within twenty feet -of you,” Gard said, musingly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How’s that?” Broome’s tone was incredulous.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why didn’t you tap the nigger-head there by -the barranca?” his companion asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What—the big cactus like a green punkin? -What for?” Broome demanded, and Gard explained -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>the nature of the bisnaga. If he had cut -off the top he would probably have found a quart -or two of water. Broome listened with curious -intentness, and when the other had finished, broke -into a torrent of execration.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He cursed the desert in its nearness and its remoteness, -inclusively and particularly, for several -moments, until presently words seemed to fail him, -and the torrent of his oaths dribbled to an intermittent -trickle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When he finally paused for breath Gard sat as -though he had not heard, staring across the glade -at the fire, but Jinny, at his side, seemed all attention, -her long ears pricked forward, her sagacious -little visage turned full upon the stranger. There -was something disconcerting in the attitude of the -two, and Broome felt it, without comprehending it. -His voice trailed off weakly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mebby ye don’t like my remarks,” he said, -lamely, “I notice ye don’t cuss none yerself?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t I?” Gard asked the question in all simplicity. -“I didn’t know it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome stared, uneasily, until the other was -constrained to take notice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess I do,” he laughed, half apologetically. -“I guess I swear as much as anybody, when I feel -so,” he added, “but I don’t feel so much—not -nowadays.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>“Ye kin jus’ bet yer life,” blustered Broome, -with a show of being at ease, “that if ye’d bin -through what I have ye’d be ready to cuss the hull -blamed outfit.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He laughed loudly, as he spoke, but Gard was -replenishing the fire, and made no reply.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Long hours after Broome was sleeping, exhausted, -his host sat before the glowing embers. -The day’s experiences had brought much to consider.</p> - -<p class='c008'>For one thing, it was certain that the time had -arrived when he must return to civilization. He -could not keep Broome with him, even if the latter -wished to stay. He saw endless possibilities of -pain and trouble in such a partnership. And since -he could not keep him, he must himself go before -Broome had a chance to make any explorations. -His heart sank at the prospect.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s been mighty peaceful here, Jinny,” he -whispered to his faithful little comrade, who dozed -beside him in the firelight. “We’ll sure miss it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Jinny shifted her weight in her sleep, and her -head drooped lower.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“One thing, old girl,” Gard said, regarding her, -whimsically, “You don’t have to think about it. A -man’s different; he knows when he’s well off, and -hates to leave it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He glanced about him. The firelight touched -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>fitfully the encircling trees, the great rocks, the -open door of the shack where Broome lay asleep, -the gleaming pool. Above in the violet depths, -blazed the dipper; how many times he had watched -it patrol the sky!</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I hate to go,” he whispered, again, “I hate to -go, Jinny; but good as ’tis, I know it ain’t really -life. A man belongs with men. They may be -good or they may be bad; but a man’s got to take -’em as he meets up with ’em. He can’t be a real -man forever, just by himself.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER VII</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The first touch of dawn saw Gard awake and -stirring. He went softly about the glade, -feeding Jinny in her little corral off at one side, -and preparing his own breakfast. The meal finished, -he left food where his guest could find it, -and made his way up the cañon. He had settled -in his own mind that if Broome was able to travel -they should leave the glade on the following day; -but there was first something that he must do.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The forenoon was well advanced when Broome -stirred, opened his eyes and sat up with a start. -He was a moment or two realizing his surroundings -and recalling the events that had brought him -to this place.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He sat staring at the cabin; at the rough mud-and-stone -walls; the primitive fireplace; the rude -furnishings, and finally summed up his impressions -in a phrase:</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell! What a layout!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then, remembering Gard’s probable proximity, -he went heavily to the door.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>There was no one in sight. In the big outer -fireplace an “Indian” fire smoldered, guarded on -one side by the earthen coffee-pot, on the other by -the big kettle of beans. On the table were a bowl -and a plate; the former upside down over some -cakes of oat bread. Broome welcomed the sight, -for he was hungry.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wonder where the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i> got to so early,” he -muttered as he fell upon the food.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He ate swinishly, standing before the fire, and -had nearly completed his meal when he caught -sight of the inscription Gard had put upon the cup -from which he was drinking. His little shifty -eyes studied it curiously as he turned the cup -about.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What in tunk is that for?” he muttered, perplexed, -and when he had managed to decipher the -words he nearly dropped the little vessel in his -surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“T-h-e c-u-p o-f f-o-r-g-i-v-e-n-e-s-s,” he spelled -again, holding the cup up to the light and feeling -the sunken letters with one hard finger. “Rummy -kind o’ cup that’d be.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stooped to refill it with “coffee” from the -blackened pot in the embers and, as he straightened -up, his eye met another inscription, on a broad -stone beside the door of the cabin. He read it -aloud, laboriously:</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“<em>Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose -mind is stayed on Thee.</em>”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“‘Peace’—‘peace.’” Broome looked about him, -half dazed, groping in the void of his own spiritual -habitation for an explanation of what he saw.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s sure peace good an’ plenty in these -diggings,” he muttered, “if that’s what a man’s -aimin’ to locate; peace enough to drive him loco. -Guess that’s what ails him. He must be a jumpin’ -luny to go scratchin’ round like this.... There’s -another one!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He espied it on the wall over the pallet where he -had slept.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>I will both lay me down in peace and sleep; for -Thou Lord only, makest me dwell in safety.</em>”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had written that the day after the night of -terror when storm had devastated the glade; written -it remembering how his mother had taught it -to him, an imaginative little chap, afraid of the -dark. He had been saying his prayers one night, -beside his cot in the shed-chamber, when he became -afraid the SOMETHING was coming through the -gloom to grab him from behind as he knelt. His -mother, coming to tuck him up, found him cowering -under the blankets and winning from him the -secret of his fright, sat down beside him and taught -him the beautiful verse. Broome, reading it now, -experienced a feeling of dread.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>“Peace again,” he growled, “I hope he gets -peace enough with all his bug-house slate-writing. -The feller’s hell on religion; shouldn’t wonder if -he was a preacher.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned away with an awed shiver.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gosh!” he ejaculated, “I’m glad I didn’t see -that over my head last night. I couldn’t a’ slept -a wink.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He went outside again to fill and drink another -cup of acorn coffee, and when his bodily hunger -was satisfied left the debris of his meal on the -hearth and wandered about the glade, seeking -gratification of his objective curiosity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why!” he exclaimed, when he discovered -Jinny, in the corral, “The <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i> can’t be far off: -he’s left the burro!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He surveyed Jinny thoughtfully, as she stood at -the far side of the corral. Then he wandered over -to Gard’s rude pottery-factory.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’d like to know what the cuss is doin’ here,” -he thought. “He’s made his outfit from the -ground up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was struck by that as he continued his roving -scrutiny. Gard’s bow and arrows fairly frightened -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That fellow’s clean dotty,” he muttered. -“What in thunder kin a live man do with that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Presently he found the first knife Gard had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>fashioned, laid upon a ledge of the camp fireplace, -and turned it over like one bewildered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Shivering spooks!” he swore, softly; “If this -<em>ain’t</em> an outfit! He don’t look like a ‘lunger,’” he -added, referring again to Gard; “nor this ain’t no -prospector’s layout; nor the cuss don’t seem locoed—not -altogether. It’s what I thought. He’s -some kind of a preacher. He don’t cuss none, an’ -he seemed sorter quiet like last night. He didn’t -act just like it, though, neither.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Born of desire, another idea assailed him. -“Wonder where he keeps his whiskey,” he mused. -“That was a hell of a good sample he showed last -night.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He began to search more systematically, still -keeping an alert eye for Gard’s possible return.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They ain’t no hiding-place outside,” he decided, -and turned his attention once more to the cabin. -He had no idea what sort of a receptacle to look -for, and a scrutiny of the corners revealed nothing. -He crossed the room, to the fireplace, and suddenly -gave a little start. He had made what promised -to be a discovery.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He tiptoed to the door: no one was in sight, but -he stepped outside and again made the round of the -glade. Coming back, he took the precaution to -close the door when he reëntered the hut.</p> - -<p class='c008'>At the fireplace again, he stooped and put both -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>hands upon a stone half-way up one side of the -rude chimney. As he had foreseen, it came away -in response to a little lift—Gard’s hiding-place for -his treasure had been a most casual thing at best—and -a recess lay revealed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Again Broome listened for sounds outside, ere -he lifted first one, then the other, of the two buckskin -bags that lay before him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were not large; but they were very heavy, -and a peep into one revealed the yellow gleam that -he had expected.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The little eyes glittered, and the man’s fingers -opened and shut, clawlike, but he closed the bag, -tying its buckskin string, and put it back. There -were some papers with the bags, but he would look -at those later.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He fitted the stone back into place, scrutinizing -it keenly afterwards, to be sure that he had left no -signs of his meddling.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The sneakin’ cuss!” he snarled, moving back -from the chimney. “He’s got a mine up here! -That’s what he was so sly about last night. He’s -gone there now, an’ he thinks he’ll keep me out of -it. I’ll bet he’s up there covering his tracks.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was outside, now, muttering wrathfully. -“No ye don’t, my smart coyote,” he sneered, “Yer -kin just bet yer sweet life Thad Broome sits in this -game, sure!”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>He went the rounds again, scouting eagerly, till -his trained plainsman’s eyes detected a faint trail -leading over the rocks at one side of the stream.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was but the suggestion of a pathway, trodden -by Gard’s moccasined feet, but it was enough for -the pryer’s sharpened senses. A moment later -Broome had skirted the pool, and was hot on the -scent.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The trail grew clearer as he followed it, and he -pressed on, a growing rage in his heart, toward -the man who had found a good thing and was -keeping him out of it, after all that he had suffered. -Curiously enough, it was only his own part -in yesterday’s adventure that he remembered. -Gard’s agency in his rescue and present safety was -forgotten or ignored.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Half an hour’s cautious travel, and his ear -caught a sound somewhere beyond. He crept on -stealthily from one sheltering boulder to another, -keeping carefully out of sight, until at last, clambering -upon a shelving rock, he peered down upon -Gard at work below him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cañon was very deep here, its walls towering, -bare and grim, hundreds of feet in air. A -great mass of piled-up rock nearly bridged the -stream, and Broome could plainly see the nature -of the vein that had been laid bare. Its promise -fairly made him gasp.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>He could see, as well, what Gard was doing.</p> - -<p class='c008'>On the face of the rock, close beside the opening -where he had worked the claim, he had -scratched his location notice, roughly enough, with -his inadequate tools, but in letters perfectly legible, -defining clearly the boundaries of his claim as he -had staked it out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Having done this, he had gone over the letters -again, with charcoal, until they stared in inerasable -distinctness from the rock. Now he stood at a -little distance, regarding his finished work.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The damned, sneakin’ swine,” muttered the -watcher. “I’ll git even with him; he’s staked the -mother-lode.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He leaned forward eagerly to watch, as Gard -moved toward the opening in the rock. What was -he going to do next?</p> - -<p class='c008'>He saw him stoop for something, and crept -nearer the edge of the rock, forgetful of concealment. -Attracted by some slight sound Gard suddenly -glanced up and looked the spy full in the -face. In an instant Broome had sprung upon him -and was clutching at the mattock which the other -had just picked up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Think yer goin’ ter kill me with that, do yer?” -Broome snarled. “I’ll show yer!” He struck at -Gard’s eyes, at the same time striving to wrench -the tool from him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>Half blinded by the onslaught, the other clinched, -instinctively, with his foe, and a grim battle began.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Back and forth it raged, across the bit of sandy -floor at the base of the rocks, each man striving -for possession of the tool.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome was powerfully built, and he had rested -from the agony of the day before. He was the -heavier of the two, and he fought with an insane -fury that pressed his antagonist back against the -cliff before Gard had well recovered from the -shock of his attack.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Fiercely, silently the two struggled until Gard, -momentarily securing the mattock, flung it afar -upon the sand. Broome gave a shriek of savage -rage, and would have sprung for it, but the other -man closed upon him and caught him with one -powerful arm about the neck, pressing his face -earthward.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Desperately Broome grasped the other’s body, -striving to break that iron hold, but Gard’s blood -was up, and he “saw red,” as his free arm rained -blows upon the other’s back.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Strain as he would Broome could not break -free, nor trip his foe. The fellow seemed made of -iron, and the hammering of that fearful fist was -driving the breath from his body. He gathered his -forces for a last effort, but his breath already came -in gasps, and he sank in a heap upon the sand.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>Gard hauled him to his feet, fiercely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Stand up!” he shouted, as he faced him about.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome would have fallen again, but Gard upheld -him, forcing him forward over the rocks, back -toward camp. Once he turned, as if he would -strike, but a glance at that fierce, set face herded -him on again, cowed and stumbling.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What are ye goin’ ter do to me?” he demanded, -at last, tortured by Gard’s silence. There -was no reply.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve as good a right in the cañon as you,” -Broome persisted. He was in that state of hysterical -strain that could not refrain from speech.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wouldn’t have touched ye if ye hadn’t come -at me with that pick,” he lied. Still not a word -from Gard, and Broome kept quiet till they -reached camp, and Gard produced a rope.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was the same with which he had dragged the -fellow from the sand the day before; the loop that -had been about his body was still in one end. The -cowman shrieked when he saw it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What are ye goin’ to do to me?” he screamed. -“By God! You tell me! What’s that thing fer?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He sprang upon Gard again, and was tossed -back like a child. A moment later he was lying -upon the ground, bound hand and foot, and Gard -towered above him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>in cold scorn; “What would you do to me, if I -was where you are?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome glared his hate, and fear. “Yah!” he -snarled, “I’d kill yer. I’ll kill yer yet, if yer don’t -look out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>For reply the other gathered him up, dragged -him into the cabin and threw him upon the bed -there. Then he went outside.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard was in a state of amazement. He looked -at his own brown hands, and rolling up a sleeve -of his buckskin shirt gazed upon his own right -arm, lean, sinewy, knotted with iron muscles. He -contracted, then relaxed it, slowly, and finally -struck himself a resounding blow on the chest. -Then he laughed, under his breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And all this time,” he said, in a sort of wonder, -“I’ve thought I was a rather sick man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He walked over to the corral where Jinny’s -shaggy head showed over the barrier. There was -keen joy in his swift stride, and in the new sense -of power, and physical well-being, that filled him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jinny,” he said, tweaking one of the long ears -pricked forward to welcome him, “I guess the -right place for me is here in the corral.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He regarded the little burro thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I hate to break it to you, old girl,” he went on, -“But you’ve got to carry that load of dirt and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>poison down to the desert again. It’s the only -way.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned again and busied himself about the -camp, clearing away the debris of Broome’s meal, -and putting the place to rights. He brought out -the largest of his willow baskets, one that he had -made to fit Jinny’s back, and proceeded to fill it -from his food-stores. Broome, within the shack, -watched his movements whenever he came within -range, but he had learned his lesson, and asked no -questions. Later in the day Gard brought him -food, and released his hands that he might eat, -but neither man spoke, and when Broome had -finished eating his captor bound him again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Dusk was falling when Gard next came into the -cabin. He had changed his buckskin garments for -those he had worn two years before. He had been -saving them for such a day of need.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m going to untie your feet,” he said to -Broome, “and you’re coming outside.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He did as he had said, and Broome followed -him out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Jinny stood there, equipped with a home-made -bridle and a sort of saddle of deer-skin. Leaning -against a rock was a hamper closely packed. Gard -had put out the big camp fire and the place already -wore an air of desolation.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>Inside the cabin, alone, Gard looked about with -poignant regret.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s sure time to go,” he told himself, sorrowfully, -“But I hate to.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned to the hiding-place in the chimney -and secured the buckskin bags, and the papers.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s <em>that</em> to attend to, too,” he murmured, -fumbling the rumpled and stained sheets.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s been a good place,” he thought, as he shut -the door of the shelter, and looked about outside. -“To think what I was when I came here. Whatever ... yes, it’s the truth: it’s been the making -of me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He came and stood beside Broome.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You get on the burro,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man demurred. “I’d rather walk,” he objected.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I didn’t ask you what you’d rather do,” was -the reply. Gard was in no mood to bandy words, -and a look at his face convinced the other that -obedience was best.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When he was settled Gard proceeded to blindfold -him, whereat the cowman swore fiercely under -his breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll tell you now, Broome,” Gard said, when -he felt sure that the blindfold was secure, “You’ve -got nothing to be afraid of long ’s you behave -yourself. I won’t leave you in the desert, but I’ll -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>run no risk of your ever finding your way back -here. You wear that blind till I see fit to take it -off, and that’ll be when we’re good and well away -on the plain.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He shouldered the willow hamper.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Come along, Jinny,” he said, without looking -around again, and in the gathering dusk the outfit -took its way down the dry wash to the desert.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='small'>END OF BOOK ONE</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span> - <h2 class='c005'>BOOK TWO<br /> THE SIN-BUSTER</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER I</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>It was supper-time at the Sylvania Palace Grille. -Sylvania was an outfitting town for prospectors -and cow-punchers, and the occupants of the little -oilcloth-covered tables in the “Grille” were almost -exclusively of these two classes. The telephone -operator and the express-agent had already taken -their meal, and their departure, and this was not -the day for the tri-weekly stage, the driver of -which sometimes patronized Mrs. Hallard’s rotisserie.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sing Fat and Sing Gong, the two Chinese waiters, -slipped about attending to the demands of -patrons, and Mrs. Hallard herself, from behind a -counter, kept tabs on the room and set out the -liquid refreshments that the various customers -called for.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The place was full of noise and bustle. The -rattle of heavy crockery, the clink of steel knives -and forks, the raking of boots and spurs over the -plank floor, the clamor of voices and the monotonous -<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>sing-song of the two Chinese calling orders -to the cook, made up a medley in which, Mrs. Hallard -was wont to declare, she could hardly hear -herself think.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Despite this handicap, however, very little escaped -her. She managed to hear, with no apparent -difficulty, Steve Salton’s gently preferred request -that she “chalk up” the amount of his bill, and to -catch his mumbled replies to her swift interrogatories -as to his prospects for paying.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s all right if you’re going to have it,” she -said, with business-like crispness. “But I ain’t -here for my health, you know. I want to see the -color of your dust before too long.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s reasonable,” was Steve’s reply. “You’ll -see yer pay O. K. soon ’s I locate, an’ I’m bound to -when—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Cut it out!” Mrs. Hallard was already pushing -change across the counter to another customer. -“It’s chalked up, Steve.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Kate! oh, Kate!” The voice of an old habitué -came across the bedlam of sound: “Tell one o’ -them pigtailed lumps o’ sin,” it went on, “to fetch -me another pony o’ that white pizen o’ your’n, -quicker!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gong,” the presiding genius of the place said -calmly to one of the China boys, “Go tell Tombstone -he don’t need no more gin. Tell ’im I said so.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>Gong carried the message, delivering it over his -shoulder as he set another customer’s order of -“ham and” before him. Tombstone’s face, when -he received it, was worthy of his name.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell!” he ejaculated to anyone who might -listen, “That’s what comes o’ hashin’ off ’n a -woman.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was still muttering gloomily when he went -up to the desk to pay his score.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Kate,” he said with drunken gravity, as he -swayed before her, “The love o’ tyranny’s a bad -thing in a man. It’s plumb perilous fer a female.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard glanced from his money to him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s eatin’ you, Tombstone?” she demanded, -ringing up the cash-register.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’T ain’t me. It’s you, The love o’ power air -devourin’ you to that extent you can’t serve a man -his rations without cuttin’ ’em short. It were -plumb tyrannical in you to send me that there message -about the gin.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard’s handsome black eyes surveyed -him coldly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“When a gent’s that far in he goes howlin’ -a lady’s Christian name in public like you done just -now,” she said, “it’s a sign he don’t need no more -at present. There’s your change, Tombstone. -Now vâmose!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jake Lowrey!” she sent her voice level across -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>the reeking room to where a big, shaggy miner -was disputing with one of the Chinamen, “This -here’s an eatin’-house. ’T ain’t a cussin’ bee. If -you don’t like the victuals served you, you know -what you kin do. But while you’re in here you -quit swearin’.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t a cussin’ fer cussin’s sake,” the big miner -pleaded, above the laughter of the others. “I’m -only inquirin’ into the nature o’ this here sunny-side -Fat’s fetched me with my hash.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What color is it?” the proprietor of the eating-house -asked, and the egg on Jake’s plate immediately -became the center of all attention.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s yeller,” its owner called, surveying it -critically.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Naw ’t ain’t neither; it’s red,” another observer -decided.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s a lie. It’s just the color of an orange, an’ -oranges is yeller, ain’t they?” This from a third -critic.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If it’s yeller it’s a new-laid egg,” Mrs. Hallard -pronounced, judicially. “If it’s red, it’s a -fresh egg. Any other hen-fruit in this place is -ranch eggs, unless it’s chickens, an’ we don’t serve -them on the half-shell.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>During the silence that followed this elucidation -of the egg question the outside door of the place -opened hesitatingly, and a young Mexican girl -<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>looked in. Mrs. Hallard nodded, and she entered, -leading by the hand a blind countryman who carried -a guitar. The pair were evidently well known -to Mrs. Hallard’s patrons, and through the thick -cloud of tobacco smoke that filled the room a number -of the men shouted their greetings.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Buenos noches</span></i>, Conchita.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Howdy, Buttercup.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Put her here, ’Chita!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl responded to each greeting with a flash -of white teeth. A number of new-comers flocked -in after her, finding seats and shouting their orders -to the China-boys.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Come on, ’Chita, hit ’er up!” some one called.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl had guided her companion to a chair, and -the latter now twanged a few notes upon his guitar. -Presently Conchita began to dance, slowly, at first, -gradually quickening the pace, as she flitted back -and forth in the little open space before the counter.</p> - -<p class='c008'>By degrees this space became too confined for -her movements, and she drifted, like a bit of thistledown, -along the aisles between the tables.</p> - -<p class='c008'>When she came opposite Jake Lowrey she gave a -quick little leap and sprang upon the table before -him, where she pirouetted among the bottles of -condiments, and the tall glass of beer over which -he was lingering. She skirted them all, daintily, -her twinkling feet never still.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>Suddenly she paused, balancing marvelously -upon one toe, the other outstretched before the -man. Lowrey’s hand was already in his pocket, -now it came out holding a silver coin which he -placed upon the outstretched toe. In an instant it -was snapped into the air and caught by the whirling -dancer as it came down. A chorus went up -from the assembly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Here y’ are, Conchita!” “You know me, -’Chita.” “Put ’er here, little gal!” The men bid -openly for the dancer’s favor, making haste to -clear their tables as an inducement for her to -notice them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She sprang from Jake’s table to another, across -the aisle, and repeated her graceful, agile performance, -weaving in and out among the dishes, kissing -her fingers and smiling. Thus she wandered from -table to table, picking her favorites and taking toll -of each, going wilfully, it seemed, from silver lure -held plainly in sight, to tables where much less was -offered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In and out she flashed, now here, now there, -until it became apparent to all that she was working, -step by step, toward the one table whose occupant -had extended no invitation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>This one was in a corner of the room, and at it -sat a young man who was to all appearances -neither a prospector nor a cowboy, though he wore -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>a certain indefinable air of the plain. It showed in -the bronze of his face, where it was not covered -by a crisp brown beard, of a cut not worn by the -usual desert-dweller; in his big, strong, tanned -hands, that were supple and deft, despite the marks -of hard work upon them, and in the steady, farseeing -gaze of his brown eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The little dancer was close to the stranger’s -table now, and bending low to avoid a hanging -lamp, she sprang upon it, and calling something to -the guitar-player, set her feet a-twinkle through -a bewildering maze of perfectly calculated steps.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She glided about the edge of her tiny stage; she -blew lightly across it; she whirled madly in the -centre of it. Everyone in the room gazed, spell-bound, -realizing that their pet dancer was outdoing -herself on this occasion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Through it all the girl’s eyes never left the face -that was upturned to her gaze, the brown eyes regarding -her with a sort of consideration that no -others in the room had shown. Admiration, challenge, -desire, those other eyes had betrayed, but -these were different. Their quiet questioning held -no reproach; they were full of friendliness, and of -interest, and the coin that was presently laid upon -her out-thrust toe was cheerfully, even gaily proffered, -but the girl suddenly felt that both the interest -and the gaiety were different from her own.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>She tossed the silver dollar in air and caught it, -with a nod of thanks. Then she sprang to the -floor and ran up the aisle to where the blind Mexican -still strummed his guitar strings.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Este bestante!</span></i>” she cried, pouring her earnings -into his deep-crowned hat. “<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">No mas.</span></i>”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She kissed her fingers gaily to the applauding -men and turned toward the door. Only Kate Hallard’s -keen eyes noted, without seeming to see, that -she had knotted one silver coin into a corner of her -kerchief, and slipped it into her bosom.</p> - -<p class='c008'>No more visitors came into the Palace Grille. -Sylvania had supped, and the men at the tables -one by one came forward when the girl had gone, -to pay their bills and slip out into the street. In -the shortest of five minutes all were gone save the -stranger in the corner, and the two Chinese, who -padded softly about, putting the place to rights.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard had seen the stranger throughout -mealtime. She noted, moreover, that he had more -than one glance for her, the while he sat taking -his supper in a deft, dainty way that some men get -from much eating out of doors.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was accustomed to being watched. More -than one habitué of the place had taken his turn -at gazing at her, during the year that she had been -running the Palace Grille. She was not unpleasant -to look at, if a man were not over-sensitive about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>some things. She had an abundance of fair hair -that was not bleached, despite the contrast of her -black, long-lashed eyes. They were handsome -eyes, if bolder and harder than they might have -been if life itself had been less hard and bold for -this woman of the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>That it <em>had</em> been hard was told by the cold, -steady gaze of the dark eyes; by the worn line of -the cheek, and by the half contemptuous, half tolerant -set of thin lips that ought still to be full, and -curved, and red.</p> - -<p class='c008'>As she glanced over at the stranger, when both -the boys were out of the room, he left his seat and -came down to the counter. He was taller than she -had thought, she noted, and very slender. Despite -this latter fact, however, he gave an impression of -more than usual strength and activity. “He’d be -one blame hard man to down,” she thought, in the -instant before he was leaning upon the counter, -tendering the price of his meal.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This must be a mighty uncomfortable life for a -woman,” he said in a matter of fact way, watching -her register the payment.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mebby,” she answered, shortly. He spoke -again, with a sort of gentle persistence.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I shouldn’t think you’d care much about it?” -There was a questioning quality in his voice, that -Mrs. Hallard felt would presently win an answer, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>whether she would or no. She went on “ridding -up” the counter, and set a bottle of “square-face” -back on the shelf behind her, with rather unnecessary -energy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t know as my caring about it would make -any difference,” she finally said. “Leastways it -never made none to me, an’ I guess it needn’t to -nobody else.” This last was said with some significance -of emphasis.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know,” the stranger spoke half absently. -“But I’d have thought,” he continued, looking up, -“that you would have preferred to keep to the -range.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A startled look came into the hard black eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What do you mean?” Kate Hallard cried. -“What do <em>you</em> know about the range? Who be -you, anyway?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Did you sell it?” the stranger persisted, ignoring -her questions.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sell it!” she burst out, shrilly. “If you know -anything about it, you know I never got a chance -to sell it. It melted; it never got to be mine.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Her voice had risen until the sound brought Sing -Fat in from the kitchen to observe. Seeing this, -she lowered it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look a’ here, Mister,” she said, sharply, “If -you’re as wise as you’re tryin’ to make out, you -know how I got done outer the range.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>“I honestly don’t know,” was the reply. “I -found your deed, and I’ve been hunting you up -to give it to you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She stared at him, in a sort of awe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You found that deed?” she whispered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes; I have it. But how did you lose the property?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She left off her desultory arranging of bottles, -and leaned toward him, across the counter.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hallard bought the range off’n an Easterner -named Oliphant,” she began. “He was goin’ to -stock it, an’ then you’d never a’ seen me here. -He’s got the deed all square, an’ he leaves it with -me till he goes down to Phoenix to record it. -Then he goes and gits killed bustin’ an outlaw -horse fer Hod Granger, and leaves me to manage -fer myself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The stranger uttered a little murmur of sympathy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But you had the deed,” he suggested, as Mrs. -Hallard seemed lost in thought.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, yes! I had it all right. But I give it to -Frank Arnold to record fer me. He was goin’ -down to Phoenix, an’ I guess they was some hoodoo -onto it; fer Frank, he got killed too—got killed -in a cloudburst—an’ when they found his body -every bone in it was broke an’ they was hardly a -rag onto it. So the deed was lost.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>“But surely this man Oliphant would have made -it right for you?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Would he though? That’s where you ain’t -guessin’ right.” Mrs. Hallard’s laugh had no -mirth in it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s what they told me,” she said. “An’ so -I see a lawyer, an’ he undertakes to write Oliphant, -that’s gone back east. But after a spell he comes -an’ tells me the sneakin’ thief’s gone an’ sold that -prop’ty twice, an’ cleared out. Think o’ that, will -you, an’ him a old, old man.... Out here fer his -health, he was. Lord! if he don’t need a hotter -climate ’n even this is.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Was the second deed recorded?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet your life it was. The man that’d -bought it saw to that, an’ he didn’t have the luck -to git killed, neither.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must say he tried to act decent, though,” Mrs. -Hallard added, “but o’ course he’d paid his money -fer the prop’ty, same ’s Ed Hallard did, an’ Ed, he -paid twelve thousand.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, I know.” The stranger had the deed in -his hand. “What did the man do for you?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well: not much, but mebby he wouldn’t a’ done -that if it hadn’t bin fer Mr. Westcott—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>Who</em> did you say?” The stranger’s gentle -voice suddenly sharpened to keen interest.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>“Ash Westcott. He was my lawyer,” Mrs. Hallard -explained.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It was he who told you about the second sale?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure! How else ’d I know?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I see.” He stood pondering her story until at -last she took up the tale again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mr. Westcott—he talked it over with the man -that bought it. I didn’t have nothin’ but my word -to back me; an’ as he told me, I really couldn’t -make a claim, an’ I didn’t have no case to go after -Oliphant with. But the other feller he give me -three hundred dollars fer a quit claim, an’ that set -me up here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You gave a quit claim?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Just to make the man feel easy. Westcott said -it’d be the best way. He was mighty kind about -raisin’ the money fer me. I hadn’t a red after I’d -settled up Ed’s debts an’ small matters.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Here’s your deed.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She took it, eagerly, and they pored over it together. -The stranger pointed to a signature at the -end of the acknowledgment.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you know that man?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She studied the name. “Never hearn of him,” -she said, “What’s he got to do with it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He was the notary before whom the deed was -acknowledged,” was the reply. “If we could get -hold of him we might learn something, and I think -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>it would pay you to try to find out something -from Oliphant.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know where he is,” was the bitter response, -“an’ if I did, I tell you I ain’t got a cent -to do anything with. I ain’t more ’n makin’ a -livin’ here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess that could be fixed,” the stranger said. -“I’ve got some.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She looked him over, fixedly, with her black -eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“An’ where do you come in?” she demanded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He laughed, ever so gently.