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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..30a40db --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68488 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68488) diff --git a/old/68488-0.txt b/old/68488-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0e9a597..0000000 --- a/old/68488-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7337 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The voice at Johnnywater, by B. M. -Bower - -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 voice at Johnnywater - -Author: B. M. Bower - -Illustrator: Remington Schuyler - -Release Date: July 9, 2022 [eBook #68488] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank 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 VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER *** - - - The Voice at Johnnywater - - - - - By B. M. Bower - - Good Indian - Lonesome Land - The Ranch at the Wolverine - The Flying U’s Last Stand - The Phantom Herd - The Heritage of the Sioux - Starr, of the Desert - Cabin Fever - Skyrider - Rim o’ the World - The Quirt - Cow-Country - Casey Ryan - The Trail of the White Mule - The Voice at Johnnywater - - - - -[Illustration: “Oh, Monty Girard! Gary _is_ up here somewhere! I -heard him!”] - - - - - THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER - - BY - - B. M. BOWER - - WITH FRONTISPIECE BY REMINGTON SCHUYLER - - TORONTO - McCLELLAND AND STEWART - 1923 - - - - - Copyright, 1923, - - By Little, Brown, and Company. - - All rights reserved - - Published February, 1923 - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - - CONTENTS - - I. Patricia Entertains - II. Patricia Explains - III. Patricia Takes Her Stand - IV. Gary Goes on the Warpath - V. Gary Does a Little Sleuthing - VI. Johnnywater - VII. The Voice - VIII. “The Cat’s Got ’Em Too!” - IX. Gary Writes a Letter - X. Gary Has Speech with Human Beings - XI. “How Will You Take Your Millions?” - XII. Monty Appears - XIII. “I Don’t Believe in Spooks” - XIV. Patricia Registers Fury - XV. “What’s the Matter with This Place?” - XVI. “There’s Mystery Here----” - XVII. James Blaine Hawkins Finds His Courage--and Loses It - XVIII. Gary Rides to Kawich - XIX. “Have Yuh-All Got a Gun?” - XX. “That Cat Ain’t Human!” - XXI. Gary Follows the Pinto Cat - XXII. The Pat Connolly Mine - XXIII. Gary Finds the Voice--and Something Else - XXIV. “Steve Carson--Poor Devil!” - XXV. The Value of a Hunch - XXVI. “Gary Marshall Mysteriously Missing” - XXVII. “Nobody Knows but a Pinto Cat” - XXVIII. Monty Meets Patricia - XXIX. Gary Robs the Pinto Cat of Her Dinner - XXX. “Somebody Hollered up on the Bluff” - XXXI. “God Wouldn’t Let Anything Happen to Gary!” - XXXII. “It’s the Voice! It Ain’t Human!” - XXXIII. “He’s Nearly Starved,” Said Patricia - XXXIV. Let’s Leave Them There - - - - - CHAPTER ONE - - PATRICIA ENTERTAINS - - -The telephone bell was shrilling insistent summons in his apartment -when Gary pushed open the hall door thirty feet away. Even though he -took long steps, he hoped the nagging jingle would cease before he -could reach the ’phone. But the bell kept ringing, being an -automatic telephone, dependent upon no perfunctory Central for the -persistency of its call. Gary was tired, and from his neck to his -waist his skin was painted a coppery bronze which, having been -applied at six-thirty that morning, was now itching horribly as the -grease paint dried. He did not feel like talking to any one; but he -unlocked his door, jerked down the receiver and barked a surly -greeting into the mouthpiece of the ’phone. Almost immediately the -wrinkles on his forehead slid down into smoothness. - -“Oh, _how_-do, Gary! I was just wondering if you had changed your -apartments or something,” called the girl whom he hoped some day to -marry. “Did you just get in?” - -“No-o--certainly not! _I_’ve been having a fit on the floor! Say, I -heard you ringing the ’phone a block away. Every tenant in the joint -is lined up on the sidewalk, watching for the Black Maria or the -ambulance; they don’t know which. But I recognized your ring. What’s -on your mind, Girlie?” - -“Not a thing in the world but a new shell comb. If I’d known you -were so terrifically cross this evening, I wouldn’t have a lovely -dinner all waiting and a great big surprise for you afterwards. Now -I won’t tell you what it is. And, furthermore, I shall not give you -even a hint of what you’re going to eat when you get here. But I -should think a man who could recognize a certain telephone ring a -block away might smell fried chicken and strawberry shortcake clear -across the city--with oodles of butter under the strawberries, and -double cream----” - -“Oh-h, _boy_!” Gary brightened and smacked his lips into the -mouthpiece, just as any normal young man would do. Then, recalling -his physical discomfort, he hedged a little. - -“Will it keep? I’m in a starving condition as usual--but