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m not figuring about that,” he answered. -“But if I were you, and could get hold of the money -to do it, I’d try and see this thing through; and,” -he added, significantly, “I guess I’d hunt up some -other lawyer than this Mr. Westcott.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He met her gaze without hesitation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s some folks does say Westcott’s sharp,” -she said, slowly. “Be you one of ’em?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man smiled, without speaking.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t believe it,” Kate Hallard mused. “He -wouldn’t dare. Besides,” she added, after a little -thought, “he’d a known he was fair skinnin’ me, -and he was the one tried to see to it I had a little -money out’n it. He wouldn’t a’ taken my last -nickel.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A strange look came into the man’s face. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>“Maybe he didn’t spend much time reflecting on -that,” he said, slowly. “Anyway, if I were you -I’d see about it, and I guess the money can be -found.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You ain’t told me yet who you be,” Kate Hallard -remarked, studying him narrowly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“My name is Gabriel Gard.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well, Mister Gabriel Gard,” she said, “I never -hearn of <em>you</em> before, an’ I ain’t sure I understand -as well ’s I wanter before I make any deals.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You can trust me,” Gard said, simply, meeting -her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And this Westcott,” she exclaimed, sharply, -“If he’s done me so! If he has—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She gripped the counter, her teeth showing, savagely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Easy!” said Gard quietly, “Better keep cool. -The man ain’t worth riling yourself up over. Besides, -I believe we can do something, with this.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He touched the deed, and she picked it up again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I want to try to get hold of Oliphant,” he began, -outlining his plan, “and this notary, Arthur -Sawyer.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard regarded him with an unwonted -expression of mingled helplessness and perplexity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oliphant’s gone back east as I said,” she answered, -“An’ this here Sawyer ’s new to me. I -never knew nothing about him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>Gard stood considering, a long sequence of unexpected -difficulties developing itself before his -mind. He had found the Hallard deed among the -deputy’s papers, and had kept it carefully, against -such time as he could restore it to the owner. His -first act after leaving Broome, when the pair -reached the railroad track, had been to go to Yuma. -Here he acquired the habiliments of civilization, -and found a temporary home for Jinny. He had -stopped in Tucson long enough to file his claim -there, and then set about finding the Edward Hallard -to whom the deed referred. It was a matter -of a fortnight before his inquiries revealed the fact -of Ed Hallard’s death, and the whereabouts of his -widow. Now he had no way of judging how long -it might be before he could strike the trail of this -unknown Arthur Sawyer who had taken the acknowledgment -of the deed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In any event, he realized that the delay meant -postponement of certain cherished plans of his -own; perhaps danger to them. He had met a -man at Yuma, and another in Tucson, who had -known him as Barker, and though they had not -recognized him, so greatly was he changed, still -he could not ignore the possibility that any day -someone might remember him. Until his plans -were perfected, the territory was perilous ground -for him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>He frowned a moment, lost in thought; then he -squared his shoulders and met Mrs. Hallard’s gaze -with eyes that were full of steady peace. He had -made up his mind. His own matters must wait -until he had straightened out this woman’s tangle -of wrong.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ve got to find this man Sawyer,” he repeated, -“And I hardly know where to begin trailing -him. We’ve got to get hold of Westcott, too; -you say he’s at Tucson?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He lives there,” was the reply; “or did last I -knew. I ain’t heard from him in a long time now. -No need to.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well: I guess the best thing to do first, is to -write to him. You tell him you’ve found your -deed: no need to say how. We’ll see what he’s -got to say, and—” There was the least perceptible -hesitation, “if he comes up here, and you want me -to,” he continued evenly, “I’ll talk with him for -you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard looked relieved.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re mighty good,” she cried, “Fact is I’m -afraid ... you see, I....”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The outer door was pushed open and a big -Mexican vaquero put in his head.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s up, Manuel?” Mrs. Hallard asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The vaquero hesitated: “<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">No mas</span></i> supper?” he -said, tentatively.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>“Supper all right,” was the reply. “You’re -late, Manuel. What you doin’ off the range?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The Mexican made a laughing gesture, crooking -up his elbow. Mrs. Hallard frowned, noting his -condition.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You don’t git no booze here,” she said, “You’ve -had enough. Fat’ll bring you some coffee an’ you -eat a meal an’ git back on the range. You had -trouble enough last time, I should think.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The fellow sat down, shamefacedly, and Sing -Fat came in to serve him. A moment later another -customer entered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s always the way it goes,” Kate Hallard -commented, “One straggler always brings another. -They’ll come dribblin’ in now, one at a -time, till closin’-time.... But I say, Mr. Gabriel -Gard, don’t you go thinkin’ I don’t appreciate -what you’ve done. I’ll write Westcott like you -say, an’ mebby it’ll come out all right; but I ain’t -much hopeful of it. Things don’t, much, outside -o’ story books.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The hard look was in her face again. Gard met -it with his steady smile.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You watch this one come out right,” said he. -“I guess things mostly are right, if we could see -’em straight.” He was turning toward the door.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’re liable sometimes to pick ’em up by the -wrong end,” he added. “We’ll find out which is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>the right end of this before we lift it, and then—” -the smile deepened, and included the dark eyes—“Then -we’ll lift,” he called back as he closed the -door behind him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sylvania’s one business street was lighted only -by the stars, and the feebler rays that shone from -a few illuminated windows. In the yellow glare -from one of these a group of cowboys were dismounting -by the rail of Jim Bracton’s Happy -Family Saloon.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Howdy, Stranger,” one of them called, as he -stumbled against Gard on reaching the ground, -“Excuse <em>me</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He glanced a second time at Gard’s face and -smiled, genially. “Thinkin’ o’ minglin’ up in this -mad whirl?” he asked, “Come on.” And together -they entered the precincts of the Happy Family.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER II</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The scene in which Gard found himself was of a -sort he had known familiarly enough in years -past. The low-ceilinged shanty, rough-boarded and -blackened; the sawdust-strewn floor, the painted -bar with its distorting mirror and motley array of -bottles, and even the faces of the men showing -duskily through the smoke-veiled light of flaring -coal-oil lamps, seemed to him like details of a half-forgotten -dream.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The evening was fairly begun and the place was -filling. A group of prospectors near the bar were -listening derisively to the brand-new theory one of -their number was propounding, regarding the -whereabouts of the lost Peg-leg mine. At the -farther end of the room the thump of a broken-down -wheel-of-fortune and the monotonous calls of -its manipulator, proclaimed the occupation of the -crowd of Mexicans gathered there. Some cowboys -at a table near the door were engaged in a -game of dominoes, and beyond them three or four -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>men were playing poker. Gard noticed with some -surprise that one man of this group was an Indian, -who seemed to be betting freely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That there’s old Joe Papago,” the cowboy who -had come in with him volunteered, noting his -glance. “Old Joe, he’s the best-fixed Injun ’round -here. I hearn he sold ten head o’ beef cows over t’ -Tucson, yesterday, an’ got his money. Must ’a’ -got whiskey, too, by the looks of ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He put a foot on the bar rail and surveyed the -scene tolerantly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s a mighty ornery bunch o’ human buzzards -hangs out in this town o’ Sylvania,” he said, -candidly. “But a feller’s gotter pass some time in -social pursuits now ’n again, an’ he has to take his -kind as he meets up with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard was still recently enough from solitude to -thrill with the sense of human companionship.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’T ain’t always the roughest looking ones that -are the worst,” he suggested, sympathetically.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s where you’re shoutin’.” The cow-puncher -brought a big fist down emphatically. -“For all right hell,” he said, “a real polished gent -can give these chaps cards an’ spades an’ beat ’em -to the devil when he tries. We had one here last -year, a gent that played cards—played ’em too -damn well fer his own health, finally. But he was -that polished in his manners as I ever went anywheres -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>to see, an’ he could lie in five different languages.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, sir,” he added, meditatively, “five different -kinds o’ mortal human conversations that feller -had a cinch onto; an’ he couldn’t behave hisself in -ary one of ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What you havin’?” he suddenly broke off to -ask, as the barkeeper signified his readiness to attend -to them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m drinking lemonade,” Gard said, and the -cow-puncher took another look at him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gimme the same,” he finally told the barkeeper, -with serious politeness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mebby I’d oughter beg your pardon”; he -turned to Gard with a look of anxiety on his -face. “I reckon I was a little careless in my talk if -you happen to be a sin-buster.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A what?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sin-buster. You sabe bronco-buster, don’t you; -an’ trust-buster?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, sure.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well then, ain’t sin-buster plain United States? -It’s what a preacher-feller oughter be if he’s on -his job, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess it is,” was Gard’s reply, “but I’m not a -preacher. I just haven’t been drinking much of -late years, and don’t know ’s I care to.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh! that’s it? Well lemonade ’s pretty good -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>stuff,” the cow-puncher said, cheerfully. “I can’t -seem to remember when I’ve had none, but I -reckon it’ll taste first rate. I ordered it thinkin’ -you was maybe religious.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He finished a little ruefully, with a questioning -inflection on the last words. Gard laughed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m not, I guess,” he said, “leastways not so ’s -to hurt me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s good,” the cow-puncher nodded, approvingly, -“Though religion don’t hurt a good -person,” he added, meditatively.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He removed his broad-brimmed felt hat and -peered into the crown. His head was thatched with -close-cropped, grizzly-gray hair; his face was -tanned and seamed by wind and weather, thin-lipped -and stern as to the mouth, under his short -moustache, with steadfast blue eyes that had the -plainsman’s and the sailor’s trick of vigilance. It -was a face to be trusted—shrewd, honest, capable, -yet full of a simplicity that was almost childlike. -Gard found himself warming to the fellow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose you belong about here?” he suggested.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure. My name’s Sandy Larch. I’m foreman -out ’t the Palo Verde, below here. Know the -range?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard admitted that he did not. “I’m new ’round -here,” he explained, as he told his name.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>“I’m looking for a man,” he added, tentatively, -“a notary named Sawyer: Arthur Sawyer. Ever -hear of him?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch reflected, repeating the name -thoughtfully. “Was he a lunger?” he finally asked, -“A little feller, with broken wind, an’ a cough that -’d drive you wild to hear?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know.” The description took Gard’s -memory back to the days when he, too, had had -such a cough. “I never saw him,” he explained, -“But I’m mighty anxious to get hold of him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There was a man up in the Navajo country,” -Sandy continued, “Where the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i> was runnin’ -the Bar Circle G. He stayed ’round quite a considerable, -doctorin’ his lungs. Then the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i> sold -out up there; he had this range too, in them days; -an’ I ain’t never seen this Sawyer chap down this -way. The <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i> might tell you. Know him—Morgan -Anderson?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was a name well known in the territory. Gard -had seen its owner once or twice, in the old -days. He said something of the sort to the cow-puncher.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’s away just now,” the latter told him; “but -he’ll be back in a few days, an’ you can ask him. -I’d know whatever did become o’ that chap.... -Look a’ there, will you?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He glanced over to where the men were playing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>poker. One of them had reached over and pulled -a big brown flask from the Papago’s coat-pocket.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Time you treated us to a drink, Joe,” he said, -with a half-insolent air of fellowship.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The Indian nodded, smiling vacuously, and the -bottle went around the table, each man helping -himself. When it came back to its owner he rose -with it, and crossed to the door, going out into the -street. The men at the table looked at one another -with a grin and one of them examined the hand of -cards that the Indian had left behind him. He had -just laid it down again when the Papago came -back, and the game was resumed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wouldn’t that rattle your slats now?” Sandy -Larch asked, disgustedly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Joe,” he continued, “don’t dast drink even his -own lickker in here. It’s agin the law for an Indian; -an’ Jim Bracton wouldn’t stand fer ’t; he -goes outside to take a drink, while them buzzards -swills it in here, right before him; an’ they’re gittin’ -his wad, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard made no reply. He had more than once -glanced at the group, while he and the foreman -were talking, and now he watched them interestedly, -an intent look in his deep eyes. A moment -later he had turned, and was moving toward the -players.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Thinkin’ o’ sittin’ in?” Sandy Larch asked, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>jestingly. “They’s sure need of an honest-notioned -man to deal them cards. But it’d be ticklish -business.... Good Lord!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was staring in earnest, now, and instinctively -reached for the gun in his back-pocket, though -he did not draw it. The stranger had approached -the poker-players, and stood over them, his big, -empty hands outspread upon the table before them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The men whom he had interrupted looked up in -surprise. The prospectors who had been discussing -the Peg-leg suddenly became silent. The dominoe-players -ceased the rattle of their game and -stared. A hush was upon the whole room, a tense -feeling of pending excitement. One or two men -instinctively measured their own distance from the -door, and from the center of coming activities. -Jim Bracton stared open-mouthed from behind his -bar.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who is the feller?” he demanded. “Friend o’ -yourn, Larch?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not that I knows,” was the foreman’s reply. -“I never saw him before, but I’m sure willin’ to -sit in to any game where he holds a hand.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He started forward, ready to draw on the instant, -but the stranger seemed not to see him. He -had gathered the eyes of the poker-players in his -own indignant gaze, and now addressed them collectively:</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>“Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “you ought not to -be doing this.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Glory be!” groaned Sandy Larch under his -breath, “now wha’ d’ you think o’ that fer a simple -speech?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The astounded men to whom Gard spoke sat -silent, not one of them making a move. They were -held spell-bound by the gentle quality of his fearlessness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Somebody ’s been breaking the law, and selling -this Indian whiskey,” Gard went on, in a matter-of-fact -tone. “It was a mighty bad thing to do, and -you are doing something a heap wickeder. He is -drunk now, and he doesn’t rightly sense what he’s -doing. You ought not to play cards with him. -You’re drinking his liquor and helping him to get -drunker; and—<em>you’re cheating him, out of his -money</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The big wheel-of-fortune had ceased to whirr -now, and the silence of the room was broken only -by a snarling question from one of the men Gard -had addressed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What in hell o’ your business is it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s every man’s business when another man -breaks the law,” was the quiet reply. “You’d better -quit playing now, friend,” Gard continued, -turning to the Papago. “You’d better quit right -off, while you’ve got something left, and go home.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>“You stay where you be, Joe,” growled the man -who had asked the question. “Don’t you climb out -fer no tenderfoot. I’ll settle the—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stopped speaking as the stranger’s eyes -blazed full upon him for an instant.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You go <em>now</em>, Joe,” Gard said, in a low, even -voice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Like a man in a dream old Joe rose, slipping into -his pocket the coins he had been about to put into -the game when Gard interfered. The tenseness of -the situation had brought him to some measure of -sobriety, and he did not reel as he left the room. -A moment later the patter of his pony’s unshod -feet came to the listening ears within.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard still held the other men in a gaze that -seemed to search and estimate the hidden thought -of each.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now they’ll kill him, sure,” Sandy Larch -thought, slipping nearer, but the stranger took no -notice of him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Friends,” he said, breaking at last the tense -silence that ruled the room, “There’s a law against -making an Indian drunk, and there’s a law against -robbing him. They’re white men’s laws; and -white men ought to keep ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It ain’t right”; he went on, still leaning upon -the table, and the men listened, as if hypnotized. -“There’s things a man can’t do without getting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>lower down than any man wants to be, and cheating -a drunken Indian is one of ’em. That’s the -truth of it. You ought not to do it, and when you -do somebody’s got to make you stop. That’s why -I interfered.... There ain’t any reason though,” -he added, as if an after thought, “why you -shouldn’t go on with your game, now; I’m going -to say good-night.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He straightened up, and turning his back upon -the group walked quietly toward the door. Half-a-dozen -men were ready, now, to draw in his defense, -but there was no need. Not a man of those whom -he had brought to book moved. They sat like -men dazed, until the door had closed upon Gard; -then, with an oath, one of them seized upon the -cards.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What th’ Almighty ’s the matter with you -fools?” he growled. “Whose deal is it, anyhow? -Git int’ the game, you. This ain’t no damned kindergarten!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They resumed their playing, sullenly, and the -spell upon the room was broken. Sandy Larch -wiped his damp forehead upon a huge red handkerchief, -and turned to the bar.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jim,” he said, feebly, “set down that there bottle -o’ whiskey, will ye? I sure need it in my -business right now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He measured a liberal potion and swallowed it.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>“An’ he said he wa’nt no sin-buster,” he muttered. -“He sure was on the job, though.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But wa’nt that a sweet line o’ talk to hand out -to men folks, Jim? How’d it come they didn’t -kill ’im?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Search me,” was the barkeeper’s reply. “I had -my gun all limbered. I sure expected the place ’d -be shot up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He tells ’em it wasn’t right,” Sandy mused, -absently refilling his glass. “He tells them b-a-a-d -men <em>’twasn’t right</em>! An’ there they sits, like they -was throwed an’ hog-tied, while he turns ’round -his back to ’em an’ walks out like they ain’t a thing -on earth to be afraid of. Lord! He can have me!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He drained his glass and departed, leaving the -Happy Family to its own devices.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard, meantime, had walked out beyond the -town to the open desert. His spirit was full of -trouble, hot with indignation at what he had seen, -oppressed with a sense of the complexity of the life -into which he was so suddenly plunged. It was -hard to realize that the still, bright stars above him -were shining, as well, upon the clean peace that -dwelt in the glade. His thoughts turned thither -like homing birds, and he walked on across the -cactus-dotted sands, until he could look toward the -shadowy bulk of the far mountains, visible in the -marvelous desert starlight. Somewhere in that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>direction, he knew, the glade lay, and gradually a -feeling came to him of quiet, and of renewing -strength. He was able to think calmly of the sudden -complication in his plans, and to consider the -best course to pursue.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He would see Morgan Anderson as soon as possible. -In the meantime Mrs. Hallard would write -to Westcott. He would probably be obliged to talk -with the lawyer for her: the mere thought set his -nerves tense; until this matter was settled his own -affairs must wait. Of this there was no question -in his mind as he directed his steps in a wide circuit -back to the town.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was nearing its outskirts when he felt a light -touch upon his arm. One of his hands was seized -in two small, clinging ones, and covered with soft, -hot kisses. He turned quickly, freeing himself -with a little shake, and looked into the upturned -face of ’Chita, the dancer.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The bright stars lighted her face to a mystic, -witching glow; her eyes gleamed upon him in soft -summons as she leaned toward him, seeking again -to possess herself of his hand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He drew back, ever so little, and seeing this she -stretched both arms out to him in a wide, pleading -gesture, her smiling lips parted in mute supplement -to the invitation of her gleaming eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Still as a graven man he stood, regarding her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>steadily, and she came no nearer. Instead, she -shrank a little, her hands dropping to her sides, her -dark eyes fastened upon his. Gard’s stern eyes -softened and he came a step closer, brooding over -the trembling girl without touching her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Child,” he said, “haven’t you any mother? -Isn’t there anybody to take care of you?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Only her heaving shoulders answered him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t cry,” Gard said, his voice full of pity. -“I—I don’t like to hear little girls cry.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She shivered toward him again, and reaching -quickly, her arm stole round his neck, the other -hand seeking his face. “I love you,” she whispered. -Her fingers pressed his lips, and he put her -back, firmly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t,” he said sharply. “You don’t understand. -Why—you’re only a little girl. Where is -your home, child? I am going to take you there.” -She sprang back with a cry, and her anger flashed -out upon him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” she stamped one foot upon the sand. “Do -I not understand? Think you I do not? You miserable! -You have never the heart of a <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">caballero</span></i>. -You are but <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">hombre</span></i>, after all!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She caught her breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gringo swine!” she hissed. “<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Hombre!</span></i> It is -not the heart of a <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">caballero</span></i>!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I haven’t got the heart to crush little girls,” he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>answered, “if that’s what you mean. Tell me -where you live. I’m going to take you home. -You must not be out here alone.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He spoke now with protecting concern. The -girl’s mood had changed again, and she was sobbing -passionately.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you live in the town?” Gard persisted, and -she shook her head. Half unconsciously she was -walking beside him as he moved forward.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hush!” she suddenly cried, checking her sobs.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Across the desert came the sound of a man’s -voice, calling angrily. ’Chita put out a hand, arresting -Gard’s steps.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It is my father,” she whispered. “He is blind; -but he has ears of the coyote. If he hears you—if -he knows—he will beat me!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was but a child, now, in her terror, and Gard -reassured her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll never know,” he said. “No one will ever -know. You go back, now, like a good girl. And -remember: you must never do a silly thing like this -again. Will you promise me?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She lifted a pale face toward his, in the starlight. -Her eyes were luminous, now, with new, strange -emotion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Señor,” she whispered, “it <em>is</em> the heart of a -<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">caballero</span></i>. Señor—you are good.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You will promise?” Gard persisted.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>Again that summoning voice rang across the -desert. The girl called in Spanish that she was -coming.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I promise,” she cried, with a sobbing catch of -the breath. “<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Buenos noches</span></i>, Señor.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She caught Gard’s hand again, for an instant, -resting her cheek against it, the fraction of a second.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Buenos noches</span></i>,” she whispered again, and sped -away into the soft, starry gloom.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER III</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The desert was a marvel of mauve and yellow -and rose-color, under a canopy of blue. The -sun was not too hot, and the air was vital and sustaining. -Helen Anderson, riding over the hard -plain, sniffed it joyously. She loved the smell of -the desert, that intangible, indescribable odor that -is yet so permeating: one of the fixed facts of -the region. She had missed it, hungrily, during -four years of exile from the Palo Verde.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She lifted her eyes to the sapphire-blue mountains -on the horizon and laughed aloud for sheer -joy, with a sense of physical well-being, as her -vision ranged from these to nearer scenes. She -was passing a Papago’s hut, a tiny structure of -cream-colored adobe, with a dark roof of thatch. -The hut itself was hardly larger than its own big -chimney, and squatted on the yellow sand, in its -little patch of shade, was an Indian woman.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She wore a skirt of dark blue stuff, and a white -reboso was wound about the upper part of her body -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>and carried over her dark hair. Her dusky arms -were bare, and her brown hands patted and shaped -and smoothed a pot of red clay, soon to be -baked in the little kiln where a fire was already -glowing.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen called a gay greeting to her and she looked -up, showing her white teeth in a broad smile. Then -she paused in her deft handling of the wet, red -clay, to flip a bit gently at the inquisitive nose of -Patsy, Helen’s fox terrier, who was minded to investigate -the pottery operations. Helen called the -dog and lifted her pony to a gallop. So the three -went scampering off in a wild race over the level -sand. A mile was measured before the girl drew -rein again, with a blissful sigh of pure happiness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And to think,” she told herself, with a little -feeling of unreality about it all, “that back in New -England there is snow on the ground, and fire in -the furnaces, and people who must be out of doors -are thumping their arms, to keep warm, and telling -one another what a glorious, bracing climate they -have.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She fell into a brown study and her reins lay -loose upon the pony’s neck while she went back -over the four happy years she had spent in the land -of snow. How strange it seemed that so short a -while ago the east, New England, even college itself, -had been to her mere names. Then, for four -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>years, they had been such happy entities. What a -beautiful memory her whole college life was!</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And now,” she mused, “it seems as if it were -all fading back into the dream again, yet I know -things are as real, back there, as they ever were, -and the real me, that Radcliffe helped make, is here -in a real place, with the realest sort of things to do.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“For one thing,” she said, half aloud, “I can -keep right on making Father glad I’m home for -good, and showing him that he need not worry -about me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>That thought checked a growing wistfulness in -her mood. Morgan Anderson <em>was</em> glad to have his -girl back, even though he had his well-defined -doubts as to the desert being the best place for her. -Her college years had been weary years to the -lonely man, and his happiness in the new order was -a beautiful part of Helen’s home-coming.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl could scarcely remember her mother. -There had always been Jacinta, her half-Spanish -nurse, now the household factotum, in the background -of her childish years. In the foreground -was the well-loved figure of her father, who had -been her friend and constant companion. It was -he who had taught her to read and to write, and to -do plane and solid geometry: to ride hard, to shoot -straight, and to tell the truth. Beyond these her -education, other than what old Jacinta could impart, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>had been received at the hands of one of the -cowboys on the range, a college graduate with a -love for the plains.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Aunt Everett had been horrified at this arrangement. -Aunt Everett was her father’s relative, who, -on two formidable occasions, had descended upon -the rancho and undertaken to revolutionize the -household. This she did out of a sense of duty to -Helen, who, she declared, was growing up in sheer -savagery and ignorance.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen was twenty years old when Aunt Everett -paid her second, and last, visit. It was then the -momentous decision was reached that the girl -should go to college. It was for the sake of his -own youthful dream of Harvard, that had never -come true, that Morgan Anderson had fixed upon -Radcliffe, and Helen’s four beautiful years had become -a fact.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She sighed again, recalling those years.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They were so lovely,” she murmured, “and -they have sent me back—how is it old Marcus -Aurelius phrased it?—‘free from all discontent -with that to which thou returnest.’</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Free from discontent?” she cried, taking in -another deep, long breath of the buoyant air, “I -should say I am! I was never in my life so aboundingly -happy!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The pony was walking slowly, and as Helen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>looked about she became aware that Patsy was not -in attendance upon them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She halted, anxiously, the dog was a recent acquisition, -given her by Sandy Larch, on her return -from college, she was training him to keep with -her. This was the first time she had really forgotten -him. She reproached herself as she rode back -over the way they had come, for letting her wits go -wool-gathering.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She called the terrier, reining in from time to -time, but there was no response, and becoming at -last thoroughly alarmed, she dismounted, dropping -the pony’s reins over his head to the ground, and -started on foot to investigate among the cacti.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’s found a gopher-hole somewhere,” she -said to herself, as she went whistling about among -the greasewood and cacti.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She ceased to whistle, presently, vexed at Patsy’s -lack of response, and continued her search in silence -until, rounding a cactus-grown knoll, strewn -with loose stone, she suddenly halted, warned by a -familiar, burring sound that for an instant made -her heart jump.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A few yards away from her was the terrier, -rigid, immovable, the hair along his back, even the -loose skin between his shoulders, stiffly erect. His -lips were drawn back from his white teeth; his ears -were pricked forward, and his whole body shuddered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>with the vibration of his low, continuous -growling.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Near the dog, lying prone, his face turned toward -her, Helen saw a man, and still beyond him, -alert, motionless, save for the minute quiver of -that ominous, buzzing tail, a huge rattler was -coiled, its cold, wicked little eyes fixed upon the -dog.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must not scream; I must not faint,” the horrified -girl told herself, trying to stand steady, and -to think quick.</p> - -<p class='c008'>If the dog or the snake saw her neither made -any sign. They glared, unmoving, at each other, -across the helpless man. Neither dared attack, or -retreat, and Helen knew that any move on either -her part or the man’s, would cause the snake to -strike—the dog to spring.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man lay exactly in the storm-center, when -trouble should come, and it seemed as though -neither dog nor snake could much longer maintain -the horrid statu quo. Patsy’s low growling was -dreadful to hear, and the snake’s steady rattle -brought the sweat of sheer fright to her forehead.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She glanced again at the man and his gaze met -hers steadily. It was clear that he was alive to the -full peril of his position, yet there was no sign of -agitation in his face. Rather, his glance seemed -meant to reassure her. Shamed by her own fears, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>Helen summoned her faculties to meet the situation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She had grown up in the desert. She had known -rattlesnakes before ever she went to college, and -her four years of sophistication had not crowded -out that earlier knowledge. Her brain seemed suddenly -to clear, her nerves to harden. She knew -what could be done, if she could but trust Patsy to -hold steady. She remembered Sandy Larch’s -boast, that the dog was game. Now was the time -to show it, if he was.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Steady, Patsy; steady, boy; quiet; quiet, boy!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Over and over she whispered the words, oh, so -gently, that she might not startle the young dog, -and all the while she was slowly, slowly, raising -her right hand, in which was her riding-whip. She -was too thorough a plainswoman to use such a -thing on a horse, but she carried it to use in training -the terrier.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Steady, Patsy; down, boy; down!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The whip was extended in front of her, now, and -she was moving it gently from side to side. The -snake had caught sight of it, and was following it -with its eyes, swaying in unison with the whip’s -motion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Never staying the steady movement of her arm, -Helen crept forward, whispering reassurance to -the dog, until at last, still waving the whip, she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>dropped to one knee and slipped her fingers under -his collar. He stopped his growling and nestled to -her with a little whimper. When she commanded -him to charge he dropped to his belly and lay perfectly -still, his eyes fixed upon the snake.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If you can manage to turn the thing’s head a -bit, little girl;—” it was the man who spoke, in a -low, level voice—“so he can’t notice what I’m doing, -I’ll fix him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>With a little nod, Helen stood up and began -moving sidewise, still swinging the whip. Thoroughly -hypnotized, the snake swayed with its -movement, those beady little eyes never leaving it. -The rattler did not see the stealthy glide of the -man’s hand, or the gleaming steel that was presently -leveled at that flat, venomous head. An instant -after there was a sharp report, and the snake -was whipping the desert in its death struggle as -Helen again caught the terrier by the collar. The -man essayed to rise, and sank back with a sharp -exclamation of pain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess I’ve hurt my foot,” he said, answering -Helen’s look of inquiry.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I—my horse took to pitching, and slung me -here,” he went on, sitting up. “I can’t think what -got the fellow, or me either,” he added, with a look -of chagrin. “I never thought I needed a bucking-strap; -but it seems as if I did.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>He spoke lightly, partly to hearten the girl, who -was white and shaken, after her horrid experience, -and partly to draw her attention from the victim of -his shot, now stretched on the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Another effort and he got to his feet; but the -first attempt to step brought him to one knee, -frowning with pain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And I don’t suppose there’s a stick in sight, -that would give me any support,” he said, looking -about.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m afraid not,” Helen answered, following -his glance; and then she remembered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I can bring up my horse,” she cried. “I left -him by the mesquite when I dismounted to look for -Patsy, here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Patsy’s sure an enterprising little dog,” the -man said, smiling, “I don’t just know whether I -have to thank him for stirring up the little difficulty -a while ago, or for keeping it from being -worse before you came.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m afraid it was he that roused the rattler,” -replied Helen, ruefully. “He is young, yet, and -has his sense to get.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man laughed. “I was a little stunned when -my horse landed me here,” he explained, shyly. -“First thing I knew I was sort of waking-up, and -that was the tableau I beheld. I didn’t do much -that was strenuous, from then on.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>Helen was wondering, curiously, who the man -could be. He was evidently not a cowboy, or a -prospector, and she knew that if he were a cattleman -or a mining expert, a stranger in that part of -the country, he would naturally have been the hacienda’s -guest. Such visitors in the neighborhood -were always for her father. Perhaps he was on -his way to him, now.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Were you going to the Palo Verde?” she asked, -impulsively. “I am Helen Anderson. Father will -be sorry you have had an accident.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I thought you must belong there,” he said, simply, -“and I was going to tell you my name. It’s -Gard—not a very long one,” with a smile, “and I -<em>was</em> going to the Palo Verde, though your father -doesn’t know me. I wanted to see him on business.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then the best thing we can do,” Helen said, -briskly, “is to get there at once. I’m going to ask -you to keep Master Patsy here, while I go for the -horse.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was already speeding down the knoll, and a -moment later she returned leading Dickens, the -pony, who had stood patiently where she left him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>For a time it looked as though the stranger was -not going to get into the saddle. Dickens was -restless and nervous over his awkward approaches, -and the pain in Gard’s foot was excruciating, but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>after many agonized attempts he finally mounted. -He was white and faint, after the effort, but he -smiled resolutely down upon the girl while he adjusted -the stirrup he could use.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am glad you ride this way,” he said, indicating -her military tree. “I thought I’d have to sit -in one of those queer dishes ladies usually ride on.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen laughed. “If I waited to have horses -gentled to the side-saddle,” she answered, “I should -never get anything to ride. It’s the only way, -here in the desert, and Father always thought it -was the safer way.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was walking beside the pony, her broad-brimmed -felt hat pushed back, that she might look -up at her guest. “I used a side-saddle back east,” -she added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I think this way is a lot better,” Gard replied. -He wished she would look up again. It seemed to -him that his eyes had never beheld anything more -delicious than her upturned face, with its background -of broad hat-brim.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He could only glimpse it when she looked -straight ahead, as she was doing now. Her nose -had a little tilt, that made him think her always just -about to look up, and kept him in a pleasant state -of expectation. He could not see her mouth and -chin without leaning forward, and he shrank, shyly, -from doing that, but he studied the firm brown -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>cheek, where just a touch of deep color came and -went, and the neat sweep of fair hair back into the -shadow of the broad hat, and he had noted when -she looked up that her eyes were gray, looking out -friendly-wise under level brows.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You were a mighty plucky little girl to tackle -that rattler,” he said, with a sudden realization of -her courage. Her short riding-habit misled him -and he did not think of her as grown up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen stiffened, resentful of what seemed like a -too familiar address. Then she recognized his mistake, -with a curious little sense of pleasure in it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That was nothing,” she answered, with a lighthearted -laugh, “Sandy Larch taught me the trick. -I played that way with more than one rattler -when”—“when I was a child,” she had been about -to say, but she changed it, and added, “before I -went away to school.” “No use dragging in ‘college’” -she told herself. “He might think I was -trying to seem important.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know Sandy Larch,” Gard said. “He’s a -good man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So are you,” was the thought that flashed -through the girl’s mind as she glanced upward -again. She dismissed it instantly, with a feeling of -astonishment at herself. She was not given to -speculate in such wise on the quality of chance -acquaintances.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>“Sandy’s just Sandy,” she replied. “One of the -best friends I ever had. I can’t remember the time -when he wasn’t on hand looking after me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was silence for a while, till Gard spoke -again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I hate to make you walk,” he apologized, -“You’ll be all tuckered out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not a bit,” she declared, stoutly. “You must -be new to the desert, if you don’t know what miles -people can walk here, without getting tired.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The bronze of his face was tinged with a faint -red.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No,” said he, “I ain’t new to the desert. Not -much I ain’t new; even—” with a mortified laugh—“if -I did let my bronco throw me. I guess, -though, I’m new to little girls,” he continued. -“Seem’s if you ought to be tired. You don’t look -so very big.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m strong, though.” Somehow, his assumption -that she was a little girl gave Helen a pleasant -sense of ease in his company. She glanced up at -him again, and was startled to see how pale he had -grown, under his tan. His forehead was knit with -pain, and his teeth were set against one lip.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wish I could do something for you!” she -cried, in quick sympathy. “But we’re nearly -there; and Father’s as good as a doctor, any day.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s all right,” he muttered. “I was just a fool. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>I thought I’d see if I couldn’t get down and walk; -so I tried putting that foot in the stirrup.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That was a clever thing to do,” Helen scolded, -“I see you do not know how to believe people when -they say they are not tired.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She quickened her pace, that he might see how -far she was from weariness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m sorry,” he said, humbly. “I didn’t mean -to do anything to set you running off like that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>No reply. They went on again in a silence that -lasted for several moments.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ain’t you going to forgive me?” he asked, -presently.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen considered; not what he had said however. -She was more deeply interested in deciding why his -“ain’t” was not offensive to her college-bred ears.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“After all,” she thought, deliberating it, “those -things do not matter so much when people themselves -are real.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I won’t do it again,” the voice beside her -pleaded, in an exaggeration of penitence, and she -laughed, looking up at him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I didn’t think you’d be such a hard-hearted -little girl,” Gard said, reproachfully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am not,” she replied. “I am only sensible. -You should believe what people tell you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He made no reply. He was trying to decide -how old the child could be.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>“I guess,” he thought, with an effort to recall -little girls he had seen—ah, how long ago it was -that he had seen any!—“she’s most likely about -twelve. She’ll be mighty pretty when she grows -up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His foot still hurt, cruelly, in consequence of his -rash experiment, but fortunately they were at the -rancho. A few moments later they had reached -the casa, where Morgan Anderson took charge -of his guest with skilful good-will. Like all cattlemen, -he was fairly expert at attending to hurts; -could set a bone, on a pinch, and it did not take -him long to discover that one of the small bones of -Gard’s foot was dislocated. With Sandy Larch’s -aid he set the matter to rights, and bandaged the -foot in a way that would have done credit to professional -skill.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He would not hear of his patient’s riding back -to Sylvania that day.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not a bit of it!” he cried, when Gard proposed -it. “That’s going to be one unmercifully sore foot -by to-morrow; and suppose—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He checked himself before voicing the suggestion -that another accident might possibly put the -foot badly out of commission. He had the plainsman’s -idea that a horseman should stay with his -mount; so he merely said that he wanted to keep -an eye on the foot.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“You can’t be sure one of the little bones may -not be broken,” he explained, “and anyway, we’re -mighty glad to see folks here; so I guess we’ll have -to keep you.” And Gard, more willing than at the -moment he realized, accepted the invitation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was Manuel Gordo who, riding in from the -upper range, saw the stranger’s horse, lathered and -excited, wandering afield, and threw a rope over -him. When he got the bronco to the Palo Verde -corrals and took off the saddle, he gave a low, comprehending -whistle. Under the blanket, well back, -but yet where a rider’s weight would press, was a -bit of cholla, the vicious fish-hook cactus of the -desert, so disposed as to cause the horse exquisite -pain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Manuel swore a rolling Mexican oath as the -thing caught his fingers, and stamped it into the -desert before giving attention to the bronco’s back. -This, later, he showed to Sandy Larch, with a vivid -explanation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The blame cowards!” the foreman commented. -“So they thought they’d git ’im that way, did they? -It seemed mighty queer to me that he couldn’t sit -anything four-legged he was likely to git in the -ord’nary run, in Sylvania; but that pinto must ’a’ -raged considerable with that on its back.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who you think do-a that?” Manuel asked, and -the foreman told him of the scene in the Happy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>Family Saloon. “Some o’ that gang’s been tryin’ -to get even,” he finished, and Manuel growled assent.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I—I see that señor before to-day,” he ventured, -hesitating, “He one good man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where ’d you ever meet up with ’im?” demanded -Sandy. “Where ’d he come from?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Quién sabe?” Manuel’s shoulders lifted. “It is -at Sylvania I see heem,” he added, non-committally, -and understanding dawned upon the foreman.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You did, eh?” he laughed, “An’ he got after -you an’ made you quit that spree you was headed -on, I bet. That what you come home so quick for? -How’d he round you up?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The Mexican grinned, shamefacedly, and Sandy -laughed again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’s sure a sin-buster,” he commented, admiringly, -“But he done you a good turn that time, -Manuel. The <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i>’d given me orders to everlastingly -fire you next time you showed up after a -spree, an’ I’d ’a’ sure done it if you hadn’t ’a’ -been on hand that mornin’ same ’s usual!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Manuel was busy smearing axle-grease on the -bronco’s back, to keep the flies from its hurts.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The señor, he good man all right,” he said, not -turning around, and Sandy Larch, being shrewd, -walked away without further comment.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER IV</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>As Morgan Anderson had predicted, the condition -of Gard’s foot next day was such as to -make him a captive. The cattleman, surveying it -after Jacinta had given the patient his breakfast, -prescribed rest, and forbade any thought of leaving -the rancho inside of a week.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You say you came to see me on business,” he -said, as he stood looking down upon Gard where -he lay in bed in a big, low-ceiled room of the casa, -“Well, I’m off to the upper range to-day, to -pick out some work-cattle. I shall not be able to -talk business till night; so that settles to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re mighty good,” was Gard’s reply, “but -that business o’ mine is only to ask you a question -that you can answer in half a minute. You mustn’t -think it’s some matter of consequence—to anybody -but me, that is,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right; so much the better. It’ll keep, and -we can keep you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Morgan Anderson had taken a liking to his unexpected -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>guest, and made him welcome with true -western hospitality. It was long since Gard had -talked with a man of his stamp, and the mere -sound of Anderson’s pleasant, easy voice was a joy -to him. It was good just to lie there and listen; at -the same time, he was concerned about his foot. -He wanted to be up and about Kate Hallard’s business. -He had not calculated that the delivery of -the deed which he had found in Arnold’s coat-pocket -two years before, would involve him as it -had done.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had come back to civilization with a strong -purpose. He meant to make every effort to reinstate -himself in the eyes of the law, and he realized -that he must do all that he could before some -chance recognition should work to hinder his efforts. -Nevertheless, he told himself, the claim of -this woman came first. Kate Hallard had no one -to fend for her, and the responsibility, in this particular -matter, had been laid on him, Gabriel Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Later in the forenoon, when Anderson had ridden -away with his men, Wing Chang, the Chinese -cook, acting upon the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron’s</span></i> instructions, established -Gard in a long steamer-chair, under the -cottonwoods beside the casa. Hither, when he -was settled, came Helen, bearing a little tray on -which were biscuits and a grape-fruit. Gard -smiled as he saw her coming around a corner of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>casa, and answered her greeting with a cheery -“good-morning.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wondered where you’d got to,” he began, and -stopped, suddenly, the quick color rushing to his face.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now I just beg your pardon, Miss,” he stammered, -in piteous confusion, “I mistook—I thought—I -thought you were your little sister.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am,” laughed Helen, putting the tray on a -chair by his side.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No, no: you mustn’t move your foot”—for -Gard was struggling forward in his steamer-chair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If you do,” she threatened, “I shall have to -scold you harder than I did yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He sank back, a look in his face of mingled chagrin -and wonder. Helen was arrayed in white, -the simplest sort of a shirt-waist suit, with a touch -of brown at neck and belt and shoes; but to his -bewildered senses she was a radiant vision of unguessed -daintiness and beauty. There was something -incredible, to him, in the idea of this unearthly -being offering him food. He glanced from -her to the tray, and back again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know what that is,” he said, indicating -the grape-fruit, “and I ain’t sure I know what you -are. I thought yesterday you were a little girl, -and now you seem like a young lady; and I don’t -seem right sure you won’t turn into a fairy in a -minute, and run away.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>“Oh, Oh!” Helen cried, “What three-fold flattery!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then it was her turn to experience a shock; for, -as she stood looking down upon him, it suddenly -became apparent to her that this man was young.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She had thought nothing about the matter, in -the excitement of yesterday’s encounter, and when -she had walked beside him, seeing his bearded face -in her brief, upward glances, she had taken it for -granted that he was middle-aged, at least. There -was something disconcerting about the unexpected -revelation of youth in those eager brown eyes, in -the clear olive of the face above the strong, short -beard, and in the firm curve of red lips just visible -under the moustache. She could think of no further -retort to his pretty speech, and busied herself -with showing him how to eat the grape-fruit, wondering, -vaguely, where he could have been, in the -desert, not to have encountered <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">pomelos</span></i>.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“These are from over the border,” she explained. -“One of the boys smuggled them in last week; -think how wicked we are! But by New Year’s we -shall have some of our very own.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They’re mighty good,” Gard said, with no idea -of what the fruit tasted like. He was still wrestling -with the awesome fact that Helen had prepared it, -and was teaching him to eat it. He took more -sugar when she told him to, though years of abstinence -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>from sugar had blunted his taste for it, and -he shook his head with very proper commiseration -when she told him of the way eastern folk spoil the -fruit in preparing it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never was back there,” he said, “I was raised -on the prairie; but this is good enough for me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He looked beyond the fringe of cottonwoods, -out across the plain, quivering in the mid-forenoon -heat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you like it?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I love it! It’s so big, and beautiful, in spite of -its dreadfulness; it’s so <em>positive</em>!” Helen was sitting -on the ground, her hands in her lap, her eyes -turned toward the far mountains. Gard considered -her words.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Positive:” he repeated, thoughtfully, “Yes: it’s -sure that. There ain’t any half-way place,” he -added, drawing a deep breath. “A man, he gets -big, or he gets little, living in it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” cried she; “you must have been a long -time in the desert to find that out!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She went on, with youthful, unconscious arrogance: -“I’ve lived here all my life; but I never -realized that until after I came back from college -this last time.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Have you been here long?” she added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I haven’t been ’round the level much,” Gard -answered, and after a pause he added:</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>“I’ve been in the mountains most of the time.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then you must have been prospecting: I hope -you struck pay dirt?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I did.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good! So you <em>are</em> a mining-man—I wondered.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She had wondered about him. Gard turned the -thought over in his mind, the while he told her -something of his discovery in the mountains. It -seemed a marvelous thing that she should have -thought of him at all. Almost unconsciously he -began telling her of finding his claim; of working -it; and of Jinny.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen listened with rapt interest. She knew that -men did go off into the mountains as she supposed -Gard must have done. She had talked with prospectors, -in her lifetime, but never with one like -this.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose you will be wonderfully rich when -you begin working your claim in earnest,” she said, -at last, slowly, “Shall you like that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I think so. There are some things I want a -good deal”—Ah, how much he wanted them: the -right to freedom; the right to hold up his head -among men. Gard’s desire for this was increasing -with every moment that he sat talking to this fair, -unconscious girl. As he looked at her, sitting before -him on the sparse grass, it came home to him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>with fearful force that it would be hard to have -friends if his past life must always be a secret from -them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose there are,” Helen was saying, half -wistfully, “Money brings so many opportunities to -a man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not unless he’s a real man to start with,” replied -Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s a lot to be thought about,” he went on. -“I used to think that to give a man plenty to eat, -and wear, and good things round him; nice, beautiful -things such as we read about—and I guess -that you’ve always seen,” he explained,—“would -help make a better man of him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t believe it’s altogether so,” he went on, -following a train of thought that he had often -mulled over, in the glade, “All the good things that -you can put a man into won’t make any better man -of him, if when he didn’t have ’em he wasn’t -trying to make a better man of himself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen pondered his saying in some surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never thought of it that way before,” she said, -at last, “but it seems as if it ought to be true.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess it’s true enough,” Gard frowned a little, -deep in thought. “Jinny and I, we used to figure -out ’twas, when we talked things over.” He -smiled into his companion’s eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“When I think, sometimes, of what men’ll do -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>for money, though,” continued he, “I ’most feel ’s -if I didn’t want any of it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But it seems cleaner money, somehow,” Helen -interrupted, “it’s different when a man digs it out -of the earth. He doesn’t rob, or defraud anybody, -then; and think of all it can do!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes.” There was a slow twinkle in Gard’s eyes -as he spoke. “There’s solid satisfaction to me in -thinking that one o’ these days, if I want to, I can -get Jinny a solid gold collar.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They laughed together over this bit of foolishness, -feeling, suddenly, that they were very good -friends. It was almost with a little sense of something -unwelcome that Helen, looking across the -level plain, saw a horseman in the distance, coming -toward the rancho-gate.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Some one is coming,” she said, studying the -approaching figure. “I wonder who it can be; -Daddy isn’t expecting anyone.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard turned his head and they watched together.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It isn’t one of the men,” commented Helen. -“He looks cityfied, doesn’t he?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was no careless cowboy figure that they -watched. Whoever it was rode compactly, elbows -down, and the horse was not running, but coming -at an easy ’lope.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why!” the girl exclaimed, after a moment or -two, “I believe it’s Mr. Westcott!”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>The name set Gard’s heart pounding, but he kept -his quiet pose in the steamer-chair, and only the -faintest flutter of distended nostrils betrayed the -emotion that was surging within him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had no real fear that Westcott might recognize -him. The lawyer, as it happened, had seen -him but twice; once at Phoenix, just after his -arrest, and again on the occasion of that memorable -visit to Blue Gulch. Nevertheless, Gard was -thankful that he was warned of the new-comer’s -approach.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you know him?” Helen asked, still watching -the rider, and Gard answered, promptly enough, -that he had heard of him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’s stopping at the corrals,” said Helen, presently. -“I hope there’s some one there to take his -horse.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She started off, with a backward glance and a -smile for her invalid, and presently Gard saw her -going toward the corrals, followed by Wing Chang. -She walked with a light, springing step that seemed -to him must be peculiar to her alone. He had seen -girls, back in Iowa, but they had not walked like -that.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There ain’t anybody like her,” he said, half -aloud, replying to his own thought. Then he remembered -that happy glance, and smile, and a -shiver of pain ran through him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>“Heaven help me,” he muttered, “She wouldn’t -have looked like that if she’d known.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen, in the meantime, was greeting Westcott, -who walked up to the casa with her, leaving -his horse for Chang to unsaddle and turn in. He -had come up to Sylvania to see a man, he explained, -and when he got where the man was, why -the man was not there. He showed his handsome, -even teeth in a merry smile at his own jest, and -somehow managed to convey to Helen the idea that -the man “wasn’t there” for the reason that he was -afraid to meet him, Ashley Westcott.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s just a game of bluff some smart Aleck is -trying to play on me,” he added, with pleasant -carelessness; “It isn’t of much importance, except as -it gives me the excuse I’m always glad of, to ride -out here. I shall have to wait over, a day or two, to -give the fellow a chance to make good, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His eyes narrowed when he was introduced to -Gard. Kate Hallard had written to him, three days -before, and the letter had brought him to Sylvania -in a hurry. He had seen Mrs. Hallard and, therefore, -Gard’s name had significance for him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He seated himself in the chair from which Jacinta -had long since removed the tray, and made a -casual inquiry about Gard’s hurt. Gard explained -it briefly, giving, to Helen’s immense relief, none -of the details.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>“I was in Sylvania this morning,” Westcott remarked, -taking the glass of ice and the bottle of -ginger ale that Jacinta brought him. “Came up -from Tucson, and got that brute of a stage at -Bonesta.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It <em>is</em> a horrid ride,” Helen commented.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard said nothing, and Westcott and Helen -chatted indifferently for a few moments of matters -common enough, the news and talk of the territory, -yet as new to Gard, in large measure, as though he -had been a foreigner. The lawyer turned to him -again, irritated by his silent scrutiny.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I saw your friend Mrs. Hallard in Sylvania,” -he said, “She was a good deal worried to know -what had become of you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard’s eyes flashed, but his reply was given in a -low, even tone.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That was mighty kind of her,” he said, “I calculated -to be on hand—we reckoned you’d be coming -soon. When you go back you can ease her mind, -and let her know I’m all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen looked puzzled. She was not familiar -with Sylvania, although it was the post office town -of the rancho, but she knew, in a vague way, who -Mrs. Hallard was. It would have been difficult not -to know, when there were but half a dozen white -women within a radius of fifty miles. She could not -think of her, however, as a friend of this new acquaintance. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>She had seen Mrs. Hallard once, and -Westcott’s apparently chance remark had exactly -the effect he had calculated. It troubled her, and -disturbed the atmosphere of friendliness which he -had dimly felt between the girl and Gard, when he -saw them together.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It seems curious to find Mr. Gard here,” the -lawyer went on, addressing Helen. “He is just the -man I came to Sylvania to see. You can bank on it -I did not expect to meet him when I rode this way.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He overshot his mark, that time, going too far -in his anxiety to produce an impression unfavorable -to Gard. Helen’s hospitality was touched, and -her sympathy enlisted for her guest. Whatever -his friendship for Mrs. Hallard, of whom she -really knew nothing definite, she did not believe -that the man who sat there regarding them both -with serene eyes, would ever be afraid to meet Ashley -Westcott.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She looked from one to the other, and Gard -smiled as he answered the lawyer’s remark, speaking -to her rather than to the other.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes,” he said, “I’m the man. I told Mrs. Hallard,” -he added, glancing at Westcott, “to tell you -to see me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I shall, all right,” the lawyer replied, pointedly, -and turned to ask Helen some question about -her father. She was glad of the diversion, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>went into detail about his errand to the upper -range.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’re going to have an orchard,” she explained, -“Father had some trees put in three or -four years ago; I believe he must have sat and held -their heads all the while I was away, and watered -them with a teaspoon.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The others joined in her laugh at the vision conjured -up of Morgan Anderson playing nurse to -desert trees.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They are only a few grape-fruit, and a date -palm or two,” Helen went on, “but they have kindled -his ambition, and now he is planning for -oranges, and apricots.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Has he got the trees yet?” Gard asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mercy, no! Our needs are still more elemental -than that. He has gone after some cattle to ‘gentle’ -for plowing. Can’t you just see those wild-eyed -long-horns figuring in pastoral idyls on the plain?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott grinned, but before either man could -comment Wing Chang appeared from the direction -of the adobe structure that served him for kitchen, -and beckoned Helen to a domestic conference.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wing Chang’s official beck is equal to a royal -summons,” she said, lightly, “so I shall have to be -excused for a season.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>When she had departed the two men regarded -each other for a little space. Westcott took out -<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>paper and tobacco, offering them to Gard. The -latter declined them and the lawyer began rolling -himself a cigarette.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I take it you’re an attorney, Mr. Gard?” he -began, in a tone of careless query, as he struck a -match.</p> - -<p class='c008'>At Gard’s negative he held the little taper alight -in his finger for an instant, while he stared in surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh,” he said, recovering himself quickly, and -lighting his cigarette, “I thought you must be. I -rather figured,”—with a laugh which he meant to -be irritating, “that you were a young attorney, or -a new-comer in the territory, and trying to scare -up business.” He puffed a cloud of smoke into the -air and regarded his companion through it, with -veiled eyes. “’Twas rather natural, don’t you -think?” he persisted, with a sneer, “considering the -nature of the little game up at Sylvania?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Still Gard did not speak. He had put his well -foot to the ground, and curled the other leg up -that he might lean forward, and he sat regarding -Westcott with quiet attention.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose you know, anyway,” the latter finally -said, with a very good assumption of contempt, -“Anybody with a headpiece might, whether he’s a -lawyer or not, that neither my client nor I need -feel obliged to pay any attention to the matter.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>Gard seemed to turn the remark over in his mind.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then what made you come up here?” he finally -asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s easy,” Westcott answered, scornfully. -“I wanted to see who was trying to make a fool of -poor Kate Hallard. I don’t wish her any harm, -and I wanted to put her wise that she’s being used -by some sharper, in a queer game.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess you’ll think better o’ that before we -get through, Mr. Westcott,” Gard said, with deliberation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not much I won’t.” Westcott was admiring -the rings he had blown into the air. “Fact is, my -friend,” he went on, with an air of easy confidence, -“the more I think of your little scheme the less I -think of it. In the first place, it won’t work. My -client is in possession. That’s nine points, you -know. By way of a tenth point, he has a quit -claim from Mrs. Hallard—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s one item,” Gard interrupted, softly, -“that I guess you won’t care to dwell on, when the -matter comes to be pushed.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pushed!” Westcott ignored the first part of the -speech. “I tell you, man,” he cried, “you’ve got -nothing that can <em>be</em> pushed! That deed you an’ -Kate Hallard pretend to have found hasn’t a leg -to stand on. You’d better be careful you don’t get -into trouble with it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>“I’m going to, Mr. Westcott,” the slow, calm -tone made the lawyer feel uneasy, he could not -have told why.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If it will save you any trouble, my friend,” he -sneered, at the same time keeping a close watch on -the other’s face, “I’ll tell you that I saw some time -ago, in a Chicago paper, that Jared Oliphant is out -of commission—softening of the brain. I suppose -you weren’t banking any on him, though?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’re banking on facts,” was Gard’s reply.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And Sawyer’s skipped the country.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who’s Sawyer?” Gard’s question came quick -and sharp, nailing Westcott’s blunder fast. The -lawyer looked blank for an instant, then recovered -himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why Kate Hallard seemed to think you were -going to get some help through him,” he lied; “but -I know Sawyer. You can’t do it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You must have known him,” Gard said, “if you -know he witnessed that deed; for Kate Hallard -never told you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott stared out at the desert. He was playing -a desperate game, and he knew it. He would -have given much to understand the inscrutable man -who sat opposite him. He did not feel that he did -understand him, fully; nevertheless, he had his own -theories of the stuff men are made of, and presently -he leaned forward.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>“Look here, Gard,” he said, “This is mighty -poor business for a man like you to be in.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He spoke rapidly; for Miss Anderson had just -appeared at the door of the adobe kitchen, still talking -to Wing Chang.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know what you expect to make by it,” -Westcott went on; “but I don’t want Kate Hallard -to get into any trouble. She can’t establish that -deed. It’s no more use to her than so much blank -paper. But I’ve got certain things in view. I’m -going into politics in this territory, and there are -reasons why I don’t want a thing like this coming -up. You know how things get garbled—” He hesitated, -and then went on, with a glance in the direction -of the girl, who was now approaching.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Between ourselves,” he said, rapidly, “what’s -the reason you and I can’t do business together?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He regarded his companion narrowly. Helen -had stopped, near the casa, and was scanning the -desert from under her hand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What do you say?” Westcott all but whispered. -Gard looked at him a full moment before he spoke:</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess we couldn’t do business together,” he -said, slowly, “But I guess we shan’t need to, Mr. -Westcott; because you’re going to fix this matter -up right. You’re going to give Mrs. Hallard back -the property you stole from her, or else you’re -going to pay her the full value.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>“Or else?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was a battle of eyes between the two men. -Westcott’s flinched, finally, and sought the horizon.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There ain’t any other ‘or else,’” Gard said, at -last. “It’s going the way I stated.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott had arisen, sneering, but before he -could speak again Helen’s voice broke in upon -them:</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They’re coming!” she cried, joining her guests. -“You’d think they had a whole drove of cattle, -from the noise.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A cloud of white dust far on the desert had resolved -itself into a flurry of men, horses and cattle, -coming in on a run. There was a thunder of hoofs, -and a chorus of yells, and presently the “gentle” -work-cattle were being herded into one of the -corrals.</p> - -<p class='c008'>One of the horsemen separated himself from the -group and rode on to the casa. This was Morgan -Anderson, and he shouted greeting to Westcott -as he swung from the saddle. He came into the -shade of the cottonwoods firing a volley of genial -questions, and giving bits of detail about the morning’s -work, until Helen reminded him that it was -close upon dinner-time. That meal was taken at -noon, at the Palo Verde, so Anderson excused himself -to clean up. He was dusty and begrimed from -the hot day’s work. He carried Westcott off as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>well, to remove the traces of his own long ride, and -as Helen had already gone into the house, on some -domestic errand, Gard was left alone.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The temporary solitude was welcome, and he lay -back in the long chair half dizzied by the thoughts -and memories that besieged his brain. Uppermost, -for the instant, was an intense, grateful sense of -relief. Westcott had so plainly not recognized him -that he might consider one source of immediate -danger to himself removed. He would probably -be able to carry this business through with no other -difficulties than lay in the matter itself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There would be plenty of these. Westcott would -see to that. He was evidently fully aware of the -position he was in, and would let no scruples stand -in the way of protecting himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll do just about anything—” Gard spoke -half aloud, then checked himself, recalling that -this was not the solitude of the glade.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll make a big fight,” he thought, “both to -keep the property and to escape being punished.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>Punished!</em>”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The word came home to him with stunning -force. The punishment for this crime, if Kate -Hallard saw fit to press the matter, was jail!</p> - -<p class='c008'>And Kate Hallard would probably do what he -advised.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sudden fierce exultation leaped into the man’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>heart. Beneath his quiet he had been deeply stirred -by the encounter with Westcott.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>I wonder how he would like being in jail?</em>” he -thought, grimly, and brought himself sternly into -line again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There ain’t any right of way for me there. I -must stop that,” he whispered, the knuckles of his -big hands white as wool under the strain of clasping -his chair-arms.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The next instant he sat upright, staring out -across the hot sand, but seeing only the vision of -Helen’s dainty maiden loveliness. The thought of -his heart sent the blood from his face.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ve settled my account with Ashley Westcott,” -he muttered, “God knows I’ve settled <em>my</em> account; -but if that is what he’s aiming to do—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He shivered, sinking back into his chair. Wing -Chang was approaching with a tray of food.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If that is what it is,” Gard finished to himself, -turning to greet the Chinaman, “Then I guess Mr. -Ashley Westcott and I will have to open a new account; -and he wants to look out.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER V</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>To Westcott’s secret delight Morgan Anderson, -going after dinner to see that his other guest -had been properly served, found Gard fast asleep -in the long chair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ll let him have his siesta out,” said his host. -“I don’t suppose he got any too much sleep last -night, with that foot. Helen, you and I can take -Westcott to see the new corrals.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>This arrangement was entirely to Westcott’s -pleasure. He knew, from past experience, that the -cattleman would promptly become interested in -some problem of the range, and leave his entertainment -to Helen.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He strolled by her side as they made their way -to the corrals, and put from his mind the uneasy -thoughts that kept intruding. In spite of his defiance, -he was horribly afraid of what Gard and -Mrs. Hallard might be able to do. He did not -know how they would move to establish the deed, -but he was in a position that would make publicity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>awkward. How he wished he knew where the -paper had been found! To get any help from Oliphant -he believed was out of the question, and he, -himself, had been unable to find Sawyer. He was -sure that Gard could not get hold of him; and if he -should, he knew how to fix the fellow. He had one -more card up his sleeve, and would play it, if Sawyer -appeared.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But after this! He stole a glance at the girl -walking beside him. He wanted money; he wanted -power; he wanted position—to offer her. He was -almost where he just now aspired to be on the political -ladder. He had not tried for small things; -he was after the District Attorneyship, and it was -coming his way, now. Another year, and then, ... -by Heaven! Everything was going to be -straight! There should be nothing that those clear -gray eyes might not see!</p> - -<p class='c008'>But this matter must not come out! He would -see Mrs. Hallard in the town while Gard was laid -up. His career should not be ruined, just as he was -getting where he could hold up his head and choose -the straight path. He was weary in his soul of the -other.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen looked up with a glance of inquiry.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They seem to be long, long thoughts,” she said, -with a smile.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>“They are,” was the quick response. “I was -thinking of my ambitions.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If it were so, it were a grievous fault,” she -quoted, gaily.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t think so!” He threw out his chest and -looked down at her from his full height. “A man’s -bound to have ambitions of some sort,” he said, -“They’re a measure of himself. Of course I have -mine. I want the things I want when I can get -them; but I want them, nevertheless, and I mean to -have them.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Such as a gold collar for your donkey?” Helen -asked, enigmatically.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott looked puzzled, but she did not explain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not exactly that,” he finally said, “If my -donkey won’t go without a gold collar I’m sorry -for him; because he’s going just the same. He’s -got to carry me, ‘For the good of the order.’ This -Territory needs men, Miss Anderson: and I mean -to be one of the men that it needs.