listen, Pat; -I’m a savage under my shirt. Just got in from location away up in -Topanga Cañon, and I never stopped to get off anything but the -rainbow on my cheeks and my feathered war bonnet. Had a heck of a -day--I’ll tell the world! You know, honey; painted warriors hurtling -down the cliff shooting poisoned arrows at the hapless -emigrants--_that_ kind of hokum. Big Chief Eagle Eye has been -hurtling and whooping war whoops since ten o’clock this morning. -Dinner’ll have to wait while I take a bath and clean up a little. I -look like a bum and that’s a fact. Say, listen, honey----” - -“Aw, take that mush off the line. Ha-ang up!” Some impatient -neighboring tenant with a bad temper was evidently cutting in. - -“Aw, go lead yourself out by the ear!” Gary retorted sharply. “Say, -Pat!” His voice softened to the wooing note of the young male human. -“Best I can do, honey, it’ll be forty minutes. That’s giving me ten -minutes to look like a white man again. You know it’ll take me -thirty minutes to ride out there----” - -“You could walk, you bum, whilst you’re tellin’ her about it. Get -off the line! There ought to be a law against billy-cooin’ over the -’phone----” - -“Seddown! You’re rockin’ the boat!” Gary flung back spiritedly. -“Better make it forty-five, Girlie. It may take me five minutes to -lick this cheap heavy on the third floor that’s tryin’ to put on a -comedy act.” - -“Say, one more crack like that an’ I’ll be down to your place an’ -save yuh some valuable time. It’ll take me about two seconds to -knock yuh cold!” The harsh male voice interrupted eagerly. - -“Are you there, Pat?” - -“Right here, Gary. How did _that_ get into a respectable house, -dear? You ought to call the janitor.” The girl he hoped to marry had -spirit and could assuredly hold her own in a wicked city. “Take your -time, Gary boy. But remember, I’ve the biggest surprise in your life -waiting for you out here. Something _wonderful_!” - -It is astonishing how a woman can pronounce a few simple words so -that they sound like a hallelujah chorus of angels. Gary thrilled to -her voice, in spite of an intensely practical nature. Patricia went -on, after an impressive pause. - -“Never mind that noise in the ’phone, Gary. It’s just some -mechanical deficiency caused by using cheap material. Never mind the -grease paint, either. You--you won’t always have to smear around in -it--partner!” - -While he hurried to make himself presentable, Gary’s thoughts dwelt -upon that word “partner” and the lingering sweetness of Patricia’s -tone. Patricia Connolly was not a feather-brained creature who would -repeat parrotlike whatever phrase she happened to have heard and -fancied. She did not run to second-hand superlatives. When she told -Gary that she had a wonderful surprise for him, she would not, for -instance, mean that she had done her hair in a new fashion or had -bought a new record for the phonograph. And she had never before -called him partner in any tone whatever. Gary would have remembered -it if she had. - -“What the heck is she going to spring on me _now_?” he kept -wondering during the hour that intervened between the ’phone call -and his entrance into the scrap of bungalow in a bepalmed court -where Patricia had her milk and her mail delivered to the tiny front -porch. - -The extra fifteen minutes had not been spent in whipping the -harsh-voiced tenant on the third floor; indeed, Gary had forgotten -all about him the moment he hung up the receiver. One simply cannot -annihilate all the men one abuses in the course of a day’s strained -living in Los Angeles or any other over-full city. Gary had been -delayed first by the tenacity of the grease paint on his person, and -after that by the heavy traffic on the street cars. Two cars had -gone whanging past him packed solidly with peevish human beings and -with men and boys clinging to every protuberance on the outside. -When the third car stopped to let a clinging passenger drop -off--shaking down his cuffs and flexing his cramped fingers--Gary had -darted in like a hornet, seized toe-hold and finger-hold and hung -on. - -And so, fifteen minutes late, he arrived at Patricia’s door and was -let into Paradise and delectable odors and the presence of Patricia, -who looked as though Christmas had come unexpectedly and she was -waiting until the candles were lighted on the tree so she could -present Gary with a million dollars. Her honest sweetness and her -adorable little way of mothering Gary--though she was fours years -younger--tingled with an air of holding back with difficulty the news -of some amazing good fortune. - -Patricia shared the bungalow with a trained nurse who was usually -absent on a “case”, so that Patricia was practically independent and -alone. Most girls of twenty couldn’t have done it and kept their -mental balance; but Patricia was herself under any and all -conditions, and it did not seem strange for her to be living alone -the greater part of the time. Freedom, to