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh! That is good!” Helen’s sympathetic response -quickened what Westcott, if he had characterized -it, would have called his good impulse.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s a lot that needs straightening out -within our lines,” he said, “And I want the chance -to help in the work. At any rate, it’s not an ignoble -ambition.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>“Indeed it is not.” Helen had never before seen -Westcott in this mood, and she rather reproached -herself that she did not feel a keener response. -She felt that she had not done him justice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am glad you think about those things,” she -told him. “Father talks to me, sometimes, and I -know that he is often troubled. It seems as if every -man is solely for himself. We need those who can -see wrong in high places, as well as low; and who -have courage to combat it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott felt a pang of wretchedness as he answered -her frank glance. He realized that she -would despise him if she knew some of the things -that he had done, and he winced in the realization. -But he meant to leave all that behind. He would -do something for Mrs. Hallard, and once he had -won this splendid girl he would walk the open way. -Heavens! What could a man not do, with such a -helpmate!</p> - -<p class='c008'>A sudden sense of his own unworthiness brought -unwonted humility into his heart. Ashley Westcott -had never before, in his grown-up life, been so -near to feeling a noble impulse.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Miss Anderson,” he said, “I’m afraid I should -never come up to any ideal of yours; but I aim to -do as near right as I know how.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were at the corrals now, where the cattleman, -who had drawn ahead, was already talking to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>Sandy Larch about some young horses that were -to be got ready for shipment east, before spring. -Polo ponies from the Palo Verde enjoyed a good -market back in “The States.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>In one of the corrals the future work-cattle were -penned, half a dozen head, lean, leggy brutes, wild-eyed -and ugly. They kept together, moving restlessly -about in a bunch, watching the visitors sullenly, -and occasionally lunging at one another with -wide, wicked horns.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They’re beauts, for fair,” Sandy Larch remarked, -“Only they can’t seem to make up their -minds to look it in public. They’re that kind o’ -modest vi’lets.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’Twon’t be exactly a Sunday school picnic to -break them in,” Westcott remarked, looking them -over.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure it will,” said Sandy, impressively. “Why -them cows will be door-yard pets, once they’re -handled. Their bad looks is just a yearning for -appreciation. That one, now—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He tossed a little clod into the blazed face of one -huge steer that had moved a little apart from the -others. It was a vicious-looking brute, and stood -lowing, sullenly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That there blaze-faced cow’ll be coaxing fer sugar -out’n your hand in a week’s time, Miss Helen,” -Sandy declared. “Can’t you see it in his eye?”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>Helen could not see it, and said so, frankly. A -cowboy, minded to reach the further corral, where -the young horses were, sprang down into the enclosure -with the cattle, and started across.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In an instant the big red steer came charging -upon him, with mischief in his eye. The cowboy -saw the brute, and dodging, made a rapid sprint -for the nearest fence, clambering over it amid the -derisive shouts of the spectators. The man’s sudden -scramble had brought him within a few feet of -Westcott who, turning to look at him, made a gesture -of recognition.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hullo, Broome!” he said: “I didn’t know you -were down here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Looks like I was on the spot,” the fellow answered, -“I bin holdin’ it down fer about a week.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I heard you went prospecting,” Westcott continued, -and Broome swore, under his breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Came mighty near cashin’ in that trip,” he -growled, and then he drew nearer, with a quick -glance at the others, who were walking on toward -the horse corral.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say, Mr. Westcott,” he muttered, “Have you -seen that there feller up ’t the casa? Him with -the hair <em>mat</em>tress on his face?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you mean Gard?” Westcott asked in amazement.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yep: that’s his name. Damn him an’ it! I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>met up with him on my ‘tower.’ He’s some buffalo -now; but he was haired up like a bug-house -billy-goat then. But say, Mr. Westcott: he’d -struck it rich; got a streak o’ color that fair stunk -o’ gold, back in the mountains. I want to tell you -’bout it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott looked after his companions.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I can’t stop to hear it now, Broome,” he said. -“Shall you be round when I leave here? I’ll talk -to you then.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m goin’ to be workin’ with the horses all the -afternoon,” Broome answered. “We’re goin’ to -be bustin’ ’em out, an’ that’s one o’ my jobs.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He added the last with a good deal of pride, and -Westcott nodded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll see you, then,” he said, moving off.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you know Broome?” Mr. Anderson asked, -when Westcott overtook the others.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pretty well”; was the reply. “I knew him up -north. He was cow-punch for a friend of mine, -and I used to be up there a good deal. He’s a -good hand with horses.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So he claims,” Anderson said. “He blew in -the other day, bragging that he’s a first-class -bronco-buster. We’re pretty short, so Sandy took -him on. I don’t think much of his looks.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, he’s all right.” Westcott spoke carelessly. -“A good many singed cats look worse.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>Sandy Larch had gone up to the cook’s quarters on -an errand, and passing the casa found Gard awake.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hullo, Mr. Larch,” the latter called, espying -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>Mister</em> Larch?” Sandy made a pretense of -looking for the person addressed. “Where ’d you -keep ’im?” he asked, with elaborate solicitude.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Keep who?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>Mister</em> Larch.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They ain’t no such party hereabouts,” he went -on before Gard could reply. “Leastwise <em>you</em> don’t -know ’im. Dudes, an’ Chinks, they nominates me -<em>Mister</em> Larch; because the first don’t know no -better, an’ the others they has to, er git busted good -an’ plenty. But to my friends I’m Sandy.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I believe it!” laughed Gard. “I guess your -friends find you <em>all</em> sand, when they need the article.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy looked at him with frank admiration.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say: now you’re shouting,” he cried. “I like -that there. Speakin’ o’ bouquets, you couldn’t ’a’ -handed me a prettier one if you’d set still to think -it up fer a week.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Glad you like it,” replied Gard. “I meant it to -be liked.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Like it? Say! you just combed my hair nice, -didn’t you? An’ when you need someone to weigh -out sand you just <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">buscar</span></i> me, Mr. Gard.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>“No you don’t; you drop that!” Gard looked -stern.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Drop what?” demanded Sandy, startled.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Your <em>Mister</em> Gard. That rule of yours has got -to work both ways, and <em>my</em> name is Gabriel.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was a twinkle in the brown eyes; but -Gard’s tone was inflexible.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gabriel!” gasped Sandy. “Lord! How do you -git off at it? Gabriel”; he repeated, “Shoot me if -I can git a rope over that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Glory be!” A gleam of fun crossed his anxious -face. “That name’s too long for every day,” -he said, “But I can fix it: I’ll call you Angel, if -you like. Angel Gabriel. That’s great! That’s -how we’ll fix it. Angel on week-days; Gabriel on -Sundays, an’ Angel Gabriel on Fourth o’ Julys, an’ -when I’m drunk. Angel Gabriel’s a first rate -name fer a amachoor sin-buster to sport.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’ll drop that, too.” Gard seized one of -the cushions Helen had supplied his chair with, and -hurled it at the cow-puncher. “Don’t you go making -fun of my name when I’m down,” he cried. -“Sandy, you’ve got to call me Gard.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He held out his hand and Sandy grasped it, -cordially.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I like you, Gard,” said he, with quick seriousness. -“We’re partners for fair if you say so. If -you need friends, as I expressed a while back, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>you’ll know where to look fer one of ’em; you -won’t fergit it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Never,” Gard said, heartily, and Sandy drew -back. The others were coming up from the corrals.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never was hard on any man unless I thought -he needed it, Gard,” remarked Sandy, looking toward -them. “But that there Westcott—well I’ll -be damned if I kin ‘go’ him. He can rope ’n hogtie -the law, ’n brand it ten different ways while -you’re lookin’ one; but I bet he ain’t always goin’ -to git away on time.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say, Gard: he’s mighty sleek to look at, an’ -women like sech; but if I thought he was likely to -git a rope over our pretty filly there—damned if I -wouldn’t wanter let a little daylight through ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>So Sandy, too, had his fears. Gard’s eyes narrowed -as he surveyed the approaching group.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Shucks, Sandy!” he exclaimed. “You want to -keep away from the loco patches, man. He -couldn’t do it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The thought of Helen’s frank, pure eyes put -unnecessary emphasis into his speech; but Sandy -was pleased.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good talk!” he cried, with a long breath of relief. -“Guess I’m some of an old fool; but I’ve -seen the little gal grow up from that high,” measuring -an incredibly short distance above the desert, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>“An’ you put in a pin where I tell you, Gard: that -there Westcott’s a tarantula an’ a side-winder all -into one; an’ some day you’ll know it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess that’s no lie, Sandy.” Gard’s face was -pale, and his eyes wore a strange look. He spoke -very low; for the others were coming within earshot.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Guess I’ll mosey along,” the foreman said. -“I come a driftin’ up here after some hog-grease, -an’ I’ll have to <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">buscar</span></i> Chang fer’t.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He walked off in the direction of the kitchen as -the others began talking to Gard. Half an hour -afterwards Anderson was waving <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">adios</span></i> to Westcott, -from the great rancho gateway.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The attorney rode out on the desert, glorious in -the afternoon light, and taking a wide sweep -turned back by way of the corrals. A cow-puncher -who had been squatting against one of the fences, -waiting, got up as he came in sight, and shuffled -out to meet him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What did you want of me, Broome?” Westcott -asked at once.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome lounged up against the fence, his hands -in his pockets.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I been playin’ in a hell o’ luck lately, Mr. Westcott,” -he said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott made a move as if to ride on.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If it’s nothing but a hard luck story,” he began.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>“No, no. It ain’t.” Broome laid a restraining -hand on the pony’s mane.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I want ter know who that feller is up yonder.” -He jerked his head toward the casa, at the same -time characterizing Gard after a manner entirely -to his own mind.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know him from a hole in the post,” -Westcott said, with great apparent candor. “What -makes him get on <em>your</em> nerves so?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He give me the double cross an’ the grand -throw-down, sure, all in the same shuffle,” Broome -said, with a snarl.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where was that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sommers in the mountains. I was lost in the -desert; pretty near cashed in, an’ I met up with this -feller. He took me inter camp, hell of a outfit. -Everything made outer nothing, same ’s a Papago -where they ain’t no settlement handy. He was -eatin’ tree beans, an’ shootin’ game with a bowarrer, -an’ he had all sorts o’ scare-crow Bible verses -wrote up round like a Sunday school. Sufferin’ -snakes! You never see the beat of it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know as I ever want to,” Westcott said, -impatiently. “Drive on, Broome.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m a drivin’. Gimme time. Say, Mr. Westcott: -the cuss ’d struck it rich up there, like I told -you. Got a vein o’ yeller laid open like a roarin’ -buttercup.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>“Got it staked and located, too, I suppose,” the -lawyer said, with a sneer. “Bite it off, Broome: -what are you driving at?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I tell you I <em>am</em> bitin’ it off,” was the sullen rejoinder. -“I tell you there’s gold to burn up there. -It’s the damndest, likeliest place you ever see.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why didn’t you prospect a little too?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Prospect!” Broome swore, savagely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That there locoed buffalo he tried to kill me, -when he found I’d discovered the vein. He’d took -me up the trail clean dopy, an’ he brought me down -blindfold, with my hands tied, on the back of a -damned little she-ass; so I wouldn’t know how to -git back there.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh,” Westcott jeered. “And what you want of -me is to take you by the little hand and lead you -back there and let you dig?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No I don’t neither! I got a good scheme, an’ -I want ter let you in on it. You done a lot fer me, -once, Mr. Westcott.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet I did,” was Westcott’s response. “You -owe me the price of your own neck, whatever that -may be worth to you; but I can’t see where you’re -going to pay it out of this scheme.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’d a done it all right by now if that feller -hadn’t nearly killed me,” Broome said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why didn’t he quite kill you if he wanted to?” -asked Westcott, incredulously.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>“Hell! <em>I</em> dunno,” was the frank admission; “I’d -a done him good an’ plenty, you bet; but he didn’t, -an’ here I am.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott sat his horse, waiting, with an elaborate -assumption of patience.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Here’s what I’m thinkin’ of,” began Broome, -talking fast. “I’m busted, Mr. Westcott: I ain’t -got even a bronc o’ my own; but if I c’d git anybody -to grub-stake me, I’d go up the railroad to -where Gard left that burro—I know the place all -right—an’ I’d git ’er; I’d know ’er by a big scar -on one shoulder. An’ you bet the hash once she -was out on the desert she’d strike fer that there -camp in the mountains. She’s that kind. He -tamed her out o’ the wild, he said, an’ she never -knowed no other place.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then what would you do?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Be Johnnie on the spot,” replied Broome. “Git -in an’ dig. In the same place, mebby.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you mean jump it?” The question was -put in a low tone.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t sayin’ what I mean; but I mean all ’t ’s -necessary to git back the rights that feller done -me out of.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott considered, looking thoughtfully out -on the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s risky,” was his comment, at length.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t askin’ <em>you</em> to risk it,” growled the other. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>“All I want o’ you ’s a grub-stake, an’ I’ll divvy -fair.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I should advise you to.” The quiet voice was -full of meaning.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I will, fer fair. Will you do it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll think about it”; Westcott spoke in an ordinary -tone. “There may be a fair prospecting -chance in it,” he continued. “I’ll see you again. -I wouldn’t do any talking if I were you,” he -added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome regarded him with sullen scorn.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Think I’m a damned tenderfoot to go shootin’ -off my mouth?” he demanded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The lawyer made no reply as he rode away, -while Broome went back into the shade. Wing -Chang, darting around a corner of the fodder-sheds, -to make sure which way he turned, came -face to face with Sandy Larch, walking in the -direction of the horse-corrals, his surprised eyes -following Westcott’s vanishing figure.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mistlee Westclott,” said Chang, noting the -foreman’s interest. “Him an’ Bloome have long -talkee-talkee out there, allee samee heap chin-chin.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So do you, you heap heathen,” replied the -foreman. “What you doin’ down here?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The Chinaman grinned, full of friendliness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sam Lee kid say you come look see for hog -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>lard when me gone. When come back I bling -him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He held out a broken bean-pot containing the -desired article. Sandy Larch took it, sniffing it -critically.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good boy, Chang,” he said, in approval. “And -you just remember this that I tell you: Broome -an’ Mr. Westcott, they’ve most likely bin arrangin’ -a series o’ Salvation Army joss meetings, -fer to convert all you Chinks. Sabbee dat?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Me sabbee.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right, then; you just sashay back an’ git on -your cookin’ job. That’s all.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He put a broad hand on the Chinaman’s shoulder -and turned him about.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Allee lightee,” Wing Chang said, and went his -way, smiling, inscrutably.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER VI</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>“I’m sure you ought to have stayed longer,” -Helen Anderson said. “Such a hurt as you -had <em>can’t</em> be well by now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard, from the saddle, thrust forth his hurt -foot and moved it about.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It <em>has</em> got well, first rate,” said he, meditatively. -“Your father can sure get his certificate off -me, any day.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He spoke lightly, not glancing at the upturned, -troubled face. He spoke truthfully. His foot -was well on the road to recovery, but he knew, in -his heart of hearts, that he was running away from -the Palo Verde, and that his resolution to do so -was not very strong.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s the first time you have been on a horse -since that day,” Helen continued. “Wouldn’t you -do better to go in the buckboard, after all?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He knew that hers was but the solicitude of the -hostess; but the kindly interest of her tone was -like nectar to him. It drew his eyes to hers, which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>suddenly sought his stirrup. Gard pulled himself -up with a jerk.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll be all right,” said he, with a sudden stiffening -of voice and manner. “I ought to ’ve gone -before.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She drew back, a little coldly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s too bad you’ve been detained,” she said, -and he could not bear it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It ain’t that,” he said, quickly. “I’d like to -stay. I don’t know how to tell you how I’d like -to stay. But I’ve got to go. And anyway, I must -be in Sylvania soon ’s possible. There’s a heap of -things I’ve got to do. I—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He realized that he was getting beyond bounds, -and was glad that Morgan Anderson came up from -the corrals just then.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Here’s your last chance, if you want to -change your mind and go in the buckboard,” the -cattleman called.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The buckboard, with a team of broncos driven -by one of the men, was already driving away. -Strapped at the back was Gard’s suit-case, which -Anderson had insisted upon having brought out -from the hotel in Sylvania. Gard felt quite sure -that he preferred to ride, and Anderson gave it as -his opinion that that was the best way to travel.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Better ’n railroad trains, or automobiles,” he -declared, and quoted, as a clincher to his opinion, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>“‘A good man on a good horse is nobody’s -slave.’”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had been at the rancho five days; five -wonderful days, they were to him, and he felt that -he dared not stay another hour. The cattleman -had not been able to help him much, on the business -that had been his errand to the Palo Verde. Ashley -Westcott had been diligent in seeking, a couple -of years before, to learn what had become of Sawyer, -after he acknowledged the Oliphant deed to -Ed Hallard; but it had never occurred to him to -mention the young notary to Morgan Anderson.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Curiously enough, however, the first person -whom Gard had asked about the notary, after -learning of Mrs. Hallard’s trouble, had referred -him to the cattleman. It was this fact that had -brought him out to the Palo Verde.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Anderson remembered the young fellow. Sawyer -had “developed lungs” in Sacramento, and had -come down to the desert in search of health. He -had got better, Anderson knew, and had “gone -back inside”—he thought to San Francisco. He -gave Gard the address of a correspondent of his -own in that city, who might, he thought, be able -to furnish Sawyer’s address.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wish I could have helped you more in what -you wanted to know,” Anderson said, shaking -hands with his guest. “But you come out again -<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>while you’re down this way, and maybe we’ll -have better luck all round.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard thanked him, and with another word or -two to Helen, rode away. Anderson stood watching -him, long after the horse and rider had become -a mere speck on the yellow desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s something awfully likable about that -chap, Sis,” he remarked to the girl at his side. -“But he puzzles me, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes?” Helen answered, absently, and her -father glanced at her quickly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>What he saw seemed to reassure him. She was -bending over Patsy, whose paw had come into -painful contact with prickly pear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That means, little dog,” she told him, “that -you will have to stay at home.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She searched the hurt member to make sure that -the thorns were all out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes”—she was still bent over Patsy’s foot as -she answered her father’s remark—“he is likable.... -There, Patsy, don’t make a fuss.” She bound -up the paw in her handkerchief.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I do not know that he puzzled me,” she went -on, straightening up. “I thought he seemed -rather lonely, though.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’s not likely to be that, long,” was Anderson’s -reply. “It’s a thundering pity, too. I -understand he’s in deep with that Hallard woman, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>though I’ve tried not to believe it. She don’t -seem his kind. I asked him to come here again,” -he went on, a little ruefully; “and yet I’m not -sure I meant it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What kind of woman is this Mrs. Hallard, -Father?” Helen regarded her father now, with -interest in her level grey eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why,” Anderson said, doubtfully. “She’s not -the kind I should think would catch him. It’s a -case of catch, all right, though, I guess; even -Westcott seemed to know about it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He considered a moment, frowning.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“She’s loud, and coarse, I suppose; but she’s -a mighty handsome woman, if a man don’t care -about some other things. And I somehow should -think Gard would. I like a different sort, myself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He glanced proudly at the figure beside him. -Helen was in her riding-habit, waiting for her -horse to be brought round.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But she—she’s only a rough kind, is all you -mean, isn’t it?” Her face flushed, ever so little.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, Kate Hallard’s a decent sort, all right -enough, I dare say,” Anderson hastened to answer. -“Of course there’s always talk. I’ve -heard some myself, but I discounted it. In the -first place, she’s hard as nails. No nonsense -about her. Not her. Her tongue ’s tipped with -vitriol, and when she opens her mouth the men -<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>catch it.” Anderson shrugged his shoulder a -trifle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And then, of course,” said he, “There’s no telling -about Gard. He may be a little more attracted -than he might want to be, and yet have strength -enough to pull out of it and get away.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I should call that being weak, if he cared!” -cried Helen, indignantly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, I don’t know.” Her father took Dickens’ -bridle-rein from the puncher who had brought the -pony up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It all depends upon how a man looks at some -things,” he said, throwing the reins into place.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen took them and prepared to mount, a hand -on the cantel.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The one thing I don’t like about this way of -riding,” said Anderson, “is that it curtails our -privileges. You don’t need helping on.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen sprang to the saddle, adjusting herself -with a little shake.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’Twould only hinder,” said she, smiling, “like -every other help we don’t need.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She flushed suddenly, as she realized that she -was quoting a saying of Gard’s.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You keep Patsy here, won’t you?” she called as -she rode away, leaving her father looking after -her with an expression half proud, half wistful and -wholly tender.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>“She’s clean grown up,” said he, to himself, as -he stooped and snapped the leash into Patsy’s collar.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The bonnie thing! Lord! How I wish her -mother was alive!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stood staring out upon the sun-washed -desert, wide, silent, baffling, and spoke the yearning -thought of his heart.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know how to be a mother to her, and -she’s sure going to need one. Lord, Lord!” He -cast a comprehensive glance over the fierce, brilliant -landscape. “This is an all-right country for -men and burros,” he said, with a half-whimsical -sigh, “but it’s a mighty hard one for women and -horses!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen had promised Jacinta to ride as far as -Old Joe Papago’s, to see Mrs. Old Joe about a -young Indian girl who was to come and help -Jacinta with the work of the casa. Old Joe -was better off, financially, than any other Papago -in the section, and his wife, who was reputed to -have some Spanish blood, exercised a sort of -guardianship over the women and young girls of -their settlement. This latter was only three or -four miles distant, and there was a slight ting in -the December air that quickened Dickens’ nerves, -and made him ready for a frolic, but Helen was in -no mood to gratify him. She ignored all his invitations -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>to run, and kept him to the slow little -walk of the bronco.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He hated it and fretted under the steady rein; -but for once Helen did not heed him. She was -going over in her mind the events of the past five -days. Westcott, in the brief space of his hour -with her, had sought to sow the seeds of doubt of -Gard in her mind. He had spoken vaguely of certain -tricky games that the stranger was trying to -play upon him, and an imagination less pure than -the girl’s might have inferred much from the -subtle little that he let fall regarding Kate Hallard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The carefully chosen seed, however, had found -no favoring soil—no fostering care. Helen was -herself of too true and sturdy a fiber to doubt the -truth and the stability of Gard’s nature. She dismissed, -with hardly a thought, the suggestion of -trickery on his part, and the other poisoned arrows -wholly missed their intended mark.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s a lot of ways of thinking about any -one thing,” Gard had said one day, as they talked -out long, long thoughts of life, and right, “But a -man—he’s got to follow the straightest path he -sees; for he’s got to live so he can like himself, -and care to be with himself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Yes: that was what he would do, without fail. -He saw straight, and he would follow the straight -path. Oh! It was good to feel trust in one’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>friends! Something of the peace and serenity that -Gard himself had won out of solitude and despair -fell upon her spirit at thought of his clear vision, -and steady holding of the right.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Yet her heart was heavy. She told herself that -this was because she feared for the ultimate happiness -of one friend. She remembered her father’s -words about Mrs. Hallard: “coarse; hard; her -tongue tipped with vitriol.” Surely they must be -unjust, or this man, who was fine and true, would -not care. He <em>could</em> not care. Perhaps he would -come to see before it was too late, and would “pull -out and get away.” But no: that he would not -do. His was a steadfast nature; of that she was -sure!</p> - -<p class='c009'>Before Old Joe Papago’s door, reins dropped to -the sand, stood a stout roan horse, and leaning -against the door-post, talking to Mrs. Old Joe, was -a woman dressed in khaki. It needed but a single -glance to tell Helen who it was.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The blonde head turned as the girl rode up, and -the big black eyes surveyed her comprehensively, -but there was no sign of recognition in the hard, -impassive face. Mrs. Old Joe grunted a response -to Helen’s greeting, and the latter dismounted.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Acting upon a sudden impulse she came close to -the woman by the doorway.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>“Good-morning,” she said, simply, holding out -her hand. “This is Mrs. Hallard, isn’t it? I am -Helen Anderson.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Hallard said, apparently -not seeing the outstretched hand. Kate -Hallard had no mind to be patronized: but she -studied the girl’s face, stealthily, and the bold eyes -grew a shade softer.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She did not know that Gard had left the Palo -Verde that morning. Westcott, who had tried -hard to come to some sort of terms with her, in -the other man’s absence, had told her that the -latter would probably let himself be detained at -the rancho for a fortnight, at least. He had -drawn a vivid picture of Gard making the most -of this opportunity to win a way into Miss Anderson’s -good graces. The lawyer’s methods had -been primitive. He sought to play upon the -woman’s presumable capacity for jealousy, and -thus set her against Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He might have saved himself the mental wear -and tear. Kate Hallard was not a fool; nor a -devotee of the heart-complication school of fiction. -She held no illusions about Gard’s attitude toward -herself, and she had come to believe in him, passionately. -Nevertheless, Westcott’s efforts had -awakened in her a keen interest in Helen.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I expect you are on the same errand as myself,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>the girl was saying, determined not to be -repulsed. “Mrs. Joe keeps all the girls in her -<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">reboso</span></i>.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She spoke in Spanish, that the Indian woman -might not feel left out of their talk, and the latter -smiled, toothlessly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“My, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Hallard. “You don’t -catch me taking on girls to look after. I’m on the -<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">buscar</span></i> for a boy.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And have you succeeded?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not I! They ain’t lookin’ for work; not the -bucks; an’ she wouldn’t trust me with a girl, not -even if I’d take one.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She laughed, defiantly, and the young girl -divined, instinctively, that she did so because -she was ill at ease. She stood looking at her, wistfully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Did Gabriel Gard really love this woman? Was -she really coarse, and hard, and vitriolic of tongue, -as her father had said? It could not be; or such -a man could not care. There <em>must</em> be another side, -and shame be upon her, Helen Anderson, if she -could not win it to the surface.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wonder—” she began, with some hesitation. -“Of course I don’t know what you want, but Wing -Chang, our cook, has a young cousin—or something—visiting -him. He came a few days ago, -with some teamsters from the mines. I think -<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>Chang does not want to take him on. He was -scolding about it, yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The defiance was gone from Mrs. Hallard’s -face, and a little look of friendliness crept among -its hard lines.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why, if he’s old enough to wait on table,” -said she, “I dare say he’d be just what I want.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh,” Helen replied, “I know that he can do -that. He must be about sixteen years old, and he -<em>has</em> waited in restaurants.” She did not add that -that was one reason why neither she nor Chang -cared for the lad’s services. “Why can’t you ride -back to the rancho with me and see him yourself?” -she asked, instead.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why, I’d take it right good of you if I could,” -Kate Hallard said, after a moment’s hesitation. -Mrs. Old Joe had departed to find the mother of -Jacinta’s prospective handmaiden, and they were -speaking English.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“’Tain’t no meanness in me that won’t have a -girl round,” she added, as if wishing to set herself -right with her hearer, “but I want some one to -sling victuals, at the grille, an’ I can’t have any -half-baked girl-squaws round. Men’s devils; I -can’t look after them an’ girls too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” Helen spoke in impulsive protest, and -Mrs. Hallard’s laugh was hard again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You don’t believe what I said about men, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>guess,” she said, and Helen answered very simply:</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Of course not; it couldn’t be true you know, -so long as women are not—what you said.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t so sure about the women—not most of -’em—” Mrs. Hallard’s handsome face wore a -sneer now.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Anyway,” she argued, “they’s plenty of ’em -doin’ their share o’ the devil’s business in the -world.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But there <em>are</em> good men,” Helen persisted, “and -good women, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Right you are about there bein’ some,” was the -reply; “but I draw the line at there bein’ many. -I’ve lived in this world thirty years, nearly, child, -an’ I ain’t found such a lot. I know <em>one</em> good -man though.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Her face softened, and at the sight a thrill -stirred Helen’s pulses. She felt sure that Mrs. -Hallard was speaking of Gard. There <em>was</em> softness -under that hard shell after all.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Before she could say anything more, however, -Mrs. Old Joe returned to the hut with the Papago -girl and her mother, and she set her mind to the -faithful performance of Jacinta’s errand. It was -quickly arranged that the handmaiden should be -brought at once to the Palo Verde, and the matter -completed, the two white women rode away together.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>A soft wind was blowing across their faces; a -wind full of the essential odor of the desert: impalpable, -a little acrid, bracing withal, and subtly -suggestive of mystery, and of vastness. Helen -threw back her head, yielding to the desert spell.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” she cried, “this is the place to be, after -all. Don’t you feel so about it?” she demanded of -her companion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know,” Kate Hallard was watching -her, puzzled. “I never was away from it. Sometimes -it makes me ache.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ache?” It was the girl’s turn to be mystified.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes.” The woman could not have told why -the hidden thoughts of her heart suddenly became -articulate at this girl’s invitation to speech.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It always seems to me as if the desert—wants -something,” she explained, hesitatingly. “I -d’ know what ’tis, but the feeling’s there: a sort -of emptiness, as if it wanted to cry and couldn’t. -Sometimes at night, when I hear a burro ‘yee-haw,’ -or a coyote howlin’, seems to me like’s if, if the -desert <em>could</em> cry that’s the kind o’ noise it would -make. It’s like lonesome women—if there’s any -sense in that!” she added with a half-ashamed -laugh.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen’s heart was full of sympathy that she felt -was but partially understanding. So this was what -the desert had brought to this hard-seeming woman. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>She had a sudden sorry realization that the marvelous -waste had never told its ache to her, dearly -as she loved it, and with the realization came the -knowledge that the woman beside her understood -because she had truly lived and suffered in it. It -came to her to wonder if Gard had ever felt the -ache of the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you ever want to get away from it?” she -asked, softly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I d’ know,” her companion considered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t never known what anything else is like,” -she finally said, helplessly, “but seems to me you -git to feel like’s if you was part of the desert, an’ -something would break if you got too far off.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Ah! <em>That</em> Helen knew. She had hungered for -the desert, even if she had never ached with it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s the place of places for me,” cried she, taking -off her hat and letting the wind stir her hair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard studied her, wonderingly. She -had known few women in her life; never before -so youthful a one. She wondered what Gabriel -Gard had thought of this girl.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mr. Gard’s at the rancho ain’t he?” she asked, -and Helen’s cheek paled for an instant. The older -woman noted the fact with a fierce little pang.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He went back to Sylvania this morning,” Helen -answered, and the other looked her surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I didn’t suppose he’d git away so quick,” she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>said. “Sandy Larch was in yesterday an’ said he -was in for another week. If I’d known he was -comin’ in I wouldn’t a’ gone off,” she added, and a -sense of the desert’s ache crept into Helen’s own -heart.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Yes: Mrs. Hallard was right: it <em>was</em> a lonely -place.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Arrived at the Palo Verde, the girl called Wing -Chang, telling him the business of the moment, -and directed him to send in his young relative. -Then she took Mrs. Hallard to her own room, a -big, low-ceilinged place, with wide windows looking -out toward the far mountains. Kate gazed -about her wistfully. She had seen few women’s -rooms in her lifetime.</p> - -<p class='c008'>This one was the sort of composite suggestion of -dear girl and nice boy that the modern college -girl’s room is apt to be. Cushions blazoned with -the initials of Radcliffe and of Harvard heaped a -couch covered with the skin of a mountain lion -that Helen herself had shot. Among the pretty -trifles on the dresser was a practical-looking little -revolver, and from one of the two hooks that held -her light rifle hung an illumined panel bearing the -arms of Radcliffe. A cartridge-belt hung from -another hook, and beneath it, on a stand, lay a bit -of dainty embroidery which she had been working -on that very morning.