her, spelled neither -license nor loneliness; she lived as though her mother were always -in the next room. Patricia felt sometimes that her mother was -closer, very close beside her. It made her happier to feel so, but -never had it made her feel ashamed. - -She had evolved the dinner in this manner: while her boss was -keeping her waiting until he had refreshed his memory of a certain -special price on alfalfa molasses and oil cakes, etc., etc., in -carload and half-carload lots, Patricia had jotted down in good -shorthand, “chicken, about two pounds with yellow legs and a limber -wishbone or nothing doing; cost a dollar, I expect--is Gary worth it? -I’ll say he is. God love ums. Strawberries, two boxes--Hood Rivers, -if possible--try the City Market. Celery--if there’s any that looks -decent; if not, then artichokes or asparagus--Gary likes asparagus -best--says he eats artichokes because it’s fun--Dear Sir:--In response -to your favor of the 17th inst.,--” and so on. - -Some girls would have quoted asparagus in carload lots, transcribing -from such notes, and would have put alfalfa molasses on the dinner -menu; but not Patricia. - -On her way home from the office in the dusty, humming barn of a -building that housed the grain milling company which supported her -in return for faithful service rendered, Patricia shopped at the big -City Market where the sales people all had tired eyes and mechanical -smiles, and a general air of hopelessly endeavoring to please every -one so that no harassed marketers would complain to the manager. -Patricia made her purchases as painless to the sales girl as -possible, knowing too well what that strained smile meant. The great -market buzzed like a bee-tree when you strike its trunk with a club. - -She bought a manila paper shopping bag, but her packages overflowed -the bag, so that she carried the two boxes of strawberries in her -hand, and worried all the way home for fear the string would break; -and held the warm tea biscuits under her arm, protecting them as -anxiously as a hen protects her covered chicks. By prodding with her -elbows and bracing her feet against the swaying crush, and giving -now and then a haughty stare, Patricia achieved the miracle of -arriving at Rose Court with her full menu and only one yellow leg of -the chicken protruding stiffly from its wrappings. - -She dumped her armload on the table in the kitchenette and rushed -out again to buy flowers from the vendor who was chanting his wares -half a block away. She was tingling all over with nerve weariness, -yet she could smile brightly at the Greek so that he went on with a -little glow of friendliness toward the world. At the rose-arched -entrance to the Court she tilted her wrist, looked at her watch and -said, “Good Lord! That late?” and dashed up to her door like a -maiden pursued. - -Yet here she was at seven, in a cool little pansy-tinted voile, -dainty and serene as any young hostess in Westmoreland Place half a -mile away. Even the strawberry stain on her finger tips could easily -be mistaken for the new fad in manicuring. Can you wonder that Gary -forgot every disagreeable thing he ever knew--including frowsy, -unhomelike bachelor quarters, crowded street cars, all the petty -aches and ills of movie work--when he unfolded his napkin and looked -across the table at Patricia? - -“Coffee now, or with dessert? Gary, don’t you dare look question -marks at me! I can’t have your mind distracted with food while I’m -telling you the most wonderful thing in the world. Moreover, this -dinner deserves a little appreciation.” Patricia’s lips trembled, -but only because she was tired and excited and happy. Her happiness -would have been quite apparent to a blind man. - -I do not mean to hint that Patricia deliberately fed Gary to -repletion with the things he liked best, before imparting her -_won_-derful surprise. She had frequently cooked nice little dinners -for him when there was nothing surprising to follow. But it is a -fact that when she had stacked the dishes neatly away for a later -washing, and returned the dining table to its ordinary library-table -guise, Gary looked as if nothing on earth could disturb him. Mental, -emotional and physical content permeated the atmosphere of his -immediate neighborhood. Patricia sat down and laid her arms upon the -table, and studied Gary, biting her lips to hide their quiver. - - - - - CHAPTER TWO - - PATRICIA EXPLAINS - - -Womanlike, Patricia began in a somewhat roundabout fashion and in a -tone not far from cajolery. - -“Gary! You do know all about ranch life and raising cattle and hay -and horses and so on, don’t you?” - -Gary was lighting a cigarette. If he had learned the “picture value” -of holding a pose, he was at least unconscious of his deliberation -in waving out the match flame before he replied. His was a profile -very effective in close-ups against the firelight. Holding a pose -comes to be second nature to an actor who has to do those things for -a living. - -“Dad would rather feature the so-on stuff. Subtitle, father saying, -‘You ain’t much on raisin’ cattle but you’re shore an expert at -raisin’ hell!’ Cut back to son on horse at gate, gazing wistfully -toward house. Sighs. Turns away. Iris out, son riding away into -dusk. Why?” - -“Fathers are like that. Of course you know all about those things. -You were raised on a ranch. Have you landed that contract with Mills -yet, to play Western leads?” - -“Not yet--Mills is waiting for his chief to come on from New York. -He’s due here about the First. I was talking with Mills to-day, and -he says he’s morally certain they’ll give me a company of my own and -put on Western Features. You know what that would mean, Pat--a year’s -contract for me. And we could get married----” - -“Yes, never mind that, since you haven’t landed it.” Patricia drew -in her breath. “Well, you know what I think of the movie game; we’ve -thrashed that all out, times enough. I simply can’t see _my_ husband -making movie love to various and sundry females who sob and smile -and smirk at him for so many dollars per. We’ll skip that. Also my -conviction that the movies are lowering--cheapening to any full-sized -man. Smirking and frowning before a camera, and making mushy love -for kids on the front seats to stamp and whistle at--well, never -mind; we won’t go into that at this time. - -“You know, Gary. I just love you to be Western; but I want you to be -_real_ Western--my own range hero. Not cheap, movie make-believe. I -want you to get out and live the West. I can close my eyes and see -you on a cattle ranch, riding out at dawn after your own -cattle--doing your part in increasing the world’s production of -food--being something big and really worth while!” - -“Can you? You’re a good little seer, Pat. Golly, grandma! I wish I’d -saved half of that shortcake to eat after a while. Now I’m so full I -can’t swallow a mouthful of smoke. What’s the surprise, kid? Don’t -hold the suspense till the interest flags--that’s bad business. Makes -the story drag.” - -“Why, I’m telling you, Gary!” Patricia opened her eyes at him in a -way that would have brought any movie queen a raise in salary. “It’s -just that you’re going to have a chance to live up to what’s really -in you. You’re going to manage a cattle ranch, dear. Not a real big -one--yet. But you’ll have the fun of seeing it grow.” - -“Oh-ah-h--I’ll have the fun--er-r--all right, Pat, _I_ give it up.” -Gary settled back again with his head against the cushion “Tell us -the joke. My brain’s leather to-night; had a heck of a day.” - -“The joke? Why, the joke is--well, just that you don’t get it! I knew -you wouldn’t, just at first. Think, Gary! Just close your eyes and -think of miles and miles of open range and no fences, and herds of -cattle roaming free. Picture a home ranch against the mountains, in -a cañon called--let’s play it’s called Johnnywater. Are you doing -it?” - -“Uh-huh. I’m thinking----” But he sounded drowsy, as if he would be -asleep presently if he continued holding his eyes shut. “Open range -and cattle roaming free--there ain’t no such animal.” - -“That’s where the big surprise comes in, Gary. Listen. This is the -most important thing that ever happened to either of us. I--I can -hardly talk about it, it’s so perfectly _wonderful_. You’d never -guess in a million years. But I--well, read these papers, Gary -boy--I’ll explain them afterwards.” - -Gary opened his eyes somewhat reluctantly, smiled endearingly at the -flushed Patricia and accepted two legal-looking documents which she -proffered with what might almost have been termed a flourish. He -glanced at them somewhat indifferently, glanced again, gave Patricia -a startled look, and sat up as if some one had prodded him -unexpectedly in the back. He read both papers through frowningly, -unconsciously registering consternation. When he had finished, he -stared blankly at Patricia for a full minute. - -“Pat Connolly, what the heck is this trick deed? I can’t feature it. -I don’t _get_ it! What’s the big idea?” - -“That’s just a deed, Gary. The cattle and the brand and the water -right to Johnnywater Spring, and the squatter’s right to the -pasturage and improvements are all included--as you would have seen -if you had read it carefully. The other paper is the water right, -that he got from the State. Besides that, I have the affidavits of -two men who swear that William Waddell legally owned one hundred -head of cattle and the funny X brand, and that everything is all -straight to the best of their knowledge and belief. - -“I insisted upon the affidavits being furnished, since I couldn’t -afford to make a trip away up there myself. It’s all right, Gary. I -could send them all to jail for perjury and things of that sort if -they have lied about it.” - -Patricia pressed her palms hard upon the table and gave a subdued -little squeal of sheer ecstasy. - -“Just think of it, Gary! After almost despairing of ever being able -to have a ranch of our own, so that you could ride around and really -manage things, instead of pretending it in pictures, Fate gave me -this wonderful chance! - -“I was working up our mailing list, and ran across an ad in the -Tonopah paper, of this place for sale. The ‘Free grazing and water -rights in open range country’ caught my eye first. And the price was -cheap--scandalously cheap for a stock ranch. I answered the ad right -away--that was over a month ago, Gary. I’ve kept it a secret, because -I hate arguments so, and I knew you’d argue against it. Any, -anyway,” she added naïvely, “you’ve been away on location so I -couldn’t tell you. - -“That country is all unsurveyed for miles and miles and _miles_. Mr. -Waddell writes that there are absolutely no grazing restrictions -whatever, and that even their saddle and work horses run loose the -year around. He says the winters are open----” - -That last bit of information was delivered somewhat doubtfully. -Patricia had lived in Southern California since she was a tiny tot -and did not know exactly what an “open” winter meant. - -“It’s scarcely settled at all, and there are no sheep in the -country. I knew that would be important, so I asked, particularly. -It’s in a part of the country that has been overlooked, Mr. Waddell -says, just because it’s quite a long way from the railroad. I never -dreamed there was any unsurveyed country left in America. Did you, -Gary?” - -Gary had slumped down in the big chair and was smoking his cigarette -with thoughtful deliberation. His eyes veiled themselves before -Patricia’s glowing enthusiasm. - -“Death Valley is unsurveyed,” he observed grimly. - -“I’m not talking about Death Valley,” Patricia retorted impatiently. -“I mean cattle range. I’ve been corresponding with Mr. Waddell for a -month, so I have all the facts.” - -“_All_ the facts, kid?” Gary was no fool. He was serious enough now, -and the muscles along his jaw were hardening a little. His director -would have been tickled with that expression for a close-up of -slow-growing anger. - -“The only country left unsurveyed to-day is desert that would starve -a horn toad to death in a week. Some one has put one over on you, -Pat. Where does he live? If you’ve paid him any money yet, I’ll have -to go and get it back for you. You’ve bought a gold brick, Pat.” - -“I have not! I investigated, I tell you. I have really bought the -Waddell outfit--cattle, horses, brand, ranch, water rights and -everything. It took all the insurance money dad left me, except just -a few hundred dollars. That Power of Attorney--I pinned it on the -back of the deed to surprise you, and you haven’t looked at it -yet--cost me ten dollars, Gary Marshall! It gives you the right to go -over there and run the outfit and transact business just as if you -were the owner. I--I thought you might need it, and it would be just -as well to have it.” - -Gary leaned forward, his jaw squared, his right hand shut to a -fighting fist on the table. - -“Do you think for a minute I’m crazy enough to go over _there_? To -quit a good job that’s just opening up into something big, and go -off in the sand somewhere to watch cattle starve to death? It just -happens that I do know a little about the cow business. Cattle have -to eat, my dear girl. They don’t just walk around in front of a -camera to give dolled-up cowboys a chance to ride. They require food -occasionally. - -“Why, Pat, take a look at that deed! That in itself ought to have -been enough to warn you. It’s recorded in Tonopah. _Tonopah!_ I was -there on location once when we made _The Gold Boom_. It’s a mining -town--not a cow town, Pat.” - -Patricia smiled patiently. - -“I know it, Gary. I didn’t say that Johnnywater lies inside the city -limits of Tonopah. Mines and cattle are not like sheep and cattle; -they don’t clash. There are cattle all around in that country.” -Patricia swept out an arm to indicate vast areas. “We have inquiries -from cattle men all over Nevada about stock food. I’ve billed out -alfalfa molasses and oil cakes to several Nevada towns. And -remember, I was making up a mailing list for our literature when I -ran across the ad. We don’t mail our price lists to milliners, -either. They raise cattle all through that country.” - -“Well, _I_ don’t raise ’em there--that’s flat.” Gary settled back in -his chair with absolute finality in tone, words and manner. - -“Then I’m a ruined woman.” But Patricia said it calmly, even with a -little secret satisfaction. “I shall have to go myself, then, and -run the ranch, and get killed by bronks and bitten to death by Gila -monsters and carried off by the Indians----” - -“Piffle!” from the big chair. “You couldn’t get on a bronk that was -dangerous, and Gila monsters live farther south, and the Injuns are -too lazy to carry anybody off. Besides, I wouldn’t let you go.” - -“Then I’m still a ruined woman, except that I’m ruined quicker. My -cows