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>Beside it was a fat little book bound in age-yellowed -vellum. Kate Hallard picked this up and -glanced through it, curiously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Is this Chinese?” she asked, bewildered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen explained that it was Greek, and the -woman laid it down with a weary little laugh.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t never been out’n the territory, as I said,” -she explained, half defiantly. “Men’s about the -only books I ever read, an’ Lord! <em>they’re</em> mostly -writ plainer’n that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I haven’t known many,” Helen answered, “except -my father—and one or two others.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“One or two’s likely to be samples o’ the rest,” -the other remarked, carelessly. “I suppose you -know an awful lot?” she continued, glancing at -Helen’s book-shelves. She had never before seen -so many books together.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know just enough to realize that I am dreadfully -ignorant.” Helen’s face was troubled; the -older woman yearned toward her. She, alas! -could think of nothing in her own experience that -was likely to be of use to the girl.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang’s cousin just at this instant appeared, -silently, in the doorway.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, Lee,” Helen cried; “Mrs. Hallard wants -to see you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Chang say come,” the boy replied, “I come -quick’s could. Me velly good waiter boy,” he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>added without preamble, turning to Kate Hallard. -“Thinkee takee your job.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Land sakes!” laughed she; “he’s none so slow, -is he?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Can you wait on customers as prompt as all -that?” she asked of the boy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Me velly good boy,” he repeated, gravely, -“makee hash fli allee same like hellee.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lee!” Helen looked shocked. “You should -wait to see whether Mrs. Hallard wants you,” she -finished, rather tamely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Lee looked at her in surprise. “No can help,” he -announced, conclusively, “China boy velly scarce; -no can get many; him got take me; one velly good -boy.” He glanced again at Mrs. Hallard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I go get clo’,” he concluded, imperturbably. -“Go skippee Sylvania. See you later.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was gone, without circumlocution, and Helen -surveyed her visitor a little helplessly. “I’ll have -Chang talk to him,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No need,” laughed the other. “But my! -He’s sure something of a hustler, that boy. I -reckon I’d better hit the trail or he’ll be runnin’ -the grille before I git to it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you really think he will do for you?” -Helen was somewhat dismayed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure,” was the reply. “He’ll do first rate. He -means well; don’t I know Chinks?”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>“You have to take ’em the way they mean,” she -added, philosophically. “That’s the way to git -along with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You seem to know a great deal,” murmured -Helen, wistfully. She felt somehow very young -and inexperienced.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose you’ll see Mr. Gard when you get -home,” she added, tentatively. “We—that is—Father -was afraid he ought not to go so soon—on -account of his foot. We hope it will be all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Again Kate Hallard crushed down the little -pang that would come.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mr. Gard, he took hold of a little piece o’ business -for me...” she spoke very casually, “I -reckon it’s bothering him a lot. I expect he wants -to get done with it an’ git away from here. He’s -been mighty kind about it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh! He would be that.” Helen could not -have explained why her heart seemed suddenly -lighter. She was conscious of a quick, friendly -feeling toward this woman of the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’ll come again to see me, won’t you?” she -asked, detaining her guest when the latter had -swung to the saddle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard hesitated. “I reckon I can’t git -away from the grille much,” she said, evasively. -“I never go nowhere much.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl’s instinctive wisdom prompted her not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>to press the point then. She would let it wait, but -her wistfulness sounded in her voice when she -spoke again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“At any rate we’re friends, are we not?” queried -she, looking up into the black eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They returned her gaze with a sudden glisten, -as of ice-bound pools when Spring has touched -them. In their fundamental honesty the two natures -stood for the moment upon common ground.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Friends.” Kate Hallard drew a long breath -as she took up her bridle-rein. “Child,” she said, -“if the friendship of a woman like me is ever any -use to you, it’s yours while there’s a drop o’ blood -in my heart,” and ere Helen could make answer -she was well down the avenue toward the great -gate.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER VII</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>The days immediately following his return to -Sylvania were hard ones for Gard. The few -cautious inquiries he had dared to make in the investigation -of his own affairs had resulted in the -information that Jim Texas was dead and that -Hart Dowling had left Wyoming and gone on -into Idaho. Gard’s messenger had been unable to -get to him on account of the deep snow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He read the letter containing this news lying -coatless upon the sand, far beyond the town. The -desert was his one solace in the enforced idleness -of waiting for word from Sawyer, for which he -had written to San Francisco. The vast barren -seemed in tune with his own mood.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The fierceness of his ache was there; the yearning -of his solitude: he tried to picture the vast sea -of sand overgrown with verdure, calling up cool -visions of tree and pool, and gentle growths born -of the small spring rain on the green grass. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>picture came before him like a memory of delicious -holidays in lush woods.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was but a vision however. The scent of the -desert was in his nostrils; the impress of the desert -upon his brain. He opened his eyes and saw again -the silent reaches of the waste—wide, untamed, untamable—and -sat up, the better to view the lean -landscape.</p> - -<p class='c008'>At his first movement a jack-rabbit, observing -him from beneath a cholla, gathered its swift hind-legs -under him and fled, with incredible rapidity, -before the shadow of fear. Gard laughed, but -there was underneath his amusement a sense of the -constant deadly strife of the place. If he had no -designs upon the jack-rabbit, plenty of other creatures -had. The lurking snake that lay in wait to -take him subtly; the lank coyote, more cunning -than he, if not so swift; even the Gila monster, -slow and hideous; the savage, sneaking wild-cat, -and the little hydrophobia skunk, were constantly -on the alert to surprise those wide-open eyes and -ears. These all preyed upon him, and upon one -another, caught in the endless struggle of the -desert, moved upon by constant need to sustain -life, and to hold it against all other life.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The thought brought Gard to a sharpened sense -of his own danger, and of the enemies who, if they -but knew, would be so quick to hunt and harry him. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>The savagery of it all smote him with a keener -desolation. The armed vegetation, grotesque and -menacing; the preying creatures of the plain; the -sand-laden wind that was constantly tearing down -and rebuilding the shifting scene—were not all -these but a commentary upon the mad, devouring -human world about him?</p> - -<p class='c008'>But the wind that laid bare the earth’s nakedness -clothed and healed as well, purifying the air and -cleansing the waste. The give as well as the take -of life was there. Death was in the desert, but not -decay. Gard, feeling it all in the whirl of his emotions, -knew that the grim plain which mothered the -whole fierce brood had mothered him as well, giving -him back health and strength from her own -burning heart, and he loved her, as her children must.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His thoughts turned inevitably to the glade. He -had a whimsical idea that his trouble would all -seem easier if he could but talk it over with Jinny. -Deep down, however, he knew better. Not even -to that faithful listener could he have voiced the -longing of his whole nature for Helen Anderson. -He cherished the thought of her in his secret heart, -going over, minute by minute, the hours they had -spent together. Each word of hers, each look, gesture, -had its special power of endearment!</p> - -<p class='c008'>What if he were to tell her the whole story, -would she believe him? Would she consent to go -<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>away with him into a new life? He could realize -enough from the mine to make such a life full of -rich possibilities, and there were far countries -enough!</p> - -<p class='c008'>But what sort of a man would it be, who could -ask the woman he loved to help him live a lie? He -asked himself the question and awoke to a realization -of his further folly. What right had he even -to dream of her—to imagine that she could ever -care for him at all? Even though he should stand -before her without a shadow in his past he would -be a brave man who dared raise his eyes to her. -How could he, of all men?</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then he remembered Westcott. He had seen -with his own eyes that <em>he</em> dared. Could that man -ever hope to win her?</p> - -<p class='c008'>The torture of this thought drove him out over -the desert at noon, when the sky closed brassy-yellow -above him, and the heat-reddened air over the -sand seemed the hue of his own thoughts. He -fought his way through it to peace, far out in the -open, when the afternoon wind was driving the -heat of the plain skyward, and seaward over the -mountains, and he came back against that cleansing -breath, his wonted strong self, to a conference -with Kate Hallard. She was bitter against Westcott -that day, breathing out wrath, and the desire -for vengeance.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>“If you’ve ever noticed it,” Gard said, “there’s -a kind of reasonableness in the way things happen, -even when they look black. They happen out of -each other; and there’s Something managing -them, no matter how it looks, sometimes. I’ve -found that out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’d like to help in the managin’,” Mrs. Hallard -said, grimly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You couldn’t.” Gard shook his head thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You couldn’t see the whole scheme,” he continued. -“And we don’t need to want to. Whoever’s -doing it is making up a whole piece out of -’em. That’s this world we’re in. It’s our world. -We belong in it; and there ain’t anything in it for -us to be afraid of but just ourselves.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He pondered his own saying for a moment, repeating -it as if to reassure himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s sure right.” He took up the thread -again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It makes me think of a game I played once at a -party I went to, when I was a kid, back in the -states. They had a big, round paper apple fixed -up, with something in it for each of us; and we -each had a string given us to follow up till we -came to the end and each found what belonged to -him. Ever see anything like that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard nodded.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>“They worked a game o’ that sort once at some -Christmas doin’s where I was raised. Did you -ever think o’ me goin’ to Sunday School?” she -asked, with a bitter little laugh.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure I did.” Gard went on with his simile. -“A man’s got to hold on to his own string,” he -said. “And follow it up till he gets to the core of -the apple. He’ll find his own share there. This -Westcott, he’s trying to haul on other folkses’ -lines, as well’s his own, and that gets things in a -mix-up. We’ve got to try and make him play the -thing right; but it ain’t our party, and therefore -it ain’t our job to throw him out of the game altogether.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard’s brows were knit in the effort to -follow. She had not herself learned, as yet, to -lean upon the logic of events, and vengeance was a -part of her own theory of life. Then, because she -seemed to find no thoroughfare through the subject, -she turned abruptly away from it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I met up with your Miss Helen Anderson yesterday,” -she said, suddenly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The light in Gard’s face was revealing, but he -merely stood, expectant, until she had told him the -whole of the encounter at Old Joe Papago’s, even -to Helen’s proffer of friendship.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bless her!” the man murmured, with face illumined. -“Ain’t she a brick, though?”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>“She’s better ’n a brick,” said Kate Hallard, -promptly. “She’s a real woman, with a lovin’ honest -heart. Look here, Mr. Gabriel Gard! Be you -goin’ to stand round with your quirt in your hand, -while that there Westcott devil rides off the range -with her?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard’s face was pale, and the sweat stood upon -his forehead.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t!” cried he, sharply. “You don’t know -what you’re talking about! A man’s got to follow -his own line, I tell you, and get it clear before -him, before he asks any woman to take hold of it -with him!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned abruptly and left her. Yes: that was -what he must do. Whatever was to be met, he -must meet it, and clear the way, before he took one -step nearer Helen.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But it’s hard to wait,” he muttered, pacing the -desert with clenched hands; “hard as wickedness!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The stage that night brought him a letter from -San Francisco. Sawyer, it told him, had left the -city. The writer believed that he had gone to Arizona -for the winter. He was thought to be somewhere -on a ranch in the neighborhood of the Navajo -reservation. Gard read that with a little feeling -of dismay. He did not care to go up there. -He had grown confident that he was not likely to -be recognized; but still, there was danger, and he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>wanted to keep clear of complications until such -time as he was ready to act for himself. If anything -should happen to him he had no one to take -up his work on the outside. He must find someone -whom he could trust.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Suddenly he bethought himself of Sandy Larch. -They were friends. He could trust Sandy, and he -would.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He spent a long time that evening, writing a letter -of instructions for Sandy Larch to read, in the -event of any failure in his own plans. This he put -carefully inside a worn memorandum book, and -did the whole up in a neat packet which he meant -to leave with the foreman, together with a heavy -money-belt which he was then himself wearing. If -necessity arose he would have to trust much to the -foreman’s shrewd judgment in action, but at least -he would fix things so that Sandy should not be -acting in the dark.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He got an early start in the morning, and rode -out to the Palo Verde. Morgan Anderson was -away. He had left at daylight, to go down into -Mexico, Sandy Larch explained, on some mining -business. Incidentally, he was going to see about -some choice lemon trees that he had set his heart -upon, and before their arrival ground must be broken -to receive them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So it’s up to us to git them workin’ cows gentled -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>an’ onto their job,” the foreman told Gard; -“We’re goin’ to bust ’em out right now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say,” he added, “That lawyer-sharp ’s here. -Came down last night, to see the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i>; he’s -goin’ on to Sylvania, I guess. He said somethin’ -about it, awhile ago.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I came out to see you on a little business matter, -Sandy,” Gard had begun, when one of the -cow-punchers demanded the foreman’s attention. -Ere he could turn back to Gard, Westcott came -down from the casa and mounted his horse which -was standing at the rail.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He greeted Gard curtly. “Going to stay and see -the fun?” He queried, with a jaunty air of being -entirely at home. “I think I will, too. We’ll be -glad to have you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The future working-stock had been removed to -an outlying corral, to make room for the horses the -men had been working out. The Palo Verde was -short of men that season, and Sandy was obliged -to plan his work carefully. The punchers who -were to break in the cattle were grouped now, and -ready for the fray.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Come on,” the foreman called to Gard, who -had tossed his saddlebags down in front of Sandy’s -shack, and the outfit went tearing across the sand -to the outer corrals.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A wagon and a plow had been hauled out to the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>scene of action the night before. The principles -of gentling the steers were brief and fundamental. -Two punchers threw their ropes over the horns of -one big brute and dragged him out upon the desert, -while two others brought up his yoke-fellow. Once -yoked and hitched, with a riata from the horns of -each to the saddle-horn of a good man on a clever -pony, to tow them along, the creatures could move -forward, or die in their tracks. When, as was -usual, they decided to do the former, they were -considered gentled. Their future, thereafter, was -in the keeping of the Mexican who might have -them in hand to plow with.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hullo, you heap heathen!” Sandy Larch called -out to the Chinese cook in the big wagon as the -outfit came thundering up. “How’d you git out -here?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang grinned, as was his habit whenever -the foreman addressed him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Heap tallee fun,” he explained. “Me come -look see.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch and Manuel had already brought -out a steer. Broome threw his rope next, cursing -roundly at the greenhorn who was helping him, -and whose first wild throw covered the horns of -the wrong animal. Since it would be quicker work -for him to change than for the other, Broome released -his “cow,” the big steer that had run him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>from the corral the week before, and took hold -with the greenhorn.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The brutes were yoked and hitched to the -wagon, and the fun began with Chang’s precipitate -and unpremeditated departure from the vehicle. -He rolled over and got to his feet as the cowboys -started out over the sand, pell-mell, “pully haul,” in -a medley of shrieks and oaths and thunderous bellowings. -The spectators of the proceedings kept -along upon the flanks of the procession, shouting -encouragement or derision to the sweating cowboys -as they galloped, and occasionally lending a -hand so far as to lean over and apply the spur to one -or the other resisting “bos.” In two minutes’ time -the wildly gyrating mass was well out on the plain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then from the corral came the sound of a sudden -crash. A huge red and white bulk hurled itself -over the bars, and the steer that Broome had released -came charging out, mad with rage and fear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>For an instant he stood dazed by the success of -his own exploit. None of the other cattle had followed. -He alone had possessed the wit and prowess -to essay the barrier, one bar of which the -greenhorn had failed to secure.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The great brute’s hesitation was brief. For an -instant he pawed the sand, bellowing challenge to -the world; then, head down and tail up, he started -like a streak of lightning for the only man on foot.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>Wing Chang had already realized his danger, -and was flying for his life, his pigtail streaming behind -him, his yellow face distorted by fright. The -outfit wheeled and took notice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wow! Wow! Fli’ gun. Allee samee fli’ gun!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The high-pitched shrieks of the terrified Chinamen -rose above the noise of hoofs, the shouts of -men, the bellowing of cattle. On he sped, the -mighty bulk of his pursuer flashing along in what -looked like a continuous streak of red, behind -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell!” One of the punchers ejaculated. “It’s -us to be hunting a new cook!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The next instant his bronco’s heels were twinkling -as he raced to the rescue.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had already started. He had no rope, but -he was nearest the scene, and he saw, as did the -others, that no rope could be flung in time. He -was sending his pony along at full speed, minded -to get in and head “bos” off. It was Wing Chang’s -only hope.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The great steer was already perilously near, -when the Chinaman stumbled, falling his full -length on the sand. His yells still pierced the air -in high falsetto, and his feet continued the motions -of running, flinging up and down with the regularity -of pistons as his long yellow fingers clutched -the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>Down came the foe! An instant, and the thing -would be done; but in between him and his yelling -victim flashed a man and a horse, and Gard, reaching -down, caught the Chinaman by the belt.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A quick, skilful jerk brought him up as the pony -dashed on, and in the same instant the cowboy’s -rope caught the steer by one upflung hind hoof. -The great brute turned a clean somersault in the -air, and landed with a crash upon his back.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard, keeping hold of the Chinaman, brought -his horse to a standstill near a great branching -suhuaro, and set the still vociferating Wing Chang -upon his feet. The cowboys already had two -ropes over the recalcitrant steer, and were leading -him back to the corral, minus one long, murderous -horn, and greatly chastened in spirit.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was high noon before the three pairs of cattle -were gentled sufficiently to permit of their being -yoked without absolute danger to life. By that -time each “yoke” had pulled the wagon a quarter -of a mile, with more or less sobriety, and had -plowed a torturous furrow on the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Which I would rise in my place,” Sandy Larch -said, seriously, “an’ point with pride at them yoke -o’ cows as a good morning’s work.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He and Gard had ridden back together, and -were in the foreman’s shack. Westcott had gone -on his way to Sylvania.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“I want you to do something for me, Sandy,” -Gard said. “I’ve got to go up north, and I want -to leave—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His hand sought an inner pocket as he spoke, -and he drew it out with a look of dismay. Then he -began searching his other pockets.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lost something?” the foreman said, watching -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I—should—say—I—had!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The full significance of his loss was telegraphing -itself to the inner strongholds of Gard’s consciousness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sandy!” He sprang to his feet. “I’ve got to -find it—in a hurry, too!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was outside, now, looking for his horse, -which had been turned in to feed with the others.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ll rustle a couple more,” Sandy said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord!” he thought, “Something’s eatin’ him. -I never thought I’d see <em>him</em> in a flurry.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were ready in a moment, and riding back -to the ground they had gone over in the forenoon.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You kin bet your hat you let it go overboard -when you reached fer that blasted Chink,” Sandy -said, and they made for the spot where Gard had -rescued Wing Chang.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But no brown packet rewarded their scrutiny of -the ground. They paced the desert on to where -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>Gard had set the Chinaman on his feet, and found -nothing but the hole of a Gila monster. Sandy -kicked it open with his heel, and the occupant came -up, hissing hideously, but that was all.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They circled the whole ground of the morning’s -operations, but without result, and at last they returned -to the shack. Gard’s face was drawn in -haggard lines, but he had recovered his poise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I reckon that thing’s got tromped down into -the ground,” Sandy said, by way of consolation. “I -didn’t see none of the boys pick up nothin’. -They’d a’ hollered if they had, an’ we was all together.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All except Westcott.” Gard spoke very quietly, -but Sandy shouted.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gosh! That’s so,” He cried, “I fergot him fer -a minute. I swan! Would it be mighty bad if he -was the one to find it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A little worse, in some ways, than anybody -else living.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord! Lord! But I don’t see how he could, -Gard: He rode off to Sylvania. It’s happened the -way I said. They was a mighty lot o’ hoofs rampaging -round there, an’ your goods, whatever -’t was, got tromped in; but you can bet Sandy -Larch’ll keep his peepers open fer’t if it’s on top -the ’arth.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Anyway,”—Gard roused himself—“there’s all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>the more reason why I should do what I’ve got to -do while I can.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was undressing as he spoke, and presently -produced the belt.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I want you to put this away somewhere, -Sandy,” he said. “If I send you word to do some -things for me it may come in handy. And Sandy, -if anything happens to me you go and see Mrs. -Hallard, and do what you can to help her. She’ll -need help.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Not a flicker moved the serenity of the foreman’s -steady eyes. His was not the friendship that -questions.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll do anything you send word to do, Gard,” -said he, “but I don’t believe I’ll need all that -money. You got plenty to use?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure—” with a sigh. “Money ain’t the thing I -need most, Sandy.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bless yourself for that,” was the quick reply. -“When it comes to a pinch the filthy’s one of the -things inconvenient to miss.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He put the belt away in his own secret hiding-place -and busied himself with getting up his -friend’s horse. Gard meant to ride to Bonesta, and -there board the train. If, as he suspected, Westcott -had found that tell-tale packet, he must himself -move quickly, and settle Mrs. Hallard’s matter -before he could be apprehended as a fugitive from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>justice. Not that Gard meant to be apprehended. -But he did not intend that any thought of risk to -his personal safety should interfere with the discharge -of his duty as he saw it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So long, Sandy,” he said, out beyond the corrals.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">Adios!</span></i>”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy gripped his hand heartily, and the two -men parted; but Gard made a wide detour, ere he -took the desert road, to glimpse from afar the low-walled -casa, white in the glaring December sunlight.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had left the Palo Verde well behind, and -was in a little sandy valley, the dry bed of some -ancient lake, when he dismounted to tighten his -saddle cincha. Pausing an instant, before remounting, -he cast a weary glance skyward and -gave a cry of surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>High in the ether an enchanted landscape, huge, -distorted, hung before his vision. Rocks and trees, -vast cacti and shimmering plain were there, and -moving among them were a horse and rider, followed -by a dog.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was no mistaking the figures. Helen, -upon Dickens, was riding on the plain, Patsy keeping -her company. The blessed mirage showed -them plainly and Gard gazed, dizzy with emotion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was but a fleeting vision. Some movement of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>the upper air-currents disturbed it and even as he -looked it broke into fragments, dissolved and was -gone, ere Gard’s swelling heart had ceased its wild -pounding.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“She is out there in the desert,” he murmured, a -sobbing catch in his throat, “Oh, God bless her! I -love her! I love her!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He mounted his horse again and rode on, his -heart light as a feather, and on his lips the words -of a half-forgotten old song.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER VIII</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Gard had not been wrong in his reading of the -mirage. It <em>was</em> Helen whose presentment -that marvel of the desert had set like a bow of -promise in the sky. A mood of restlessness had -sent the girl forth seeking refuge in the sunlit candor -of the plain from the fear that was upon her, -of hidden chambers in her own soul, which she -shrank from entering.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was very quiet. From time to time Dickens, -the pony, turned to nip playfully first one then the -other of her hooded stirrups, inviting her to a -frolic. Once, when a parcel of gaunt Indian dogs -went vociferating along a stretch of mesa, within -sight and hearing, he broke into a sympathetic -scamper, Patsy joining him ecstatically. The rise -from a walk to a run was sudden and unexpected, -but the girl adapted herself to it indifferently, with -the instinctive adjustment of perfect horsemanship.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The pony ran gallantly for a little distance, waiting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>all the while, expectantly, for the thrill of answering -pleasure in motion that failed to come -along the rein. One inquiring eye rolled back at -his mistress, one fine, pointed ear slanted to catch -her least word of command, but Helen was far -away and he watched and listened in vain for some -hint that she realized his coaxing. Dickens could -not understand it. He stretched his graceful neck -as he ran, still seeking that answering touch of the -bit. Helen’s ready hand gave lightly to his thrust, -her muscles responding with trained certainty to -his every movement, but Dickens wanted her conscious -attention. When that was not forthcoming -his pace slackened under the retarding weight of -her laden spirit. He drooped his head and went -half-heartedly, following Patsy, whose vagabond -whim had led him from the road.</p> - -<p class='c008'>A feeling of oppression was on the girl. Not -even the cleansing touch of the north-west wind, -blowing from the far mountains, seemed potent to -ease it. Somehow, the desert solitude had grown -all at once more complex than ever the busy, active -city life had been. The well-loved plain lay all -about her as of old, fraught with all its remembered -delight, yet imminent with a new mystery. -Some message, luring yet baffling, quivered -through it. The far blue hills, the golden-roseate -sky, the shimmering, wind-stirred air, breathed of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>life; but the grim waste, yellow, seared, ancient, -the scant, spectral trees, the uncouth cacti, warned, -rather, to thoughts of death; and something deep -within her was subtly aware of another summons -still, which her soul half shrank from heeding, half -yearned to understand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She drew rein presently, as she realized that -they were off the trail. At the base of a mass of -rock Patsy was scratching frantically at a hole in -the earth where a burrowing owl had just disappeared. -A carrion crow, disturbed in its tentative -investigation of something that lay on the ground, -rose complainingly and flapped itself darkly away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Looking about her Helen came to slow realization -of the spot. There were the rocks round -which she had come that marvelous morning. -Here Gard had lain, Patsy just where she and -Dickens stood. Yonder slender thread of pearly -vertebra that the raven had been turning over was -all that was left of the menace that had lifted itself -just there that day.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Second by second she went over the scene, seeing -again the spell-bound dog, the flat-headed, venomous -snake, the prostrate man, with his serene -gaze, his dark eyes telegraphing reassurance to her -from the heart of his own deadly peril.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh,” she shuddered, feeling again the sense of -horror and faintness that had been hers on that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>morning, “What if no one had come! What if I -could not have saved him!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She buried her face in her hands, shutting out -the scene, but she could not shut out the memory -of those haunting eyes. She saw them still, but -now they were troubled, and eloquent of struggle, -as they had seemed while he was saying good-by, -that morning at the Palo Verde. The girl had -wondered, more than once, over that look, so -quickly withdrawn. Now she suddenly understood -it through the quick response which, at the -memory, leaped from her own heart; and she -knew, deep down in those recesses which she had -shrunk from looking upon, that she had understood -all the time.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The mantling crimson swept her face as she sat -there, startled, still keeping her hands up, as -though to hide it from her own thoughts. She -went over in her mind all those days at the rancho, -measuring every look, every gesture, weighing -every word of Gard’s that seemed to afford comfort -to her shamed heart.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He went away without a word,” she finally -whispered, raising her head. “But I know I can -trust him. There was some good reason why he -had to go away; but he will come back! Oh, he -will come back to me!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The glory of the skies became all at once part of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>the brightness that filled her spirit. The girl’s heart -was suddenly lifted on mysterious wings into the -wider spaces of womanhood. She had heard the -message, and was aware.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Yet there was visible as she turned away, but a -slender figure in khaki, browned as to cheek and -brow, touched to warmth by the desert wind, guiding -a dun pony among the rocks and cacti back to -the trail.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The dusty thread of its way picked up once -more, Helen suddenly awoke to outward things; to -the challenge of the north-west wind, and the -eager outstretch of the horse she rode. The least -imperceptible lift of her bridle arm conveyed to -Dickens the welcome news that his mistress answered -him. Something of her soul’s exultation -thrilled through the pony and set his twinkling feet -to dancing, and on the instant they were racing -pell-mell across the desert, Patsy, wild with joy, -careering beside them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen laughed aloud for sheer delight as they -sped forward. She stood in her stirrups and sent -Dickens ahead, holding him steady but making no -effort to check the wild pace, the wind bearing all -care from her brain, all doubt from her heart, as -they swept on toward the Palo Verde.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well!” Sandy Larch said, coming to take the -pony’s rein as Helen swung down beside the corrals, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>“You sure was goin’ some. I kind o’ thought -for a minute Dickens was runnin’ with you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No,” laughed Helen, still breathless and exultant -with the excitement of the race, “<em>I</em> was running -with Dickens.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy loosened the cincha and eased the saddle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ll leave it that a’way till his back cools -out,” said he, “You’ve sure warmed him up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned an approving glance upon the girl as -she stood rubbing Dickens’ dun-colored nose.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You look good Miss Helen,” he said. “I’d begun -to be afraid they’d educated all the life an’ -brightness out’n you back there to your eastern college. -I guess, though, you’ll get over it in time.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Get over the education, Sandy?” she suggested, -mischievously; she and Sandy had been pals since -her babyhood.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’d be sorry if I should,” she added. “Think -what a loss it would be.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes,” he assented, gravely, “It sure would. -They’s the prices of a right smart o’ good polo ponies -gone into polishin’ you off like you be.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I was comin’ to think,” he went on, his face -awakening genially, “that you was most likely -pinin’ for them shiny pursuits more’n you allowed -for when you first come back.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not a bit of it, Sandy!” Helen’s tone was emphatic, -“I enjoyed every moment at college; but I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>came back to the desert knowing perfectly well -that this is the best place in the world.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Her hearty tone satisfied even his jealous ears. -The girl had stooped to caress Patsy, who lay panting -on the sand, his tongue fluttering like a little -red signal-flag. Her eyes were bright and happy, -her cheeks touched to a brilliant glow by her run -with Dickens. Sandy nodded again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes,” he said, “I guess it ain’t hurt you none.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What?” Helen had forgotten what they had -been talking about. She looked up absently, still -rubbing Patsy’s sides.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Education,” the foreman said, “I was afraid -mebby it had.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Nonsense, Sandy, Education doesn’t hurt -people.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“N-o-,” Sandy’s acquiescence was deliberative. -“Not people o’ intellectooals, that has <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">savez</span></i> naturally,” -he said, “but the critter that gets it fed to him -regular wants to be kind o’ wide between the ears -allee samee.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Didn’t you enjoy going to school when you -were a boy, Sandy?” Helen asked; she loved to -draw the cow-puncher out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Me?” he questioned, unsuspectingly, “Sure: -I’d a liked it first rate if I’d ever a’ went.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never did go none till I was growed,” he went -<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>on. “Then we started a night-school, back to -Michigan, where I was raised. They was a bunch -of us set out to see it through, all young fellers that -worked the farms day-times. We was plum in -love with the idee o’ that night-school.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It must have been interesting,” Helen suggested, -“You would all have a strong purpose at -that age.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure,” Sandy grew reminiscent. “We went -the first night,” he said, “An’ we’d forgot to bring -any candles. We went the next night an’ the -teacher’d forgot to come.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He gazed across the plain, lost in memory of -those far, fond days. “Then we went the third -night,” he resumed, dreamily, “an’ reviewed what -we’d learned the two previous evenin’s, and’ I cal’late -that finished my schoolin’.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen laughed, tweaking Patsy’s ears, but the -foreman regarded her with mild inquiry, unheeding -her mirth.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now with you it’s different Miss Helen,” he -continued, still considering his views on education. -“Gettin’ learnin’ ’s all right for you. First place -you’re smart.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Thank you,” Helen bowed over Patsy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re sure welcome,” gravely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Furthermore,” Sandy proceeded categorically, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>“You bein’ a girl, you don’t have to get your livin’. -A man now, a practical man that’s gotter rustle his -grub, don’t wanter pack no extry outfit.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned toward Dickens, who all this time had -been standing half asleep, his bridle reins on the -ground.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Dick, he’s gettin’ on, ain’t he,” the foreman -said, critically, “but he stands up to it mighty well, -yet.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now there’s a case where education’s o’ -value,” added Sandy in a tone of pride, “I educated -that there horse myself, purpose for you, little gal, -an’ they ain’t no question but Dick’s lived up to his -light. I’ll have Manuel give ’im a rub-down.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Dickens is a treasure,” declared Helen, emphatically. -“He’s as good as ever; aren’t you, -Dickens?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She patted the pony’s glossy neck. “Have you -found another Manuel already, Sandy,” she queried, -“I thought Manuel Gordo had been discharged. -Father said he would have to be.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Same old Manuel,” was Sandy’s reply. “But -he’s kind o’ got some new notions in his headpiece -lately, along of our sin-bustin’ friend Mister Gard -gettin’ after ’im last time he started onto a spree.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes?” His hearer was deeply interested in examining -Dickens’ sound little knees, and did not -look up.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>“Why do you call Mr. Gard your sin-busting -friend, Sandy?” she asked, still intent upon the -pony. Nothing loth, the foreman plunged into an -enthusiastic account of his first meeting with Gard. -Helen listened, her cheeks still glowing from exercise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never got the rights o’ how he took hold o’ -Manuel,” Sandy said, when the story was finished, -“Manuel, he ain’t talkin’ none about it; but he -started out on one o’ his regular imbibin’ bees, -which same the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i>’d give out was n’t to be -overlooked again, an’ all I know is he comes home -all right next mornin’ an’ gets on his job, just as -I’m supposin’ it’s me to be rustlin’ another -puncher. I’m mighty glad just then, for Manuel’s -sure a first-class man on cows. He allows Gard -made him come, an’ I know nobody else ever was -able to gentle ’im in when he was up against the -impulses for a tussle with booze.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gard, he’s got me,” the foreman went on. “He -ain’t none o’ your hymn-tune kind Miss Helen; but -he ’s a right kind all right; just plain good man; -which the same ain’t common now’days.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen, with Patsy beside her, was starting for -the casa.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess you’re right Sandy,” she called back, -absently, without turning around, and Sandy -looked after her with scant approval.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>“There you’ve got it,” he muttered discontentedly, -to the pony, “Old an’ young they’re all alike, -the women, when it comes to sizin’ up a real man. -If it ain’t the shine an’ the pretty manners for -them, why it’s the high forehead, an’ the big idees. -I’m disappointed she don’t see that more clearly, -an’ she ridin’ herd on a college education for four -years!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He led Dickens away toward the sheds and -turned him over to one of the men.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose now”—he went on with his meditations—“She’s -fooled into thinkin’ that there side-winder -of an Ash Westcott’s the real thing. Lord! -If the right brand was on him I know what it’d -look like!” and the foreman went about his duties -with a heavy heart.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER IX</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Sandy Larch was squatted on the sand, -against the wall of his shack, lacing a new -leather into the cincha-ring of his saddle, and singing -The Tune The Old Cow Died On. The ditty -was one of his favorites, but his soul was not in it -this morning and he sang as mechanically as his -fingers moved about their familiar task. It was the -morning after Gard’s loss of the packet, and he had -been out at daybreak, going over every foot of the -breaking-ground, but he could find no trace of it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gosh! I’m sorry,” he muttered, testing the new -strap. “I hate to see Gard look like he did fer a -spell yesterday. If I had any idee Westcott had -that thing, whatever it was, I’d choke it out’n -him, fer a punched two-bit-piece.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned the saddle over to investigate the -other strap, taking up the burden of his song -again:</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span> -<img src='images/i_246a.jpg' alt='“And this is the tune fi roll doll dey Do, sung that af- ter- noon!”' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>He rolled out the chorus at the top of his lungs, -as he cut loose the cincha-thongs, and had carried -the next verse to</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i_246b.jpg' alt='“The farm- er had an in- quest held To see what ailed h i s—cow—”' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>When a shadow fell upon the sand before him, -and he looked up to see Wing Chang.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“Well, my Chinee friend,” he said, “Why don’t -you join in? Can’t you sing?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No can.” The cook shook his head; then the -wrinkles about his slant eyes deepened, ran downward, -and met, midway of his chops, the upward -ones that started around his grinning mouth.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Allee samee you?” He questioned, slyly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Allee samee me what?” demanded Sandy, suspiciously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sing. You catchee him?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do I sing, are you askin’?” roared the foreman. -“Why you yaller heathen! Ain’t you just -bin hearin’ me sing?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang’s grin intensified, and gradually -Sandy’s own visage widened genially.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Take your rise,” he said, “you sure got it out’n -me then.... Look a’ here,” he added, “What -you hangin’ round here stealin’ music lessons fer? -Where you bin, anyway?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bin talkee Bloome,” Chang said. “Him wantee -coffee.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Broome! What in hell’s Broome doin’ round -here this time o’ day?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sly look deepened in Chang’s face. His -slant eyes narrowed, and lost their humorous twinkle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say him sick,” he explained. “Think mebby -Mistlee Westclott come bimeby.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>“Not this time, my wise Chink. Westcott’s -homeward bound for Tucson just about now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Whafor Mistlee Glad go away?” Wing Chang -asked, ignoring the other’s statement.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I d’ know, Chang.” The foreman whistled a -few notes, meditatively. The Chinaman drew nearer.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Whafor Bloome an’ Mistlee Westclott hatee -him so?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy regarded him severely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“See here, now, Chang,” he bluffed, “You think -I’m a animated booktionary work, guaranteeded to -fit all your ‘whatfors’ with ‘is whats’? Not on -your life. Ain’t I told you your job ’s cookin’? -You don’t have to break out no question-marks on -this here rancho. Sabbee dat?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang returned his intent look without -winking.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Him two allee samee hatee Mistlee Glad,” he -repeated. “Speakee ’bout him allee timee, behind -corral. Allee timee say ‘dlamn’, an’ spit, so.” He -illustrated on the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Heap you know,” the foreman said, still more -severely: “you think you’re a blanked Pinkerton -detective, don’t you? Well you ain’t. Your job ’s -beans, an’ bull meat. You go makee him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He waved a hand in the direction of Chang’s -official quarters, and the Chinaman’s perennial grin -returned.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>“Allee lightee,” he said, “Then you keep look see -out on Mistlee Westclott. Bimeby, he try do Mistlee -Glad dirt, I makee my bull meat off him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He walked off, his hands in his sleeves, and -Sandy Larch looked after him thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now I wonder what that Chink thinks he -knows,” he mused. “Chang ain’t no fool. He’s -<em>hip</em> to somethin’. ’T ain’t good discipline to ask -questions off’n a Chink; but I sure wish I could -see into his shiny skull.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He picked up the saddle and took it into the -shack, returning, after a moment, to stand in the -door, humming—</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i_249.jpg' alt='“But the cow was mad, and she tried to sing .... Thunder an’ punkins!”' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c008'>He did not realize his variation on the ordinary -version of his song. He had brought his warbling -to a sudden finish, and stood peering out at a horseman -who was riding along the edge of the farthest -corral.</p> - -<p class='c008'>After a second he stepped back into the shanty, -and watched through the crack of the half-open door.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure’s shootin’,” he muttered, “The Chink was -right. It <em>is</em> Westcott.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>His ear caught a low whistle that was presently -answered from quarters. Sandy remembered that -he, himself, was supposed to be at the upper range. -He would have been on his way there but for the -defect in his cincha-strap. He stopped to consider, -wondering whether he had been singing loud -enough for Broome to hear him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s what comes o’ tryin’ to be a <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">prima -donna</span></i>,” he muttered. “But any way I bin still -long enough to make him think I’m gone, if he did -hear.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He stepped out upon the sand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They’s something sure goin’ on out yonder,” -he said, “Sandy Larch, you’re managing this here -shebang while the <i><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">patron</span></i>’s away; why ain’t you -eligible to a box-seat?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A long row of outhouses and ranch buildings -stretched out from the foreman’s shack to the -men’s quarters, and still beyond these were two -fodder-sheds. The last of these was about half -full of hay. It stood at the very edge of the farther -corral, and Sandy noted that Westcott had -ridden up into its shade.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The foreman slipped off his jangling spurs, and -keeping well in the shadow of the buildings, made -his way to this shed. He went with wonderful -lightness and quickness for so big a man, and was -presently creeping among the hay bales.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>Outside, Westcott sat his horse, while Broome -leaned against the wall. Guided by the sound of -their voices, Sandy worked his way along, close to -the boards, until he was directly opposite them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What makes you think you know where the -burro is?” Westcott was saying as Sandy came -within hearing.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s <em>my</em> think,” was the sulky reply. “I ain’t -no way bound to tell you it, special as you say you -don’t care about sittin’ in the game.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, I didn’t really say that!” There was a -curious ring of exultation in Westcott’s voice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I only said,” he resumed, “that I had my own -ways of finding out things. I have; and I dare say -I could put my hands on your burro, if I needed it -in my business.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A heap you could,” Broome sneered. “Mebby -you think you kin put your hands on Gard, too, if -you need ’im in your bizness. Well, mebby you -kin; an’ mebby you wouldn’t git smashed if you -tried it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Put my hands on him—” The lawyer’s voice -was thick with emotion. “I’ve got the blasted fool -between my thumb and finger now,” he said, -“When I get ready, I can smash him like <em>that</em>!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch heard the speaker’s two palms -come together.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not while Sandy Larch is ’round, my fine liar-at-law,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>he muttered under his breath. Then he -heard Broome’s incredulous grunt.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s got you bug-house?” the cowboy asked, -and Westcott laughed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you want to know who this fine Mister Gabriel -Gard really is?” He sneered, and the listener -in the shed fairly held his breath to hear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you know? You said you didn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I just happen to,” Westcott said, deliberately. -“And I know he could no more file on a claim, or -on anything else in this land, than that little she-ass -you seem so keen to get hold of.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Because—” Westcott’s voice was vibrant with -hate.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Because,” he repeated, “He’s a damned state-prison -convict. That’s why not!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Inside the shed Sandy Larch’s face shone white -in the gloom. Outside there was a sound of -Broome’s hard breathing. Westcott’s statement -seemed to have deprived the cowboy of speech.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you remember Dan Lundy?” the lawyer -said, and Sandy started.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never knowed ’im,” Broome replied. “He -was a pal o’ Sandy Larch’s.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So? I didn’t know that. Then this here Gard -won’t be so thick here when Sandy knows. But he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>won’t be very thick anywhere, in the open, for that -matter.” Westcott laughed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This fellow’s the one who did the business for -Lundy,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Killed him?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Knifed him in his shack. He did three years -for it, and then broke jail.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How d’you know?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The foreman strained his ears to listen, a look of -wondering comprehension in his face.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s my business,” Westcott said. “I’ve -got it down in black and white. He came up to -Blue Gulch when I was there, and Frank Arnold -came up to take him again. That was Arnold’s -last job.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He was drowned, I remember,” Broome spoke -in a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Either that, or this fellow that calls himself -Gard did for him, as he did for Lundy. Arnold -was a good man. Lord! When I think the other -fellow’s hanging around here with Larch this minute—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He ain’t here;” Broome said. “He went off -yest’day.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Fury! Where to?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I d’ know. He rode off some time in th’ afternoon. -He’d lost somethin’ when we was workin’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>out them blame cows, an’ was mighty cut up, I -heard. An’ when he couldn’t find it he went off.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Skipped—blast it!” Westcott seemed to consider.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know what he lost, all right,” he went on. -“Good thing for him Sandy Larch didn’t find it. -But I’ll land him all right, too ... But that -ain’t the point,” the lawyer continued. “The point -is this: He can’t hold that claim. There’s nothing -to keep us from walking in and taking possession, -if you think you can find it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet your life I can find it,” Broome swore.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“First, though,” Westcott spoke again, “I want -to go up to Phoenix. I can get the noon train. -And I’m going to fix our Mister Gard—his name -was Barker in those days—as he ought to be fixed. -He won’t be out of reach so that the authorities -can’t find him, and he won’t get away this time. -Then I’ll go down to Tucson and file that claim -right. Since he’s got no legal status anyone can -do that. Then I’ll come back here and we’ll talk -about the rest.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look a’ here,” Broome interrupted, “You don’t -do no filin’ till I’m erlong, or you never gits to -where the pay-streak is. You’ve gotter do some -work on it anyway, before you kin file legal.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, shut up! Tell <em>me</em> what the law is?” Westcott’s -tone was brutal. “You blamed fool,” he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>said, “Do you think I can’t get along without -you?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t sech a fool’s some,” was Broome’s retort, -“I know you can’t, er you wouldn’t be here. -You want me to help find the spot, an’ you know -it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s no use fighting over it,” said Westcott, -more moderately; “I was going to Tucson this afternoon; -but I’ll go up to Phoenix first. Mind -you, now,” he added, “No funny business while -I’m gone, or it’ll be a bad day for you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch heard Westcott ride away. A moment -later Broome’s step sounded, returning to -quarters.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The foreman waited some time before venturing -out. When he did come into the light his face -wore a strange, half-dazed expression.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well!” he finally ejaculated, “I sure got my -money’s worth that time.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He walked over to one of the corrals and stood -staring with unseeing eyes at a bunch of yearlings -huddled together in a corner.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The dangnation fools!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>His exclamation seemed to afford him no relief; -for presently he repeated it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The dangnation fools!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I should think,” he added, “that that there -Westcott person’d wanter kick himself fer a sunbaked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>’dobe ape, when he finds out what he’s -bound to find out, when he gets askin’ questions -along o’ Phoenix.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The plumb fool,” he said, again. “To think he -don’t know Jim Texas confessed to killin’ Dan. -The pizen-snake always said he would, an’ poor -old Dan was mighty foolhardy about it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But, God!”—his tone was full of pity—“To -think that ‘Gard’ was that poor devil of a Barker! -How in tunk did he ever git where he is now?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He picked up a bit of stone and flung it at the -yearlings; not because he bore them a grudge, but -through sheer vexation of spirit.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If he’d only a’ told me,” his thoughts went -back to Gard. “If he’d only a’ trusted me, ’stid -o’ writin’ it out fer that hell-dog to find.” He -leaned upon the top-rail of the corral and sighed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord,” he said, “I’m pretty near all in. It’s -too much fer Sandy!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He could not understand Gard’s agitation over -the loss of his packet, if, as he now surmised, it -merely contained the papers by which Westcott had -identified him. He pondered the matter for some -time, and then light dawned.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look a’ here!” he cried. “He’s in the same -boat’s Westcott! He’s bin up in the mountains -ever since he made his getaway; that’s what! Fer -some reason or other he’s just come down, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>wondered where in tunk he’d drifted in from. -An’ he ain’t found out yet about Jim Texas.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Silence again, while Sandy meditated upon the -situation. Then another phase of it struck him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s he doin’ round here, anyway? Why -ain’t he showin’ some enterprise? What’s he -hangin’ round Kate Hallard for?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He could not tell. It was the one thing about -Gard that to him seemed to need explanation, and -he would trust his friend without that. He was -dismissing the matter when a fresh thought came.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If he <em>don’t</em> know,” he muttered. “If he ain’t -fixed his matters up, then that sneakin’ law-buzzard’s -right. He can’t file any claim. They can -<em>do</em> him, there; even if they can’t jail ’im. By the -powers! That’s what they can do; an’ here I am, -can’t leave the rancho!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He groaned as this thought came home to him. -He realized that he must stay at the Palo Verde: -Morgan Anderson had left him in charge.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If ’twant fer leavin’ the little gal all alone—” -He stood distractedly considering.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know enough about it anyway,” he at -last exclaimed in despair. “Ah! That’s where -Kate Hallard comes in.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The words were scarcely off his lips when looking -up, he gave a low whistle of surprise.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure ’s beeswax,” he said, softly, unconsciously -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>straightening up. “Here’s exactly where Kate -Hallard comes in.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was in fact Mrs. Hallard, riding in from the -desert, her handsome face more troubled in expression -than Sandy had ever imagined it could be.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hello, Kate,” he called, going to meet her. -“What’s up? You don’t look like you was out fer -your health so to speak.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t.” Mrs. Hallard drew rein and looked -down at the foreman.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I ain’t out fer my health an’ I ain’t sure what -I be out after,” she said, without further preamble.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ash Westcott was in t’ the grille this morning -tryin’ to make a deal with me in a matter Mr. -Gard’s been tendin’ to fer me. I wouldn’t swap -no lies with him and bimeby he gets mad an’ runs -off a lot o’ talk I don’t seem to get straight, but it -sounded like he had Gard nailed, an’ was goin’ to -do ’im dirt. Sure’s you live, Sandy, he’s meanin’ -mischief. I’m worried.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She turned her horse toward the shade, Sandy -walking beside her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I d’ know what to do,” she continued. “Mr. -Gard, he’s gone off on business o’ mine an’ I -d’ know what Westcott <em>is</em> cookin’ up against him. -I know he’s got a good-will to do him all the -harm he can, though, an’ I come over to talk to -you about it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>The cow-puncher stood regarding her, intently.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Kate,” he said, “do you know who this Gabriel -Gard really is?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She looked at him blankly, her hard face set.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You don’t need stand me off,” he cried. “If -you’re his friend you know I am, too. An’ he’s -sure needin’ us both.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He told her, with picturesque brevity, of Gard’s -loss and Westcott’s find, and of the talk which he -had overheard between Westcott and Broome.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Them blamed sneakin’ coyotes is puttin’ up a -cinch game on our man,” he said, when he had -finished, “an’ something’s gotter be done about it. -Where’s Gard gone? Is that his real name? Why -ain’t he lookin’ after his matters?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard was thinking fast. Sandy’s story -had been illuminating in many ways.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re dead right about one thing, Sandy,” -she said. “He don’t know about Jim Texas. -That’s what’s bin eatin’ ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She suddenly realized the significance of Gard’s -answer to her question about Helen Anderson. -He did not know that his innocence was practically -established.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well,” Sandy demanded, “what in thunder’s -he doin’ round here then? Why ain’t he tryin’ to -fix things up fer himself? He’s got a’ plenty -cash. He ought to be gittin’ a good lawyer an’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>seein’ if he can’t prove his innercence. As ’tis -now, he must think he’s likely to be jugged any -minit.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard’s eyes flashed.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He <em>does</em> think so,” she cried. “He’s afraid of -it, too. That I know. An’ bein’ afraid, here’s -what the man does.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She leaned from the saddle and looked Sandy in -the eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He somehow gits hold of a deed o’ Sam Hallard’s, -to that Modesta range Sam bought just -’fore he was killed. I give that deed to Arnold to -record, an’ Mr. Gard ain’t said nothin’ to me, but -I figure he an’ Arnold was together when the -cloudburst come that gits Arnold. He got Frank’s -coat, someway, an’ that deed was in the pocket. -I d’ know where he’s bin all this time, but I know -one thing. He ain’t bin in no wickedness.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bet your life not,” Sandy assented. “Drive -erlong, Kate.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well: the deed’s bin lost these two years, an’ -that devil, Westcott, he found it out, an’ he done -me out’n the prop’ty. Oh! He’s a side-winder, -fer sure!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s no lie,” was Sandy’s comment.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s plain ’s day,” Mrs. Hallard went on. -“You say he’s got a’ plenty cash. <em>I</em> know he -could light out from here an’ go where he could -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>live like a lord. He’s got that much a’ plenty. -But ’stid o’ that he comes back here to this God-forsaken -place; an’ what for? Why to help me. -He must a’ tracked over half the territory to find -me an’ gimme back that deed; an’ when he finds -how things stands he settles down here to see I -git my rights. With this thing a’ hangin’ over -him, so far’s he knows, he’s gone back where he -was known, to try ’n’ find a feller that witnessed -the transfer....”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard was all but sobbing with excitement -and fear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord above us,—if they is any!” she gasped. -“They ain’t never a man like that. He’s pure -angel!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Naw; he ain’t that, quite,” Sandy said, swallowing -hard. “He’s man enough to need that -gold-mine in his business, one o’ these days, an’ he -stands to git robbed o’ that, I’m afraid.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How can they touch it? He’s an innercent -man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes; but he’s a criminal yet, in the eyes o’ the -law, if he ain’t bin pardoned an’ cleared. So his -notice an’ filin’ ain’t legal.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell!” he exclaimed, and begged pardon next -instant. “I wish I was in Prescott,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What would you do in Prescott?” Mrs. Hallard -asked, eagerly.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>“Do? I’d see the Gov’nor; git them papers -made out, an’ scoot fer Tucson an’ bring that there -filin’ up to date.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Heavens an’ earth! Kin anybody do that fer -’im?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then look here, Sandy Larch: <em>I’m</em> goin’ to -Prescott.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, me; why not? You say anybody kin see -the Gov’nor fer ’im. Well: they ain’t many people -knows Dave Marden much better ’n I did once. -I rather reckon he’d do ’s much fer me ’s fer -you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was a deeper hue in the speaker’s cheek -than even excitement had touched it to: but the -foreman did not notice it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bully fer you Kate!” he cried. “I’m inclined -to think well o’ that scheme o’ your’n.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll have to hustle if I’m goin’ to git away -to-day.” Mrs. Hallard was practical and alert at -once. “I guess I can skip back an’ git ready to -catch the night train. That’ll get me to Prescott -in the morning.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Westcott, he’s just gone up on the noon run,” -Sandy explained. “He’ll be goin’ on to Phoenix -I reckon.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord! I don’t wanter see him. I’m glad I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>couldn’t get that train if I tried.” Mrs. Hallard -was already riding away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So long, Sandy!” she cried, over her shoulder. -“I’ll do my best.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Good luck to you!” Sandy waved his big cowboy -hat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Kate’ll fetch it I reckon,” he muttered, turning -toward the sheds. “But now who’d a’ thunk -we’d a’ fixed it up that a’way? Gosh-hemlock! -What funny things you see when you ain’t got a -gun!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard, meantime, was thinking of many -things as she rode back to Sylvania. The tide of -old memories was at flood as she thought of the -man whom she was going to see in Gard’s behalf. -She had spoken truly when she told Sandy Larch -she had once known the Governor well. How -well, was a matter that lay deep in her heart, a -part of her hard, sordid, unprotected girlhood, -dead and buried now these thousand years, it -seemed to her. Something within her that she had -thought was dead with it shrank from the encounter -of the morrow, but cowardice was not one -of the woman’s weaknesses. She set her shoulders -squarely at the memory of what Gard was braving -for her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They’s one thing sure,” she said, half aloud. -“Dave’ll do anything <em>can</em> be done. I reckon I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>can bank on that. He wa’ n’t a bad sort in the old -days.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The road ran along the edge of an ancient -lake, now a sea of sand, and for many years, in -the new order, the great rodeo ground of the -region. The entrance was yet marked by two big -posts, one of which bore a great yellow-and-black -poster, such as the Salvation Army puts up through -the desert wastes, seeking to turn the plainsman’s -thoughts to higher things.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Beneath the poster, on the sand, a bull-snake and -a burrowing owl fraternized comfortably at the -mouth of the hole that was their common dwelling. -Above it a carrion crow perched, cawing -dismally at the scene. The poster itself was sun-bleached -and weather-worn, peppered with the -bullets of passing cowboys who had taken jocular -shots at it, and beaten by the blown desert-sand, -but still legible. Kate Hallard had seen many of -its kind; had passed this very one on her way out -that morning. She glanced at it now.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“<em>FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD -THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY-BEGOTTEN -SON, THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH -ON HIM SHOULD NOT PERISH—</em>” The -rest was obliterated.</p> - -<p class='c008'>In her softened mood the words held her attention -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>as they had never before done. She checked -her horse to read them again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I d’ know much about it,” she murmured. “The -desert’s always been a mighty handy place fer -perishin’; if they <em>was</em> a God, now, an’ He was -int’rested enough to give us a few more folks like -this here Gabriel Gard, I guess mebby believin’ ’d -come handier, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She rode on again, still thinking of Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We’ve got to help him out o’ this.” A dull -flush crept up to her hair and her black eyes suddenly -filled with unfamiliar tears.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Go to Dave Marden fer him—” she cried, -“Lord! I’d go to the Old Nick himself to help -him, an’ that’s the truth!”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER X</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>“Upon my word, Kate! Upon my word: this is -the biggest surprise I’ve had since I came -down with the mumps last New Year’s!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The Governor of Arizona sprang up from his -big desk chair and crossed the room as Mrs. Hallard -came into his private office. His manner was -cordial, the more so, perhaps, that it was tinged -with a nervousness of which he was uneasily -aware. If Mrs. Hallard was aware of this nervousness, -she made no sign. Her own manner was -strangely quiet.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s the biggest kind of a surprise,” the Governor -said, again. “I could hardly believe it when -they brought in your name.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He established his visitor in a big arm-chair, and -seated himself opposite her, his face a little in the -shadow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why,” said he, “I haven’t seen you, Kate, -since—” He paused, abruptly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s a long time since you seen me, Dave; that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>’s straight,” Mrs. Hallard said, “But I’m mighty -glad you ain’t fergot me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Forgotten you!” Governor Marden’s tone was -reproachful.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you think ten years is enough to forget -friends in?” he demanded. “Why—” with a -laugh,—“even a political memory’s longer than -that, Kate.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was silence for a moment, and silence was -the last thing the Governor desired at that time.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I never heard where you went after Ed’s -death,” he said, tentatively.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You wouldn’t a’ bin likely to,” was the reply. -“I moved round considerable after that.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So? How’s the world used you, on the -whole? Pretty prosperous?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Up an’ down. I ain’t so awful prosperous; but -I ain’t complainin’ neither. I’m alive, an’ what I -am, workin’ fer my livin’ an’ neither better nor -worse ’n some other folks.” Mrs. Hallard spoke -lightly, and her tone was non-committal.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll bet you aren’t any worse than other folks,” -the Governor said, with bluff good-will. “You -were always better than ninety-nine hundredths of -the men, Kate,” he added, “while as for the -women—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard interrupted him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you bother about them, Dave,” said she, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>“I ain’t matchin’ myself up with no women. It -don’t pay.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She laughed, a hard little sound, and a dull flush -went up to the Governor’s hair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You might, for a fact, though, my girl,” he -persisted, half sullenly. “There’s lots of women -with straight-laced ideas that I wouldn’t trust half -so quick. Unlace their ideas a little and they’d go -to the devil so quick you’d never catch ’em. The -lacing’s all that holds them.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard made no reply; her companion sat -regarding her, but seeing, instead of the woman -before him, the quick, handsome girl of a dozen -years earlier. Old “Soaker” Lally’s daughter had -been in her teens when first he knew her, handsome -as they made ’em, he thought, now, remembering. -And he had been a young fool—and worse—but -not wholly a villain; not that.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I—I’d have made things right, Kate, if you -hadn’t sent me off,” he said, lamely, speaking out -of old memories.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes,” the woman flashed, “an’ we’d a’ had a -nice little hell all to ourselves, after.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man demurred.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes we would!” she went on, “<em>I</em> know. First -place, Dave—I didn’t sense it then, but I have -since—we didn’t neither of us really care. We -was only hot-blooded young fools that thought -<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>we did.... Anyhow: it’s sleepin’ dogs now,” she -added, conclusively. “Best let ’em lie. You done -more ’n most men would, I’ll say that much, when -you wanted to marry me—but I saved you that, -anyhow,” with another laugh; “I’d a’ looked -sweet, wouldn’t I? tryin’ to make good as Governor’s -lady?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’d make good at anything you undertook, -Kate,” Marden insisted, sturdily.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Maybe so: but thank my stars I know, yet, -when I ain’t got the hand to stack up on. What a -man wants in a wife, Dave, is a woman ’t can -chaperon his daughter when he gits one.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard hesitated a moment, her voice -softening. “I never had no watchin’ over, myself,” -she said, “I wouldn’t a’ stood fer’t from -the old man, an’ my mother died when I was a kid; -but a girl needs it: an’ it takes the right sort o’ -woman to give it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s nothing here nor there, though,” she -went on, in her wonted tone; “Ed Hallard married -me with his eyes open, an’ I was a good straight -wife to ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s just what I say,” Marden repeated. -“I’d back you to be a good straight anything you -undertook. That’s your nature. I’m not passing -you any bouquets, my girl. You were always as -straight as a man.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>Mrs. Hallard laughed, with cynical good humor.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord, sonny!” she cried. “If them ain’t bouquets, -be a little easy with whatever ’t is you do -call ’em. Admirin’ the men as I do, such is some -overpowerin’.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Governor Marden flushed again, and edged -away from ground that he felt to be precarious.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look here,” he said, “What do you mean by -saying you’re working for your living? Is that -a figure of speech? Ed Hallard ought to have left -you well fixed. I heard he sold that claim of his -for a good round sum. Didn’t he do right by you, -Kate?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He meant to. He thought he did. I’ll tell -you about that later.” Mrs. Hallard waved a hand -in careless dismissal of her own matters.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Dave,” she began, earnestly, “I want a favor -off you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Governor Marden was alert in an instant.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Anything I can do for you, ‘for old sake’s -sake,’” he answered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This ain’t any old sake’s sake,” was her answer. -“It’s just fair play an’ justice.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ah! That’s different. Fair play and justice -are complicated things to meddle with.” The -governor shook his head.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet I’m learnin’ that,” was Mrs. Hallard’s -reply. “But they ain’t nothin’ much complicated -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>about this business. It oughter be plain cuttin’ out -an’ ridin’ off.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Were n’t you District Attorney when Dan -Lundy was killed, Dave?” she asked, suddenly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The governor started, glancing quickly at his -interrogator. Then he was silent for a moment, -staring thoughtfully at a map of Arizona on the -wall back of Mrs. Hallard’s chair.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lord; that’s what I was!” he finally said with -a sigh. “I don’t like to talk about it,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“From your bringing the matter up I guess you -know why not,” Marden frowned, as over some -painful memory. “I reckon you’ve got some idea -how it was,” he continued. “I did my duty as I -saw it; but we bagged the wrong man, and I’ve -never been able to feel happy about it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Then it was true about Jim Texas confessin’?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes. He confessed when he was dying, but it -didn’t do the other poor fellow any good. He -was dead already.” The governor sighed again.... -“I told you justice and fair play were ticklish -things to handle,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But he ain’t dead.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who ain’t?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The other fellow. He wasn’t killed when -Frank Arnold was.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Governor Marden sat silent, his eyes questioning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>his visitor. Kate Hallard explained, briefly. The -governor touched a bell, and his secretary appeared. -The latter had been Marden’s clerk in his -district attorney days.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Seth,” the official said, in a voice that rang -with suppressed excitement. “You remember the -Lundy case, don’t you? Whatever became of -Barker, who went up for it?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The secretary considered.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why, yes,” he began, “he broke jail.” His -auditors nodded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I remember about it,” he went on, “because of -Jim Texas, and what came after. He got away -to some place in the mountains, and then he was -re-arrested. A deputy-sheriff went down on information -from Ash Westcott—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s that?” Mrs. Hallard’s tone was explosive.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who d’you say?” she demanded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ashley Westcott,” the secretary repeated. -“He’s—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Kate Hallard interrupted again, her eyes blazing.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know who he is,” she flashed. “He’s the -same cur-dog that’s tryin’ to down ’im again. -He’s the same—oh, D—Governor Marden, you -was askin’ why Ed Hallard didn’t leave me better -fixed. Well: here’s why—”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>The story came pouring out at white heat, while -the two men listened, now and then exchanging -significant glances.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“In the name of heaven, Kate,” the governor -said, when Mrs. Hallard paused for breath, “why -didn’t you come and tell me of this deviltry? -We’d have stopped Westcott’s game so quick -he’d never have known he chipped into it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I didn’t know any better,” the woman said, -bitterly. “I don’t know as I’d a’ come here with -it; but if I hadn’t bin an ignorant fool I’d a’ -knowed I could do something; but I never did till -Mr. Gard told me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You say this chap calls himself Gard? Is that -his real name, or Barker? What makes you think -he’s the same man?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Only what Westcott said—that Sandy Larch -heard. He must a’ found something that put ’im -wise.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It looks that way,” the governor said. “Westcott’s -no fool, knave though he is. And do you -know, Kate—he’s laying his lines to be the next -District Attorney! It looked, till you came in and -told us this, as if he’d led his line clean to Washington. -Didn’t it, Seth?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The secretary gave a grunt. Governor Marden -turned again to Mrs. Hallard. “We’ll meet his -game this time,” he said. “See him and go him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>about a thousand better. You’ve done me a big -favor, Kate. What’s the one you want done?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I want Mr. Gard’s pardon fixed up,” his visitor -said, promptly. “That’s what I come for. I -want the papers fixed up right, an’ then I wanter -know if they ain’t some way to put a cinch on that -there claim.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sure there is,” was the reply. “The pardon’s -dead easy; only it’ll have to be Barker’s pardon. -Seth, you fix up the papers will you, and I’ll sign -right off.