will die and my calves will be rustled and my horses ridden -off--_my_ cows and _my_ calves and _my_ horses!” - -“Sell!” shouted Gary, forgetting other Bungalow Courters in his -sudden fury. “You’re stung, I tell you. Sell the damned thing!” - -Patricia looked at him. She had a pretty little round chin, but -there were times when it squared itself surprisingly. And whenever -it did square itself, you could souse Patricia and hold her head -under water until air bubbles ceased to rise; and if you brought her -up and got her gasping again, Patricia would gasp, “Scissors!” like -the old woman in the story. - -“No. I shall not sell. I shall not do anything more than I have done -already. If you refuse to go to Nevada and take charge of -Johnnywater, I shall go myself or I shall let my cattle starve.” - -She would, too. Gary knew that. He looked steadily at her until he -was sure of the square chin and all, and then he threw out both -hands as if in complete surrender. - -“Oh, very well,” he said tolerantly. “We won’t quarrel about it, -Pat.” - - - - - CHAPTER THREE - - PATRICIA TAKES HER STAND - - -A young man of intelligence may absorb a great many psychological -truths while helping to build in pictures mock dramas more or less -similar to real, human problems. Gary wore a brain under his mop of -brown hair, and he had that quality of stubbornness which will adopt -strategy--guile, even--for the sake of winning a fight. To-night, he -chose to assume the air of defeat that he might win ultimate -victory. - -Gary had not the slightest intention of ruining his own future as -well as Patricia’s by yielding with an easy, “Oh, very well” -surrender, and going away into the wilds of Nevada to attempt the -raising of cattle in a district so worthless that it had never so -much as seen a surveyor’s transit. Desert it must be; a howling -waste of sand and lizards and snakes. The very fact that Patricia -had been able, with a few thousands of dollars, to buy out a -completely equipped cattle ranch, damned the venture at once as the -mad freak of a romantic girl’s ignorance. He set himself now to the -task of patiently convincing Patricia of her madness. - -Patricia, however, was not to be convinced. For every argument of -Gary’s she found another to combat it. She repeated more than once -the old range slogan that you simply can’t lose money in cattle. She -told Gary that here was an opportunity, sent by a watchful -Providence, for him to make good in a really worth-while business; -and urged upon him the theory that pioneering brings out the best -qualities in a man. - -She attacked furiously Gary’s ambition to become a screen star, -reminding him how cheap and paltry is that success which is based -only upon a man’s good looks; and how easily screen stars fall -meteorically into the hopeless void of forgotten favorites. - -“It isn’t just that I’ve dreamed all my life of owning cattle and -living away out in the wilderness,” she finished, with reddened -cheeks and eyes terribly in earnest. “I know the fine mettle you’re -made of, Gary, and I couldn’t see it spoiled while they fed your -vanity at the studios. - -“I had the money to buy this cattle ranch at Johnnywater--but of -course I knew that I should be perfectly helpless with it alone. I -don’t know the business of raising cattle, except that I know the -most popular kinds of stock food and the prices and freight rates to -various points. But you were born on a cattle ranch, Gary, and I -knew that you could make a success of it. I knew that you could go -and take charge of the ranch, and put the investment on a paying -basis; which is a lot better than just leaving that money in the -bank, drawing four and a half per cent. And I’ll go on with the -milling company until the ranch is on its feet. My salary can go -into what improvements are necessary. It’s an ideal combination, I -think.” - -She must have felt another argument coming to speech behind Gary’s -compressed lips; for she added, with a squared chin to give the -statement force, - -“This isn’t threatening--a threat is always a sign of conscious -weakness. I merely wish to make the statement that unless you go -over and take charge of the Johnnywater ranch, I shall go myself. I -absolutely _refuse_ to sell. I don’t know anything about running a -ranch, and I was never on a horse in my life, so I’d undoubtedly -make a beautiful mess of it. But I should have to tackle it, just -the same; because I really can’t afford to positively throw away -five thousand dollars, you know. I should have to make some attempt -to save it, at least. When I failed--as I probably should--I’d have to -go away somewhere and get a job I hated, and develop into a sour old -maid. Because, Gary, if you flatly refused to take charge over -there, as you _threaten_ to do, we certainly couldn’t marry and -expect to live together happily with Johnnywater ranch as a skeleton -in our closet. - -“So that’s where I stand, Gary. Naturally, the