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Glory be!” The governor heaved a mighty -sigh as the secretary went back to his own room. -He got up and took a turn about the office, throwing -back his shoulders with an air of relief.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That thing’s weighed on me,” he exclaimed. -“You don’t know what mistakes like that mean to -a man. It’s been a dead weight, sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned, quickly, and took down a volume of -mining-law.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I suppose,” he said, after pouring over its pages -for some moments, “yes, I guess Westcott <em>could</em> do -something about that. I don’t know as he’d dare -try, when he finds out the truth, but it’s best not to -take any risks with a ‘sarpint’ like that, and I’m -going to have Unricht go down to Tucson with -you, Kate, and fix the whole matter right. There’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>time enough to get a night train if you want to—” -He looked at his watch.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s just what I do,” she replied, promptly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right, then.” The governor turned. Unricht -had come in with a document ready for the -official signature.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I wasn’t sure,” the secretary said, “so I stopped -to look it up in the testimony. Maybe you remember, -Governor,” he went on, “that Barker claimed -at the trial that he had retained Westcott and paid -him a big fee. He hadn’t any more money to pay -a lawyer; so the court appointed him one.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The governor was signing the paper.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“By gum!” he exclaimed, looking up, “I do seem -to remember. Sounded like a cock-and-bull story -then. Westcott had left town, you know.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But say, friends:” he straightened up and -looked from one to the other of his auditors,—“the -desert’s got a beauteous lot of poison citizens,” -he said, “what with tarantulas, and sidewinders, -and ground-rattlers, and Gila monsters, -and hydrophobia skunks; but it don’t breed anything -more poisonous than a man, when he <em>is</em> -poison.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He threw down his pen and handed the paper -he had signed to Mrs. Hallard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s done,” he said, gleefully. “Unricht, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>can you fix it to go down to Tucson to-night, and -do a little business for me to-morrow?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The secretary consulted his calendar and decided -that he could arrange for the expedition. It was -agreed that Mrs. Hallard and he should meet at -the station in time for the evening train. “About -that matter of your own, Kate,” the governor said, -as Mrs. Hallard was leaving, “I shouldn’t wonder -if your Mr. Barker-Gard was equal to fixing Westcott; -but if either of you need any help you call -on David Marden. Now don’t you forget!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Unricht and Mrs. Hallard went straight to the -proper office, on their arrival in Tucson next morning, -and the secretary saw to it that Gard’s claim -was correctly refiled, and the matter put in unassailable -shape. This done, they sought the St. Augustine, -where Kate was to wait for the forenoon -train to Bonesta.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll have to leave you a little while before it -goes,” Unricht was saying, as they stood in what -had been the vestibule of the old church. “My -own train is earlier—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sh—hush—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard drew her companion back into the -slender shelter of a great pillar. “Look over -there,” she whispered, and Unricht glanced in the -direction indicated.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott had just come into the building and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>stepped up to the desk. He was making some inquiry -about the next train south, and the watchers -had a good look at him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>His face was livid, and drawn into an expression -of concentrated rage. He looked like a venomous -creature of the desert, and as he crossed the office -and ascended the two or three steps to the great -dining-room, his step was wavering and uncertain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And he don’t drink,” Unricht whispered to Mrs. -Hallard. “I know that. He’s just drunk with rage.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But I don’t wanter go down on the same train -with him,” Mrs. Hallard whispered back. “I -should be scared o’ my life.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Unricht reassured her. “He wouldn’t really -hurt you,” he said, “but I don’t blame you for -wanting to dodge him. I shouldn’t wonder if he -was going down to see you, though. He must -know he’s in a pretty pickle if he can’t make -terms with you. Maybe you’d better see him -now, while I’m along,” he suggested.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Mrs. Hallard demurred. “I’d rather get home,” -she said. “Mr. Gard may be there.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“All right,” was the reply. “I’ll telephone -Larch you’re getting the afternoon train.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They slipped out and went to another hotel, -thereby missing Gard, who presently came in from -up the territory, eager to get back to Sylvania, and -report to Mrs. Hallard.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XI</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Westcott’s state of mind, miserable as it -was, would have been more unenviable still -had he known that Gard was on the train with him -during the journey to Bonesta. The lawyer was -hurrying to Sylvania to secure another interview -with Kate Hallard in the absence of her champion. -He reasoned that she could not yet have heard -from Gard, whose quest in the north, he surmised, -had something to do with her business.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was still puzzled to understand why a man -like Gard should have prepared such a statement as -was contained in the packet which he had found on -the desert. In the light of what he himself had -just learned, it seemed as if he must have known -that it was unnecessary. The paper bore no date, -and he finally concluded that it must have been -written at some time before Gard had learned of -Jim Texas’ confession. Westcott himself had not -known of this before going north on this trip. He -had been willing to forget the whole business once -<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>he was sure that Barker had disappeared forever. -Now he was in a white rage at the position in which -he found himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had been in too great haste, after learning -the facts of Gard’s innocence, to think further of -the mining claim. When Mrs. Hallard and Unricht -saw him in the St. Augustine he had just -come in from the north. He spent no time in -Tucson, looking up records which he took for -granted Gard had already made right. He was -sure that the latter’s first act upon returning to civilization -would be to put his own affairs into secure -shape. Only in some such way was it possible for -a mind like Westcott’s to understand a man’s willingly -remaining in a position which must otherwise -seem to him perilous, for the sake of seeing right -done to a woman like Mrs. Hallard. He realized, -too, with a horrible sense of being trapped, that he -himself was in Gard’s power.</p> - -<p class='c008'>How that power would be used he felt no doubt. -The man was probably only making sure of his -ground. He would have his case clear before he -struck, and no one knew, better than Ashley Westcott, -how clear that case could be made. He had -reckoned absolutely upon the loss of that deed, and -upon Kate Hallard’s helplessness and ignorance; -and the stolen property now stood on record in his -own name.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>The sweat started upon his forehead as he told -over in his mind the motives that would inevitably -impel a man in Gard’s position to seek revenge -upon him. No wonder the fellow had taken this -business up. No wonder he had not been tempted -to make a deal with him. Westcott flinched inwardly, -as he remembered his own fatuous proposition -that morning at the Palo Verde. How -Gard must have been laughing at him, behind that -grave face. The matter stood out before him in -the fierce light of his own hatred; he could conceive -of no other feeling actuating his enemy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Any way he looked at it, the man was bound to -be meditating his ruin. Through the whirl of -Westcott’s thoughts ran but one slender thread of -hope. If he could see Kate Hallard he might -effect a compromise with her. When last he saw -her he had been sure that he had Gard in his power. -He had boasted to her that he meant to crush the -fellow; to show her what a helpless creature she -had trusted. She had laughed at his threats, but -there had been anxiety under her laughter. He had -seen that as he departed, exulting. Perhaps he -could work that line with her again. He would -see; he <em>must</em> see!</p> - -<p class='c008'>If he could not arrange with her there was -nothing for him to do but to run for it. He might -be able to realize on the property before getting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>away; a cattleman up north was even then considering -its purchase. In any case, Kate Hallard -failing him, he must get out of Arizona; get out of -the country, even, if Gard’s hatred still pursued -him. To stay, after this, spelled jail.</p> - -<p class='c008'>At the word Gard’s face came up before him as -it had looked that night in Blue Gulch, and the -horror of it set him shivering. Remorse was no -part of his emotion; he felt only a sense of impotent -regret at the shattering of his plans, and a -blind hatred of Gard as the cause of his undoing. -He cursed him in his heart as he sat staring out -upon the desert landscape slipping past the car -window.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Its desolation added to his horror, and his fury. -It was a hellish place, working its own infernal -way with men whom fate forced to dwell in it; but -he had worked, and planned, and striven there; he -had seen his dear ambition coming within reach of -his hand. Now he saw himself hunted like a jack-rabbit -from the scene of all his hopes and desires.</p> - -<p class='c008'>And there was Helen. He believed that he had -stood a chance there. And he had meant, once he -was out of this snarl, to live straight. With her to -help him he could go far. Arizona would be a -state some day. There were big possibilities ahead. -He writhed in his seat at the thought, and cursed -Gabriel Gard anew for plotting his downfall.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>The horse that he had ridden to Bonesta several -days before had been sent back to Sylvania; so -Westcott went up to the outfitting town in the tri-weekly -stage which was waiting at the train. This -fact enabled Gard the better to keep out of the -lawyer’s sight. His own horse was in the Bonesta -stable.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was no more anxious to encounter Westcott -than the latter was to meet him. He had seen him -at the Tucson station in time to seek another car -from the one in which the attorney seated himself, -and now he had but to keep out of view until the -lumbering stage swung up the road with his foe on -board.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard had found his man, and had in his pocket -Sawyer’s affidavit to having taken the acknowledgment -of the Hallard deed. He had learned, -too, that this deed ante-dated the one of record to -Westcott’s client. This personage, he had ascertained, -was a mere tool of the attorney’s. The -actual holder of the property was Westcott himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was greatly troubled, on arriving at Sylvania, -to find that Mrs. Hallard had gone away. -He tortured his mind for an explanation of her -sudden journey. He was afraid that she had been -again misled by Westcott. If the lawyer really -<em>had</em> found that lost packet there was no predicting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>the uses to which he might put it in making representations -to Mrs. Hallard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sing Fat could give him no information beyond -the fact that Mrs. Hallard had ridden out to the -Palo Verde, returning in “one velly big hully-up,” -to prepare for a journey to Prescott. He could not -tell when she would return.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard pondered the matter in sorry perplexity. -He could not fathom the mystery, but he feared—everything. -He dreaded what might have taken -place at the Palo Verde. What had taken Mrs. -Hallard there? What had Sandy Larch been told? -What did Miss Anderson believe?</p> - -<p class='c008'>The last was the question of his deepest thought. -He was not fearful for himself, of anything that -might come. The doubts and the temptations of -the situation had all been settled in his mind. He -had learned stern lessons in solitude, and he -brought them sternly to bear in this exigency. This -thing had been given to him, Gabriel Gard, to -carry through. Whatever might come to him as -one human being did not count. It was the life of -the world that counted, and to see justice done was -just now, for him, a part of that life. If payment -seemed to fall upon him, who was he, that he -could not bear his burden? Neither his courage -nor his purpose faltered before the outlook.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But that Helen Anderson should believe of him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>the things he was sure that Westcott would try to -make her believe, was more than his reason told -him need be borne. The mastering desire of his -soul at this moment was that she should believe in -him; that she should know the truth from his own -lips before she judged him. The vague plan that -had suggested itself to him on the way up now -took definite shape. He resolved to ride out to -the Palo Verde; to see Helen if possible, and get -her to listen to the whole story. She should believe -him, if there was any power in truth to make -its impress upon a true nature.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“She <em>is</em> true,” he told himself, recalling her clear, -candid eyes, her fine, fearless spirit. “She will -believe me. She must believe me. Oh, God, help -me <em>make</em> her believe me! It’s all I ask!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had no intention of putting his fate to further -test. When he should be free; able to hold up -his head without shame among men; then the -right to speak would be his. Then he would lay -his life at her feet. It was hers. But now, he -would have given his last drop of blood just to -know that she knew, and that she believed him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He left Mrs. Hallard’s papers, securely sealed, -in Sing Fat’s care, seeing them put in a place of -safety before he turned away to where he had put -up his horse.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The animal was still feeding; for himself Gard -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>had forgotten the need of food. He hesitated, loth -to take the creature out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Goin’ far?” the stable man asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Out to the Palo Verde,” was the reply.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Better take one o’ our broncs, then,” the man -jerked a thumb in the direction of a flea-bitten -roan standing in its stall.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That un’ll take you out there all right,” he -said, “tho’ he ain’t no shucks of a goer.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll do,” and the roan was brought out and -saddled. A man who had slunk from the stable -when Gard came in lingered unseen at the head of -the alley to see him ride away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gwan,” he jeered in drunken exultation as -horse and rider passed up the street; “go it while -ye can; yer time’s a comin’ my fine, pious jail-bird. -Here’s where yer wings is goin’ to be -clipped sure’s my name’s Thad Broome!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cow-puncher had come into town breathing -out wrath against Sandy Larch, with whom he had -had words. He was foregathering with certain -chosen companions, and had already succeeded in -getting well on the road to drunkenness. He was -headed for Jim Bracton’s with his friends when -the quartette met Westcott, fresh from an effort to -pump Sing Fat regarding Mrs. Hallard’s whereabouts.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sing Fat had been non-committal. He knew -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>that the lawyer was not in the good graces of his -mistress, and so, being a Chinaman, he had little -that was definite to tell him. Westcott was in a -white rage when he was hailed by Broome, too -drunk now to be discreet.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He answered the cow-puncher’s surprised greeting -shortly, but Broome was not to be put off. He -was in a condition to attach importance to his own -personality, and he followed Westcott, who was -walking away from the town, too furious to endure -contact with humanity. The puncher’s companions -trailed after.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Out beyond the edge of the settlement the lawyer -turned, enraged.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What in hell are you following me for, -Broome?” he snapped, savagely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wanter word wi’ you, Misher Weshcott,” the -fellow said, thickly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What about? Why aren’t you on the range? -What are you hanging around here for?” The -questions followed one another with a jerk.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome burst into a tirade of profanity, the -burden of which was that he would take no bossing -from Sandy Larch. He had defied the latter and -had been given his time.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So you got yourself fired,” Westcott commented -in a slow rage. “You’re an even bigger -blasted fool than I thought you could be.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>Broome blustered, drunkenly. Did Westcott -think he was going to stand any lip from Sandy -Larch when he had a fortune in sight?</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Fortune—hell!” Westcott’s fury broke bounds.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What you’ve got in sight,” he said, hoarsely, -“is an asylum for damned fools; or else a hemp -necktie and a short drop. One or the other’s yours -all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cow-puncher stared, stupidly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gwan,” he said, “Whatcher givin’ us? Gard -ain’t made no drift; he’s just now gone out to the -Palo Verde; I seen ’im.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott was startled.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What has he gone out there for?” he demanded.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How ’n hell do I know,” was the reply. “When -we goin’ t’ land ’im?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Shut up!” Westcott almost screamed the words -in the intensity of his nervous pain. “You can’t -touch Gard, you blasted donkey,” he added; “he’s -made himself solid with the law. He’s pardoned -all right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pardoned!” Broome’s jaw dropped. “Did he -bring away enough fer that in them two bags?” he -gasped.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott made no reply and the cow-puncher -turned to his fellows.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>“Now wha’ d’ye think o’ that?” he roared, -“You know this here Gard, Jim. He’s that dod-gasted -sawney that butted in when you was teachin’ -old Joe Papago the things he most needed to know -that night up to the ‘Happy Family.’”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess I know ’im all right, damn ’im,” -snarled the one addressed. “He done me out ’n a -good thing that time. I stood to win—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Done ye! Call that doin’ ye?” Broome -snarled. “He done me out ’n more ’n he did you. -Thousands o’ dollars he’s robbed me of.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Aw, pull ’er in easy Broome,” interrupted one -of the others, coming close. “You never had a -thousand in yer life.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ye lie! I had my eyes on the richest vein in -Arizona, an’ this feller lit on me an’ nearly killed -me when he found I’d seen it. He chased me -out ’n it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’d pot any man tried that on me,” the other -said. “Where in tunk was yer gun?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where ’t is now,” Broome growled, “an’ -that’s none o’ your business. I’ll git ’im yet. -He’s a murderer an’ a thief, an’ I’ll git ’im yet.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“An’ hang for it.” This man spoke for the first -time. “He ain’t worth it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not on your life would I hang fer ’t,” was -Broome’s reply. “I tell ye the man’s a murderer -an’ a thief anyhow; an’ as fer his bein’ worth it, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>tell ye that claim he’s hanging onto’s got a million -in plain sight.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“An’ to think of it,” he went on, dolorously, -“that I had my two hands on them bags, an’ hefted -’em, an’ saw their color.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Pity you didn’t smell of them while you were -about it,” sneered Westcott. “It’s about all the -good you’ll ever get of the stuff.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Is it, eh,” Broome turned on him in maudlin rage.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s all I’ll ever git with any help o’ your’n,” -he raged, “but I kin do a thing er two yet, off ’n -my own bat. By God! Just you lemme git my -two hands on the feller ’n I’ll twist his windpipe -good ’n’ plenty!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He gasped for breath, tearing at the band of his -shirt.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll kill ’im,” he swore. “D’ye think I’ll let -’im live when he’s took the bread out o’ my mouth -like he done?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott regarded him with narrowed eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’d be a blasted fool to stand it,” he said, -speaking very low, “any set of men are fools to -let another man ride over them; but they’re bigger -fools if they don’t keep their mouths shut.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s so,” one of the men commented. “You -fellers wanter look out. This here Gard you’re -talkin’ about’s a stranger to me, an’ I d’ know all -he’s done, but such talk’s plumb dangerous.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>He shook his head with drunken gravity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Wha’d you wanter kill ’im for?” he asked of -Broome.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I tell ye he’s a damned murderer,” was the -reply. “He’d oughter be killed.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Is that right?” The man who did not know -Gard turned to Westcott with a profoundly judicial -air.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why ain’t he hung then?” he went on. “How -d’you know he’s guilty?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Westcott hesitated, considering. He did not -look at the questioner.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I saw the whole story written out in his own -hand,” he finally said, with a curious glitter in his -half-veiled eyes. “I’ve just been up north trying -to have him arrested,” he continued. “Broome -here knows that; but I found the matter’d been -patched up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hell! That ain’t no ways right.” The speaker -steadied himself, and regarded the lawyer severely.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They ain’t no justice in that,” he resumed. -“Murder’s murder; an’ the punishment for murder’s -hanging. I d’mand t’ know why he ain’t -hung?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’ll have to answer your own question,” was -the quiet reply. “What are you going to do about -that?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know what I’d do about it,” Broome spoke -<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>this time. “I’d hang ’im myself, quick’s that,” -snapping his fingers, “if I got the chance.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Lynching’s gone out of style,” sneered Westcott. -“We’re law-abiding in Arizona now.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Law be damned,” Broome blustered. “Lynching’s -too good fer ’im; but it’d serve, I guess.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The word passed from one to another of the -drunken group. The men looked at one another, -and fell into a confused discussion.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Did you say you saw that there confession in -his own handwrite?” the stranger presently turned -to ask of Westcott, but the lawyer had already -hurried away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you worry none about that,” Broome -answered for him, with an oath. “I tell ye, Hickey, -I know what I’m talkin’ about. The man’s an -escaped jail-bird that was in fer murder. He’s -dodged the law, but hell! he ain’t dodged Thad -Broome yet!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The talk went on among the men, but Westcott -was not there to hear it. He had seen to it that he -should not be, and was well on his way back to town.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had not put the idea into their heads, he told -himself. Nor was it likely that anything would -come of their drunken vaporings.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But if anything should—His heart was beating -excitedly, and his breath came quick as the possibilities -of the situation hammered at his brain.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>“Curse the fellow,” he muttered. “The very -devil himself is always sending him my way. Well, -whatever happens to him this trip he’s brought it -upon himself.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He walked on, his thoughts growing more -definite.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Nothing can be proved against me,” they ran. -“I can’t be supposed to know what a lot of drunken -punchers are likely to do. The fool ought to have -been careful how he interfered with them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Still, if anything <em>should</em> happen,” caution suggested, -“I may as well be away from here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He glanced at his watch.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Too late for the afternoon train,” he reflected. -“But there’s the mixed freight at nine-thirty. I -might ride over to the junction and get Billy Norton -to stop that for me. I’ll do that. Plenty of -time after supper. Yes: that is what I will do.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He did not continue his walk, but sought the -little hotel and shut himself into his room, explaining -to the friendly proprietor that he was dead -tired, and wanted to make up lost sleep.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XII</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Sandy Larch had driven to Bonesta to meet -Mrs. Hallard, Unricht’s telephone message -having reached the Palo Verde in due season. The -cowboys were all out on the range. There was -no one about the corrals when Gard reached the -rancho. He had not expected that anyone would -be, but the place seemed curiously quiet and deserted. -A bunch of future polo ponies in one enclosure -were the only creatures in sight as he rode -on toward the casa. These nickered to his -own horse and the sound brought Wing Chang to -the door of his adobe kitchen. The Chinaman’s -face wrinkled in a genial smile as he recognized -Gard. The latter waved a hand to him and turned -toward the horse-rail; for he had caught sight of a -slender figure under the cottonwoods.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She rose from the low chair in which she had -been sitting, reading, and awaited his coming, there -beneath the trees. She was dressed, as usual, in -white—a soft, clinging serge to-day, for the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>December afternoons were growing cool—and she -stood, serene and quiet, smiling welcome as he approached, -but the eyes veiled by her long lashes -were like stars. Gard’s heart cried out to her as he -took the slim little hand she held out to him in -greeting. He felt like a man reprieved. There -was no aversion in her look or manner. Westcott -could not yet have wholly blackened his good name -before her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“So you have come back to find everybody -gone,” Helen said, offering him the long chair he -remembered so well. “This seems to belong to -you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He declined it—his errand was not one that invited -the soul to ease—and took, instead, a camp-stool -near the little garden table. Patsy, who had -been lying beneath it, came to greet the guest, with -wagging recognition.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s nobody gone that I came to see,” Gard -answered her remark with a directness that brought -the long lashes still further over those starry eyes. -Helen had seen him coming far on the desert; had -recognized him with a quick, exultant leap of the -heart, and had schooled herself to serenity, stilling -the tumult within long ere he stood before her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Nevertheless, she was exquisitely aware of his -presence; aware too, that the secret fear of her -heart, lest memory might after all have played her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>false with reference to this man, was dispelled. -This was indeed the Gard of her musings. Her -veiled eyes took swift woman-cognizance of him; -of the strength and poise of his spare, supple -frame; the clean wholesomeness of his rugged -good looks.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Almost before he spoke, however, she was conscious -that something vaguely portentous pulsed -beneath the quiet of his manner; something which -her own mood failed of grasping. He was stirred -to the depths by something not wholly of the present -moment. The joyous light of that first instant -of meeting had faded from his face, and a shadowy -trouble lurked deep within his eyes. She raised -her own to meet it with the steady, level glance he -remembered as peculiarly her own, seeking to answer -the need of his soul.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard’s courage was near to failing. It came -home to him with terrible force as he met her pure -glance, what a monstrous thing this was that he -had brought to lay before her sweet, untroubled -consciousness. He would have given his life to -keep sorrow from her; yet he was hungering this -moment to tell her his own.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But he could not let her hear it from other lips -than his, and he believed that she must inevitably -hear the tale very soon. In a flash he saw, too, -that if she but believed him that belief would rob -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>the knowledge of its malignant power. The -friendliness of her eyes calmed the storm in his -spirit. In that instant he loved her supremely; but -for the moment she was more the friend to whose -soul he longed to lay bare his own, than the woman -he loved, whose faith he longed to feel assurance -of.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had no knowledge of the arts of circumlocution. -He drew from his pocket a folded paper -and began his story where, in his thought, he had -meant to end it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I have brought you something to keep for me,” -he said, opening out the paper and handing it to -her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>She looked it over wonderingly. There was a -rough sketch of a mountain-range, with one peak -indicated by a little cross. At one side was a little -map, with directions and distances plainly set out, -and half a page of minute instructions as to routes -and trails. Gard’s training in the surveyor’s gang -had served him in good stead here.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What is it, precisely?” the girl asked; for complete -as it seemed, there was no word to indicate -just what it was intended to show.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That’s what I want to tell you,” was his answer. -“It wasn’t best to put <em>too</em> much on the -paper. I got taught that the other day; but what -is set down there would guide you straight to my -gold-mine if ever you wanted to go.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>She flushed, slightly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why should I ever want to go?” she asked, on -the defensive against his eyes. “Don’t prospectors -generally consider it imprudent to show such -things as this?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Awfully imprudent. You must put it away -where it will be very safe, and keep it for me.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But why do you wish <em>me</em> to keep it? I think -you are rash.” Helen held the paper toward him, -but he put her hand back, pleadingly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Please keep it for me,” he urged; “I—I wish -it above all things. I am afraid—I expect to have -to go away for a time, to a place where <em>I</em> could not -keep it—for a long time, perhaps.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where do you expect to go?” Helen strove to -keep out of her voice the dismay that was in her -heart.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There was a boy, once,” he said, apparently not -hearing her question. “He wasn’t a bad boy as -boys go, but you couldn’t have called him a good -boy, either. And he wasn’t smart, and he wasn’t -stupid.” Gard looked out across the desert, considering.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“This boy went away from home the way boys -do. He thought it was slow on the farm back in -Iowa; and he drifted out to Arizona....”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He paused. He found the story even harder to -tell than he had expected. Helen, watching him -intently, leaned toward him ever so slightly.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>“I want to hear about the boy,” she said, softly, -and Gard went on, without looking at her.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He got out to Arizona and went prospecting. -He found a claim, and had it jumped. He got -some dust together, and lost it. He lost a good -many things; his real name, for one thing, and -a lot of other things it does boys good to keep. He -was getting into bad ways; getting mighty worthless; -and then he got into trouble.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard’s face was pale under its tan, and a white -dint showed in either nostril. Helen was studying -the sketch of the mountains.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“A man was killed—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl gave a little gasp, and Gard turned to -her quickly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“The boy didn’t do it,” he cried. “Before -Heaven! he hadn’t anything to do with it. Miss -Anderson—” He bent toward her, eagerly. -“Can’t you believe—no matter what comes up—won’t -you—oh, you must believe that the boy -hadn’t anything to do with it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Her eyes were on his face, searching it as though -she would read his hidden thoughts.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I can believe that,” she said at last, “if you say -it is true.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He drew a deep, tremulous breath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Tell me exactly what happened,” Helen urged, -and the way opened, he went on with the whole -<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>pitiful, sordid story, the girl listening, never -flinching, though her very lips grew white when -he told her what his sentence had been.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He told her of his escape, but omitted mention -of his visit to Blue Gulch. He did not bring Westcott’s -name in at all, or dwell upon the treachery -he had met with. He told of finding Mrs. Hallard’s -deed; of his search for her, and of the -trouble he had found her in, and Helen’s heart -warmed toward him because of what he still did -not say; for she recognized Westcott’s share in this -matter. He came at last to the lost packet, and -the danger that he was in if anyone found it.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I think somebody has it,” he said, “and that -somebody will be getting after me. I am going to -try to move first; but may be I sha’ n’t be able to.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you think it was Mr. Westcott who found -those papers?” Helen asked, suddenly, and Gard -started.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Did he say anything to you?” he demanded. -“What did he tell you?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She drew herself up, proudly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am not in Mr. Westcott’s confidence,” she -said. “He has never spoken to me on the subject.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sandy and I, we <em>do</em> think that,” Gard admitted. -“He, Mr. Westcott, ain’t a friend of mine,” he -added, “and if he did find them I’m sure to hear -from him before long.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>Helen pondered his words. She knew, in -various ways, that Westcott was not friendly to -this man. She began now to understand why, -and she realized that the attorney could be a -venomous foe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Any one of the others would have handed the -papers over to Sandy, would they not?” she asked, -and before Gard could reply turned to answer -Jacinta, who was calling anxiously from the house.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jacinta thinks it’s getting too cool out here,” -she explained, laughingly. “It troubles her if she -thinks I am running risks. Shall we go into the -house?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The afternoon was waning. Gard hesitated.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must be getting back,” he said, following -her, “but I’d like to explain that diagram to you. -I want you to have it in case ... if anything -should happen, I—want it to be yours. You get -your father to have some work done on it, and -file the claim right for you. My filing—isn’t -legal.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The words came hard, and the color mounted to -his forehead. The girl’s hands were trembling. -Outside the sound of men’s voices came vaguely -on the afternoon stillness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Is it as late as that?” Helen asked, surprised. -“Are the men getting back?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Glancing out of the window they saw Wing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>Chang coming from the kitchen to the house. -Near the kitchen door a man on horseback was -waiting.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mistlee Glad!” Chang’s yellow visage wore a -startled look as he appeared in the doorway of the -big living room.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Man outside,” he said, addressing Gard. -“Four, fi’ men; holler; swear; say you come out. -Say you gotta come out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The man by the kitchen door now rode forward.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Hey, you, Misher Barker, Gard, whatever you -call yourself,” he yelled thickly, “come out ’n -that in th’ name o’ law o’ Arizona!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” Helen cried, “what does he want?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard turned to her with agony in his face.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s—what—we—thought—might happen, I -guess,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Has—has someone come to take you? Don’t -go! Don’t let them take you! Oh, surely there is -some other way!” The girl’s voice was full of -horror. “Oh!” she moaned, “if only my father -were here! Or Sandy!” She looked at him with -eyes whose revelation almost broke the man -down.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Be you comin’, in there?” the thick voice outside -sounded nearer. “They’sh plenty of ush to -take you,” it went on. “Y’ ain’t goin’ to hide in -there along o’ no girl, Misher murderer!—We’ll -<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>take you both ’f you don’t come out ’n be quick -’bout it!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard caught the words and his face grew suddenly -stern. He opened the door and stepped -outside. The man on horseback swerved, at sight -of him, and galloped back a little distance to where -his fellows had come up. Gard could still distinguish -them all in the increasing dusk.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Come out here you damned murderer!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was Broome’s voice, malignant and thick.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re goin’ git what ’s comin’ to you this -time,” he added, tauntingly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was no mistaking the menace of the -group; Gard realized, as he surveyed it, that this -was no posse, but a band of drunken cowboys ripe -for any mischief. At all hazards, he must keep -them from the house.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Ride the murderer down!” someone roared, -drunkenly. But none of the men moved nearer to -attack the motionless figure on the door stone.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard was thinking fast, and the burden of his -thought was the girl shivering on the other side of -the door. He must get these men away. She -must not know.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Deliberately he stepped back into the room. As -the door closed behind him a bullet buried itself in -the upper panel with a savage “ping!” amid a -chorus of savage yells. Helen was at the window, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>ears and eyes strained to the scene without. She -came toward him, swiftly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You must not go out there!” she cried. “Those -men are not officers; they mean harm!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Her hand touched his arm lightly in terrified -appeal. The white womanliness of her upturned -face made his heart ache with tenderness. His -soul thrilled to a trembling sense of the sweet -possibilities of life. Then the instinct of the protector -awoke.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must go,” he said, speaking low and fast. “I -must go now; I must meet these men and—and -have it out with them. It is the only way. But -I’m coming back. Don’t you worry. I’m coming -back clear and clean—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t go!” she whispered in terror; for he was -moving toward a long French window that opened -toward the cottonwoods.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must!” His voice was tense with pain. Outside, -he knew, death lurked for him—just when -life had grown so precious! But more precious -still was this slim, white girl. For her sake he -must draw the evil crew away from the casa. She -must not know!</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Kick in the door! The patron’s away! The -coward’s hiding there with—yah!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A fleeing figure burst from the shelter of the -cottonwoods, Gard’s horse still stood at the rail, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>the bridle reins on the ground. The drunken -horsemen turned their own mounts and blundered -confusedly against one another as their quarry, -with a defiant shout that left them no doubt as to -his identity, threw himself upon his horse and -dashed away into the gloom. In an instant they -rallied from their confusion, and wheeling, were -after him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard made for the great rancho gate. He knew -the horse he bestrode; knew that it was not in the -mongrel brute’s poor power to carry him far, at -any speed; but at least he had a start, and was -leading his pursuers away from the Palo Verde.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Head ’im off there!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Shoot him!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Damn it! Don’t shoot! Catch the damned -sneaking dog an’ we’ll string ’im up!” It was -Broome’s voice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The words were borne to Wing Chang’s horrified -ears and he raised his own high, falsetto tones, -in a cry of warning to Gard. Helen, hovering -beside the door, heard also, and rushed out.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Chang! Chang!” she called, gathering her -skirts as she made for the corrals; “come and help -me saddle Dickens!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She seized him by the arm and literally pushed -him before her. “Quick!” she cried. “You catch -the horse. I’ll get the saddle.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>She must get help. She meant to ride out and -meet the men who must soon be returning from -the range. She was coming from a shed, bearing -saddle and bridle, when Sandy Larch and Mrs. -Hallard drove through the great gate. Wing -Chang rushed toward them, shrieking.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Slandy! Slandy man!” he wailed, forgetful -of the discipline the foreman was wont to enforce -in the matter of his name. “You savee him! -Makee dlam hully up! Savee him!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s eatin’ you?” Sandy roared, struggling -with his startled horses. “What’s the matter? -Talk straight you fool heathen! Save who?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mistlee Glad! They killee him! Go! Go!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang’s hands beat the air as though he -could thus impel the listener forward. Helen now -ran up and Mrs. Hallard caught her hand, leaning -forward eagerly.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What is it?” she cried, and the girl explained, -in quick, excited sentences.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“We must get out there quick,” she said. She -turned with a glad cry: in their preoccupation they -had not heard the cowboys, who came galloping in -for supper, singing as they rode.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch now comprehended the situation -sufficiently to act. He gave a few quick orders, -and in a moment half a dozen of the men had -faced about and were riding over the desert.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>“Round up anything you see,” the foreman -shouted after them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll be with you in a jerk.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He meant to leave Helen and Mrs. Hallard at -the casa, but they refused to listen to such a -plan. Helen sprang into the buckboard, and as the -last horseman swept out at the gate the sweating -team was in pursuit.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Four of the men rode out upon the plain. Two, -of whom Manuel was one, kept to the road, and -after these Sandy lashed his horses. He came up -with them a mile beyond the gate. Manuel was off -his bronco, studying some tracks that just here -turned abruptly from the way.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“They must have turned off here,” Sandy said, -springing out and straining his eyes to make out -the hoof-prints in the baffling gloom. “Gard’s got -a poor horse. They headed him off.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” Helen cried, wringing her hands. “Why -didn’t he ride back to the rancho?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Gard wouldn’t do that, with you alone there,” -answered Sandy. “But oh, Lord! Why didn’t -some of us turn up sooner?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sago Irish, who had ridden out upon the plain, -while Manuel studied the hoof-prints, now came -back.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Did you pick up the trail?” the foreman demanded, -sharply.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>The cowboy shook his head.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sand’s too hard,” he said, sorrowfully, “an’ -it’s gettin’ too dark.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy’s eyes searched the dusky landscape. He -was breathing hard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Cannot we do <em>something</em>,” Helen pleaded, in a -voice of agony.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If they catch the señor—” Manuel spoke very -low, but the women’s straining ears caught the -words—“they will ride off where is the little west -fork. There they find—”</p> - -<p class='c008'>A word from the foreman hushed his speech. -Sandy turned his horses and in an instant they -were flying in the direction Manuel had indicated. -For the first time Kate Hallard’s nerve was -shaken.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh, my God!” she muttered, “Manuel meant -they’d find <em>trees</em>!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>As she spoke a revolver shot rang out distantly, -upon the air, and with a wild yell the two cowboys -dashed off, leaving those in the buckboard to -follow.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XIII</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>So this was to be the end!</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard, securely roped, stood with his back -against a cottonwood tree, looking at his captors. -There was no mistaking their condition, and they -left him in no doubt as to their intentions.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He had not expected this. Re-arrest; re-imprisonment: -these had presented themselves to his -mind as possibilities; he had not looked to win -justice and reinstatement without a struggle, but -this—surely no sane mind could have foreseen it -as a possibility.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The quick dusk of mid-December had fallen, -but one of the men was provided with a stock-lantern. -This had been lighted, and threw a -miserable glare upon the sodden faces of the men -who had him in their power. He glanced from -one to the other, finding ground for hope in none.</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was Broome who had captured him. The -cowboy had secured the loan of a fellow puncher’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>horse, standing at the rail before Jim Bracton’s -saloon. It was a good horse, more than a match -for the indifferent beast Gard rode. There had -been a mad race across the desert, a realizing sense -that the danger was real and imminent, and Gard -was in the act of drawing his revolver when the -rope that Broome flung settled over his shoulders, -and pinned his arms down.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now you know how it feels, damn you!” -Broome said, when the crowd had their captive -bound and again in saddle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But you don’t git no blindfold,” he sneered. -“You’re goin’ to see all that’s a’comin’ to you, -good ’n’ plain.” Broome’s face was thrust into -his, drunken, distorted, malignant.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Now my fine Mister Barker-Gard,” the thick -voice snarled, “it’s prayers fer your’n. You’ve -killed your last man, you sneakin’ coyote you. -You’ll swing in jest about two minutes.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>There was a growl of assent from two of the -others, and Gard recognized them as the same two -ruffians that were fleecing Papago Joe when he -had quietly but effectively stopped their game. -The fourth man was a stranger to him. It was -this one who carried the lantern, and he now held -it unsteadily on high, surveying the prisoner with -drunken gravity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Tell ye what,” he announced to Broome, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>“Thish ’ere thing’s gotter be done right. Thish -’a free ’n glorioush country. We don’t hang no -man ’thout ’n he gits a fair trial.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Trial be damned!” Broome roared. “Don’t -you go bein’ no fool Sam Hickey. This feller ’s -bin tried an’ found guilty long of a real judge ’n -jury, already.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey turned upon him with inebriate severity.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If you wa’n’t so dangnation drunk, Broome,” -he said, “I’d swat ye fer that remark. But y’ -ain’t responsible now; that’s whatch y’ ain’t; -Thish ’ere thing’s gotter be done decent, I tell -you. We ain’t no murderers. We’sh populash o’ -Arizona, seein’ justice done; an’ damn you, we’re -goin’ to see it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You bet we be!” interjected one of the others. -“An’ quick! This feller’s <em>had</em> his trial.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not s’ fast, Hank.” Hickey swung the lantern -perilously.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’sh a judge, thash me; an’ there’sh -jury, thash gotter be you fellers. There—now. -Thash all fixed.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Oh, God! Was it really to end in this tragic -farce? Gard pondered it with a sick heart. If it -was, why could he not have died in the storm, with -Arnold, two years ago?</p> - -<p class='c008'>He realized the futility of any appeal to the -creatures before him. They were drunk; irresponsible -<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>as dogs at play, and they held his life in -their hands. His life: with all its new hope, and -love, and aspiration! Moreover, three of them -hated him. He owed even these few more moments -of breath to the maudlin vagary of the one -who did not know him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Prish’ner at the bar,” Hickey was mumbling, -“You are accusht o’ bein’ convicted o’ the murder -o’—Who ’n hell was it he murdered, Broome?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He turned to Broome with an effort at dignity -that nearly flung the lantern in the latter’s face. -Broome dodged it, with an oath.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Dan Lundy, you slitherin’ fool,” he snarled, -“Git ahead with your lingo, or we’ll swing you -when he’s done fer.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey ignored the threat.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Well, prish’ner at the bar, guilty er not -guilty?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not guilty! I never touched Lundy,” Gard -said, earnestly. “I found him dead in his shack, -and they came in just as I was trying to lift him -up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Corsh: corsh: very proper to pleade ‘not -guilty’. Reg’ler thing—we’d a’ hung ye anyway -if yer hadn’t—fer’n example! As ’tish, we’ve gi’n -you fair tri’l. Be there anything you wanter say, -before thish court perceeds t’ ex’cute sentensh?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard’s soul was in revolt.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>“Hickey,” he said, speaking very slowly and distinctly, -“This is murder you men are doing. You’ll -know it when you are sober.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>As the lantern cast its light upon Hickey’s face -it seemed to Gard that he looked startled. He -realized, with a sick feeling of helplessness that -the fellow’s participation in this deed was due -solely to his condition. He even felt a sort of -pity for the man when to-morrow’s awakening -should bring the knowledge of what he had done. -If he could but reach the real man buried in the -addled brain.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I did not kill Dan Lundy,” he insisted, still -addressing Hickey; “You will know that some -day. Killing me to-night will not be the end of it. -Death ain’t such an awful thing that a man’s got -to be afraid of it, beyond a certain point. We’ve -all got to die some time; so it stands to reason it -can’t be such a bad thing as we think. But if I -do die to-night, you’ll be alive yet, to-morrow -morning, Hickey, and what do you think you’ll do -about it then?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey was staring at him, his jaw loosened, -the lantern hanging in a listless hand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Aw, shut up,” interrupted Broome. “You’ve -said all you got any call to say. We know there’s -bin a mistake made, n’ we’re goin’ to fix it up -right here. You savez?”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>Gard ignored him, still looking at Hickey.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Know Mrs. Hallard?” he asked, with the quiet -of desperation. Since by no endurable possibility -could he send a message where, alone, he longed -to, he must at least get one word to Kate Hallard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yesh;” was Hickey’s reply. “Know Missish -Hallard. Mighty fine lady.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Will you tell Mrs. Hallard,” he cast about for -words that should guide Mrs. Hallard without enlightening -these ruffians. “Try to remember this, -please. Tell Mrs. Hallard that Sawyer’s all right. -Tell her not to give in to anybody. Anybody, I say. -Tell her not to be afraid. Will you remember?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey carried his lantern a little distance away -and set it down at the foot of a tree.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll tell ’er”; he said, gravely. “Hate ter hang -a frien’ o’ Missish Hallard,” he added, “just -plum hate ter do’t; but you see yourself how -’tish; law’s gotter take its course; so we gotter -hang you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where’s your rope?” one of the men now demanded, -and it was developed that the only rope -in the company was the horse-hair riata with -which Gard was bound.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Take it off n’ hang ’im with that,” Hickey -ordered, and three men laid hold of their victim, -while Broome proceeded, savagely, to loosen his -bonds. A wild hope sprang up in Gard’s heart.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>It seemed as if Broome would never get done -fumbling with the rope, but at last it fell away -from his feet. His arms were already untied, but -three men held them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>With a quick wrench he shook one free and -planted a blow in Broome’s face. The fellow -went down, heavily, and Gard fell upon the three -others, glorying that at least he could die fighting.</p> - -<p class='c008'>But he did not mean to die. If he could but -get an instant’s start he could back his sober wits -against their drunken ones, in the darkness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey proved unequal to battle, and a single -thrust put him temporarily out of the fight. Then -Gard heard Broome’s voice.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Shoot ’im! Shoot ’im, somebody!” he roared, -and Gard realized that one of the men he struggled -with had drawn a gun.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He seized the hand that held the weapon, and -there was a three-cornered fight for its possession.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome was on his feet, now, trying to find a -point of attack. Gard was doing more than fight -for the gun. He was gradually forcing activities -in the direction of the horses. If only he could -shake free for an instant, and make a run for it! -He meant to secure Broome’s mount. In a dash -for freedom he felt that the odds would be with -him.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>Broome had by now got into the struggle again, -and hurled himself, from behind, upon the man he -hated. Gard felt the fellow’s great hands closing -about his throat, when suddenly, the revolver for -which he was fighting was discharged.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome sank back with a yell and a moment -later, somewhere, far out on the plain, another -revolver cracked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Somebody’s coming!” the fellow called “Hank” -gasped out, wrenching free. “We’d better git!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The sense of approaching danger sobered him, -for the instant, and he sprang toward his horse. -The other fellow would have followed, but Gard -held him fast. He, too, realized that help was at -hand, and the realization renewed his strength. A -moment later, with wild yells, and a rush of swift -hoofs, two riders dashed up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hank threw himself into the saddle. Manuel -Gordo was quicker than he, however, and bore -him to the ground with one sweep of a heavy -arm, while Sago Irish, Manuel’s mate, dashed to -Gard’s assistance. His ready rope had already -secured the fellow called “Jim,” when the buckboard -appeared, Sandy lashing his broncos to a -mad run.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The stars were out, lighting the sky with a brilliance -that shamed the lantern’s yellow glow, and -Gard’s heart leaped when he saw the lithe figure -<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>that sprang from the back-seat, as Sandy Larch -brought the horses to their haunches.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The foreman was already hurrying to his -friend, but he stopped short as Gard, never seeing -him, turned toward Helen. Mrs. Hallard, too, -had fallen behind, and the two stood face to face -in the bright starlight.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Helen!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was all that Gard could say, but his voice was -full of wonder, and joy. He never noticed that -he had called the girl by her first name.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Nor did she. For an instant she poised, bird-like, -her shining eyes seeking his. All thought of -their surroundings had fallen away from both; -there was for them, in that moment; only the holy -mystery of love, filling their souls. He held out -his arms and she came to him as naturally as a -child seeks its mother.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Neither spoke. His face was against the bewildering -fragrance of her hair as her head lay -upon his breast. He held her close, in the safe, -sweet haven of his arms.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He tried to raise her face, that he might see it, -but she kept it hidden, blessing the kind, wise stars, -that would not reveal her scarlet cheeks.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Look up, darling! Oh, my love, let me see -your eyes!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>For answer her arms stole up to his neck, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>she clung the closer against the strong, brave heart -that had borne so much.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Did they hurt you?” she whispered. “Are you -all safe now? Oh, oh, my dear heart—what if -you had not been!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She was trembling from head to foot. He -took her two hands in one of his, carrying them to -his lips.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am all right,” he said, “if I can only be sure -I am awake. But how <em>can</em> I believe you are here -if I do not see your face?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She raised it at last, turning it up to his gaze -under the pure starlight, and the sight held him in -a hush of wonder.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You see it <em>is</em> I.” She forced a little smile to -her trembling lips, and looked at him, half afraid.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, yes,” he whispered, “it really is. And you -came to me. Don’t go away, will you? Don’t -ever, ever leave me!”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XIV</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Yelling wildly through the night, the other -Palo Verde riders came pounding over the -sand. Sandy Larch, who, with Mrs. Hallard, had -been investigating the extent of Broome’s injuries, -straightened up.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where’s Westcott?” he shouted. “Any of -you seen the black hound? Wing Chang said he -had something to do with this business.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Broome gave a sort of howl, whether of pain or -of protest, no one heeded, no one cared. The -new-comers crowded around the foreman.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where is he?” They demanded, excitedly, -“Which way’d ’e go?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Search me,” was Sandy’s reply. “He must -a’ drifted before I come up. All I know is Wing -Chang said he was one o’ the devils after Gard.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Hickey, who had been taken with the others, -roused from his drunken slumber at the sound of -Westcott’s name.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He ain’t here,” he muttered, “Weshcott’s in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>Sylvania, takin’ care of ’s health. Thash where -he ish.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The cowboys were off before he had finished, -and as no one noticed him, he slumbered again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What will they do with him?” whispered -Helen. She had drawn away from Gard when -the others appeared, but he still held her hand.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Nothing, dear,” he replied. “They won’t find -him. He’s safe at Sylvania. I only wish you -were as far away from here as he is.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“She will be in a shake,” Sandy Larch called, -overhearing him. “An’ so’ll you be, too.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy had assured himself that bad whiskey -and rage were more responsible for Broome’s -groans than the bullet which had shattered his -collar-bone, and ploughed his shoulder. The fellow’s -howls and oaths had been silenced by a kick, -and no longer made night hideous.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Sago,” Sandy said, turning to one of his cowboys, -“I reckon you ’n’ Manuel’s equal to the care -o’ these citizens. They kin all sit their horses, I -guess, an’ you two kin ride herd on ’em, into -Sylvania. I’d gather in their guns, if ’t was me -doin’ it, on’ leave ’em with fatty Harkins till -mornin’. I dare say they’ll be some peacabler -by then.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The foreman had already eased Broome’s shoulder, -crudely enough, by means of an arm-sling, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>improvised from the riata that the fellow had -meant to use for Gard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“He’ll do till he gits to Sylvania,” he said, -with an indifference that was not feigned, “Mebby -there’ll be somebody there to tend to ’im.” And -he left the would-be lynchers to the tender mercies -of their captors.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Ashley Westcott was mounting his hired horse -in front of the hotel, when a stranger, on a hard-ridden, -pacing buckskin, stopped beside the rail.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Say, friend,” he drawled, catching sight of the -lawyer, “Your name happen to be Westcott?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Is that any of your business?” snapped the -owner of the name.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Not a bit,” was the calm reply, “an’ I don’t -care a damn. It only happened I was rounded-up, -awhile back, by a parcel of fellers ’t said they was -from the Palo Verde. They’d mistook me fer -you, an’ you sure have some enthusiastic friends. -They’re a whoopin’ it up yet, I guess, ’lowin’ -they’re seekin’ your society.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Who were they?” Westcott asked.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I didn’t exchange no cards with the gents,” -the stranger replied, grinning. “’Twas enough fer -me to know they was friends o’ yourn’. An’ seein’ -you now, to realize your lovely disposition, I don’t -know ’s I wonder at the warmth o’ the feelin’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>they showed fer you. They may be yer dearest -friends,” he went on, more seriously, “an’ you -may be goin’ to meet ’em this minute, but what I -sot out to say was, that if a party o’ <em>my</em> dearest -friends was lookin’ fer me in the tone o’ voice -them fellers was exhibitin’ I’d either stay where -I was, if I thought it was a good place, er I’d git -on my nag an’ I’d drift, mighty lively.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Bah!” was Westcott’s reply, as he got into -the saddle. “I don’t know why anyone should be -hunting for me, and I’m not afraid of them if -they are. People generally know where to find -me if they have business with me.... Thank -you, though,” he muttered, recollecting himself.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re sure welcome,” the stranger said, turning -away, as the lawyer rode down the street.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You’re sure good an’ welcome,” he added, -to himself, “to all ’ts likely comin’ to you.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“There are a lot of things I’ve got to straighten -out.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>It was Gard, who spoke, from his place beside -Sandy Larch in the buckboard.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I think, too,” he added, addressing Sandy, a -note of sadness in his tone, “that I must tell you -good friends about them, right away.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>No one spoke, but before he had time to wonder -at their silence Helen leaned forward and thrust -<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>into his hands a big, official-looking envelop, which -Mrs. Hallard had given her, with a few whispered -words of explanation.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What’s this?” Gard asked, peering at it in -the uncertain light.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen laughed, happily and Sandy Larch gave -a low chuckle.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It’s something that’ll interest you a lot,” said -he, “an’ I reckon it’ll keep; but good Lord, Gard! -Why ’n’t you ever let on?” Sandy’s voice was -full of loving reproach.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If you’d only put me hip,” he continued, “a -word’d a’ fixed it. But I get the shivers yet, -thinkin’ o’ all might ’a’ happened.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t, Sandy,” pleaded Helen. She was still -trembling, with excitement and horror.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Tell him; quick!” she urged.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Tell me what?” Gard was dizzy with weariness -and bewilderment. He held his big envelop -up, trying to make out what it was.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“To think—” Sandy was still unable, for very -eagerness, to come to the point. “Who’d a -dreamt you never knew Jim Texas confessed, after -all!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Confessed?” Gard’s voice thrilled with sudden -joy.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“God! But it’s good to be a free man again!” -he said softly, and the low spoken words sent a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>thrill through his hearers. Years of suffering -seemed expressed in them.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then the others’ tongues were loosened, and -by the time the Palo Verde was reached, the story -had been pieced together, bit by bit.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Friends,” Gard said, as they walked together -from the corrals to the casa, “I don’t know what -to say; but I—I sure thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He bared his head, and looked up at the stars. -They were still there, swinging their ancient round -as they had done, night after night, above the -glade.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes,” he said, speaking to them as often and -often he had done before, when he watched their -solemn progress across the sky. “You knew. You -told me ’t would come out all right, and it has.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Then, as Jacinta appeared in the doorway, full -of anxiety about Helen, they went into the -house.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’ll see you to-morrow morning,” Gard said -an hour later, to Helen, as they stood together -near the cottonwoods. Sandy had gone to the -corral for the horses; he meant to ride back to -Sylvania with his friend. Helen had persuaded -Mrs. Hallard to remain at the hacienda for the -night.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I must see you just a little while,” Gard said, -“before I go away.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>“Go away?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen’s voice was full of surprise as she repeated -his words. “Where are you going?” she -asked; for he was smiling down at her as though -the thought of separation gave him pleasure.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Mexico,” was the reply. “Sandy says your -father is down in Sonora.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why, yes: but he will be home within a week. -He wouldn’t be away over Christmas.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know; but I can’t wait. I’ve got to see him. -I’ve got to ask him—” Gard’s voice sank to a -whisper, “I’ve got to ask him what he’s going to -give me for Christmas.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Oh!” the girl’s shyness held them both silent -for a moment, ere she found speech again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I know what <em>I</em> want,” she presently said, edging -away from the other matter.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The word sounded like a guarantee that what -she wanted would be forthcoming.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jinny.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>They both laughed, like children, at the idea.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Jinny’s yours,” Gard said, promptly: “but she -’nd I go together. We can’t be parted. I couldn’t -bear the separation.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Perhaps—” He had to bend his head to -catch the low-spoken words—“Perhaps—Father’s -Christmas present will—will reconcile you.”</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>What his answer was is not of record. There -was but a moment to give to it; for a whistle from -Sandy presently warned Gard that his horse was -ready, and the two whispered their good-night, -in the friendly darkness.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span> - <h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XV</h3> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c007'>Gard and Helen were married late in January. -Gard’s patience, and hard-won philosophy, -seemed wholly to desert him at the thought of -longer delay.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“One would think,” Helen laughed, as he -pleaded with her to set an earlier day, “that you -were afraid I might vanish.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I am,” answered Gard. “I always have been, -from the minute I saw you come around the corner -of the house that morning, with your tray and -grape-fruit, I’ve been expecting I’d wake up -some day and find that this part of the dream -isn’t true.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen’s cheek lingered against the hand which -he put out as if to reassure himself of her presence.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It is true,” she said, softly, “truer than the -other parts, the hard, cruel parts. <em>They</em> are the -things that have vanished, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I guess you’re right,” was Gard’s reply. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>“They were the dream, and this is the waking-up; -the blessed waking-up.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Do you know,” he suddenly said, “it was the -longest kind of a time—up in the mountain—before -I got over being afraid, just before I’d open -my eyes in the morning?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Afraid?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes. That I might see—might <em>not</em> see—the -open.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Yes, dear?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen spoke quietly, though it seemed to her as -if her suffocating heart beats must betray to him -what she was feeling. Gard had told her of his -escape from the cloudburst; all the incidents of his -Robinson Crusoe life, as she called it, of the coming -of the camel; of that wonderful journey to -the glade; of the glade itself; but this he had never -spoken of. She had thought of it as a door in his -heart yet closed against her. Now it was opening, -to admit her to his chamber of sorrow.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I don’t know what kept me alive through those -other years,” he continued. “Sometimes it seems -to me there wasn’t much there worth keeping -alive. There wasn’t much got away but a rack -of bones, held together by hate.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen’s hands stole out and found both his as -he went on.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I thought I’d got to get out,” he seemed as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>if thinking aloud, “I thought I’d got to get out -some day, just to kill Westcott. Then when I -did get away, I hadn’t anything left but the longing -to crawl off somewhere and die. I’m not -sorry about that now, though often, in the mountain, -I raged, to think I couldn’t have killed him -that night. Then I learned better. But I feel -mighty thankful now, that I never hurt him.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“You would never have hurt him,” Helen murmured.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There were times when I would if I could -have got to him,” Gard replied, “but I got over -my hate. Somehow, that kind of thing can’t live -in big, clean places like that I drifted to. The -desert’s a hard place, my girl. It don’t look lovely -as this when you’re fighting for life in it. It’s -fierce as a tiger, but there ain’t any hate in it. -That’s only in men, but it’s deadlier than anything -the desert’s got.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There’s got to be desert, I guess. There -was a man in the surveyor’s gang I was with -once, years ago, always said that. He said you -take away the desert and some of the glorious -climates on this slope would all be gone.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I’m talking a lot”; he interrupted himself -with half a laugh, “but just once, this thing’s got -to be looked at; because it was so black, and I -can’t let you think I wasn’t black with it. It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>took that, I guess, along with the rest of it all, -to make me see things the way I do now; but I -ain’t asking pity for it. It was a desert place, sure -enough, but now it’s over. I guess I learned -some things worth while. Then when I got out -on the big desert, dear, I found God there, same’s -I’d believed when I was a boy, back on the prairie. -I shouldn’t wonder if He’d been there in the jail, -too. That’s the truth of it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>The girl leaned quickly, and gathered both his -hands to her lips, love, thankfulness, and pride in -his manhood, all struggling for expression. Stout -old Chaucer’s brave words came to her mind, and -she said them aloud, with lips yet trembling with -tenderness.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“And truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“That sounds like one of your old poets,” he -said, “and I guess he may have been in the desert -and learned. ‘There is no drede’,” he repeated, -thoughtfully. “I suppose he means no fear. -That’s right.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>He was looking into Helen’s eyes, his two hands -closing over hers.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There is no fear,” he asserted. “There is -nothing <em>to</em> fear. Oh, girl—my girl! With hate -gone, and love come in, there’s nothing in the -wide world to fear!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>February was well along when first they saw -<span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>the glade together. Morgan Anderson and Gard -had organized a company which, later, was to -exploit the mine. Gard had seen to it that Sandy -Larch had an interest, and Mrs. Hallard. Kate -Hallard had gone away from Sylvania, but her -matters were in good hands. She had sold her -business to Sing Fat, and gone to California.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“For one thing,” she had said to Helen, when -the two had a long talk together. “I’m goin’ to -learn t’ talk decent. I can’t stand it. Sometimes -when I’m sittin’ still, not sayin’ a word, jes’ listenin’ -to you, seems’s if the language I’m thinkin’ -in is makin’ a noise, it is so howlin’ bad.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Don’t you think I don’t know; ner don’t you -b’lieve it don’t make no difference. It makes a -difference inside me. I’m sick of it. Sick of all -’t means to me. I never had a chance to find it out -before; but now I know, an’ I can’t bear it. I’m -goin’ t’ learn somethin’, an’ then, so long’s I -always want to work—you couldn’t make a lady -o’ the likes o’ me, not if you laid the money on -with a trowel,—I’m goin’ to work at something -worth while, an’ if I ain’t too old I’m goin’ to -learn to be a nurse. Anyhow, it’s good-by the -eatin’ house fer mine!”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen and Gard went with the first outfit of -mining-supplies to the claim. These were taken -by wagon to the foot of the mountain, and thence, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>up the trail, on the backs of the mules that had -pulled them. Gard had gone for Jinny, bringing -her by rail to Yuma, their point of departure, and -she and Helen had become friends forthwith. Together -they led the procession up the ancient wash; -for Helen insisted upon walking, and her saddle -horse and Gard’s followed in the rear.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The glade lay in the pleasant afternoon sunshine -much as it had done the day that Gard said -good-by to it. A big live-oak branch had fallen -across the ocotilla bed where he had often rested. -Helen surveyed the rude structure with quivering -lips, as he pulled the branch away.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Sandy Larch was unloading the animals, piling -up the stores, and getting things into shape, with -the help of the three men of the outfit. By the -big fireplace against the rock Wing Chang, who -had cast in his fortunes with the new company, -was taking stock of Gard’s culinary apparatus.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What do you think of it, Chang?” the latter -asked, as the cook investigated the upturned bean-pot.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Where you catchee him?” the Chinaman demanded, -much mystified.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I made it. Made them all.” Gard waved a -hand at the various fire-blackened clay pots. -Chang tapped the bean-kettle with an investigating -knuckle, testing its soundness.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>“Him no clacked,” he said, with a grunt. -“Mebby you no clacked; mebby so allee lightee.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>And no further expression of opinion could be -won from him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Helen made a swift round of the place, Gard -following, scarcely able to believe in his own happiness. -She inspected the cabin, and cast her vote -for living outside it. The seats and tables that -Gard had contrived gave her great delight, and -she rejoiced in the flaming green of the volunteer -crop of oats into which Jinny had already found -her wilful way.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I dare say your gold-mine’s all right, Gard,” -Sandy said, coming up to survey the oat patch, -“but if it shouldn’t be, there’s another one right -on this here plain, if that water was turned acrost -it.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“I vum!” He pulled a head of oats and examined -it. “The Palo Verde’s a howlin’ wilderness,” -he avowed, “to what a man could have -here.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Gard laughed as he led Jinny ignominiously out -of her green field.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No reason why you shouldn’t be that man,” -said he. “It’s government land, all ready to be -entered upon.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“If that’s a fact,” was Sandy’s reply, “an’ you -ain’t got no intentions on it, then Sandy Larch, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>cow-punch, is likely to blossom out as A. Larch, -rancherio. Can’t you see me a swellin’ señor?”</p> - -<p class='c008'>Wing Chang’s bright fire was lighting up the -trees and rocks when Helen, who had been bestowing -her belongings inside the cabin, came out -with something in her hands.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What is this?” she demanded of Gard, still -hovering near.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He took the big shell from her and stirred the -palo verde thorns about, his mind a surge of -emotions.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“What are those for?” Helen asked, again.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“Why,” he said, at last, “they’re my tally of -the days I lived in the glade.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She looked at them, in the twilight, her face -touched with wonder.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“How many, many there seem to be,” she murmured.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“There ought to be somewhere about seven -hundred, I suppose,” was Gard’s reply. “We -don’t need ’em any more. Let’s help along the -blaze with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>She caught his hands, with a little cry of dismay.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“No! No!” cried she, “You must not destroy -them! Your record of days; hard, thorny days.” -She covered the thorns with one hand, in a passionate -gesture of protection.</p> - -<p class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>“They were good days,” he answered, trying to -comfort her. “I got a lot of good out of them.”</p> - -<p class='c008'>“But oh, the price you paid!” Tears glistened -in her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c008'>They were in the shadow of a big live-oak, and -he drew her to him.</p> - -<p class='c008'>“It was sure a <em>man’s</em> price,” he said, looking -into her face. “But I got full value for it.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The night was far spent when Gard awoke. A -late moon rode high in the heavens, flooding the -glade with white light. The familiarity of the -scene bewildered his rousing consciousness. The -circling trees, the murmur of water, the far-seeming -faint glow of embers in the great fireplace, -his narrow ocotilla bed with its bear-skin -covering: how well he knew them all! Had he -but slept and dreamed, to awaken after all to the -daily round of his accustomed solitude?</p> - -<p class='c008'>He raised himself upon one elbow. On the cot -which they had brought for her, there, within -reach of his hand, Helen lay sleeping. A beam -of the white light sifted down through encircling -trees and fell across her face, round which the -night wind had fluttered her hair to soft disorder. -Her head was thrown back, her chin nestling in -one supporting palm. The pure, tender outline of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>brow and cheek thrilled him as he gazed, his soul -touched to awe.</p> - -<p class='c008'>Long, long he looked, worship and wonder -stirring the deeps of his nature. It was no dream; -she was there beside him; there was no drede.</p> - -<p class='c008'>He sank back upon his pillow, tears of supreme -happiness brimming his eyes, and yielded him -wholly to the quiet and peace of the large place.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='small'>THE END.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c004' /> -</div> -<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'> - -<div class='chapter ph2'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - - <ol class='ol_1 c002'> - <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - </li> - </ol> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WELL IN THE DESERT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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