prospect doesn’t -appeal to you at this moment. You’re sitting here in a big, -overstuffed chair, fed on good things, with a comfy cushion behind -your shoulders and a shaded light over your head. You look very -handsome indeed--and you know it just as well as I do. You are -perfectly aware of the fact that this would make a stunning close-up -of you--with the camera set to show your profile and that -heart-disturbing wave over your right temple. - -“Just at this minute you don’t particularly care about sitting on a -wooden chair in a cabin away out in the wilderness, hearing coyotes -howl on a hill and your saddle horses champing hay in a sod-roofed -stable, and you thinking how it’s miles to the nearest neighbor--and -an audience! You’ve reached the point, Gary, where a little mental -surgery is absolutely necessary to your future mental health. I can -see that your soul is beginning to show symptoms of going a tiny bit -flabby. And I simply _loathe_ flabby-souled men with handsome faces -and shoulders as broad as yours!” - -That was like jabbing Gary in the back with a hatpin. He sat up with -a jerk. - -“Flabby-souled! Good Lord, Pat! Why pile up the insults? This is -getting good, I must say!” He leaned back in the chair again, the -first effect of the jab having passed. “I can stand all this -knocking the movie game--I’m used to it, heck knows. I might just -point out, however, that making a living by expressing the emotions -of men in stories is no worse than pounding a typewriter for a -living. What’s the difference whether you sell your profile or your -fingers? And what do you think----” - -“I think it’s ten o’clock, Gary Marshall, and I’ve said what I have -to say and there’s no argument, because I simply won’t argue. I -suppose you’ll need sleep if you still have to be at the studio at -seven o’clock in the morning so that you can get into your painted -eyebrows and painted eyelashes and painted lips for the day’s -smirk.” - -Gary heaved himself out of his chair and reached for his hat, -forgetting to observe subconsciously how effectively he did it. -Patricia’s mental surgery had driven the lance deep into his pride -and self-esteem, which in a handsome young man of twenty-four is -quite as sensitive to pain as an eyeball. Patricia had omitted the -mental anesthetic of a little flattery, and she had twisted the -knife sickeningly. Painted eyelashes and painted lips nauseated Gary -quite suddenly; but scarcely more than did the thought of that ranch -of a hundred cattle in a Nevada desert, which Patricia had beggared -herself to buy. - -“Well, good night, Pat. I must be going. Awfully pleasant -evening--great little dinner and all that. I wish you all kinds of -luck with your cattle ranch. ’Bye.” - -Patricia did not believe that he would go like that. She thought he -was merely bluffing. She did not so much as move a finger until he -had shut the door rather decisively behind him and she heard his -feet striking firmly on the cement walk that led to the street. - -A slight chill of foreboding quivered along her spine as the -footsteps sounded fainter and fainter down the pavement. She had -known Gary Marshall for three years and had worn a half-carat -diamond for six months. She had argued with him for hours; they had -quarreled furiously at times, and he had registered anger, -indignation, arrogance and hurt pride in several effective forms. -But she had never before seen him behave in just this manner. - -Of course he would hate that little slam of hers about the paint and -the profile, she told herself hearteningly. She had struck -deliberately at his pride and his vanity, though in justice she was -compelled to confess to herself that Gary had very little vanity for -a man so good-looking as he was. She had wanted him to hate what she -said, so that he would be forced to give up the movie life which she -hated. Still, his sudden going startled her considerably. - -It occurred to her later that he had absent-mindedly carried off her -papers. She remembered how he had stuffed them into his coat -pocket--just as if they were his and didn’t amount to much -anyway--while the argument was going on. Well, since he had taken -them away with him he would have to return them, no matter how mad -he was; and in the meantime it might do him good to read them over -again. He couldn’t help seeing how she had burned her financial -bridges behind her--for his sake. - -Patricia brushed her eyes impatiently with her fingers and sighed. -In a moment she pinned on an apron and attacked the dinner dishes -savagely, wondering why women are such fools as to fall in love with -a man, and then worry themselves into wrinkles over his -shortcomings. Six months ago, Gary Marshall had not owned a fault to -his name. Now, her whole heart was set upon eradicating faults which -she had discovered. - -“He shall _not_ be spoiled--if I have to quarrel with him every day! -There’s something more to him than that mop of wavy brown hair that -won’t behave, and those straight eyebrows that won’t behave either, -but actually _talk_ at you--and those eyes---- That darned leading girl -can’t make _me_ believe it’s all acting, when she rolls her eyes up -at him and snuggles against his shoulder. That’s _my_ shoulder! And -Gary says selling your profile is like selling your fingers! It -might be--if the boss bought my fingers to _kiss_! And I don’t care! -It was positively indecent, the way Gary kissed that girl in his -last picture. If he wasn’t such a dear----” - -Patricia snuffled a bit while she scraped chicken gravy off a plate. -Gary’s plate. “Let him sulk. He’ll come back when he cools off. And -he’ll _have_ to give in and go to Nevada. He’ll never see me lose -five thousand dollars. And those nasty little movie queens can find -somebody else to roll up their eyes at. Oh, darn!” - - - - - CHAPTER FOUR - - GARY GOES ON THE WARPATH - - -One thing which a motion-picture actor may not do and retain the -tolerance of any one who knows him is to stop work in the middle of -a picture. If there is an unforgivable sin in the movie world, that -is it. Nevertheless, even sins called unforgivable may be condoned -in certain circumstances; even the most stringent rules may be -broken now and then, or bent to meet an individual need. - -Gary spent a sleepless night wondering how he might with impunity -commit the unforgivable sin. In spite of his anger at Patricia and -his sense of her injustice, certain words of hers rankled in a way -that would have pleased Patricia immensely, had she known it. - -He rode out to the studio one car earlier than usual, and went -straight to the little cubbyhole of a dressing room to put on his -make-up as Chief Eagle Eye. Such was the force of Patricia’s speech -that Gary swore vaguely, at nothing in particular, while he painted -his eyebrows, lashes and lips, and streaked the vermilion war paint -down his cheeks. He scrubbed the copper-colored powder into the -grease paint on his arms and chest, still swearing softly and -steadily in a monotonous undertone that sounded, ten feet away, like -a monk mumbling over his beads. - -With the help of a fellow actor he became a noble red man from the -scalp lock to his waist, got into fringed buckskin leggings, -lavishly feathered war bonnet, some imitation elk-tooth necklaces -and beaded moccasins. Then, with his quiver full of arrows (poisoned -in the sub-titles) slung over his painted shoulders, and the mighty -bow of Chief Eagle Eye in his hand, Gary stalked out into the lot in -search of the director, Mills. - -When one knows his director personally as a friend, one may, if he -is a coming young star and not too insufferably aware of his -starlike qualities, accomplish much in the way of emergency -revisions of story and stringent rules. - -Wherefore, to the future amazement of the author, Chief Eagle Eye -that day died three different deaths, close up in front of two -grinding cameras; though Chief Eagle Eye had not been expected to -die at all in the picture. The director stood just behind the -camera, his megaphone under his arm, his hands on his hips, his hat -on the back of his head and a grin on his perspiring face. - -“Thattaboy, Gary! Just sag at the knees and go down slowly, as you -try to draw the bow. That’s it--try to get up--well, that’s good -business, trying to shoot from the ground! Now try to heave yourself -up again--just lift your body, like your legs is paralyzed--shot in -the back, maybe. All right--that’s great stuff. Now rouse yourself -with one last effort--lift your head and chant the death song! Gulp, -man! - -“Run in there, Bill--you’re horrified. Try to lift him up and drag -him back out of danger. Say! Wince, man, like you’re shot through -the lungs--no, _I meant Gary_!--well, damn it, let it go--but -how-the-hell-do-you-expect-to-drag-a-man-off-when-you’ve-got-a-slug-in-your-_lungs_? -You acted like some one had stuck you with a pin! Git outa the -scene--Gary’s doing the dying, you ain’t!---- _Cut_--we’ll have to do -that over. A kid four years old would never stand for that damfool -play. - -“Now, Gary, try that again. Keep that business with the bow. And try -and get that same vindictive look--you know, with your lips drawn -back while you’re trying to bend the bow and let fly one last arrow. -This time you die alone. Can’t have a death scene like that gummed -up by a boob like Bill lopin’ in and actin’ like he’d sat on a -bee--all right--come in--_camera_---- - -“That’s fine--now take your time, take your time--now, as the bow -sags--you’re growing weaker--rouse yourself and chant your death song! -That’s the stuff! Lift your head--turn it so your profile shows” -(Gary swore without moving his lips “--hold that, while you raise -your hand palm out--peace greeting to your ancestors you see in the -clouds! _Great!_ H-o-o-l-d -it--one--two--three--now-go-slack-all-at-once----_Cut!_” - -Gary picked himself up, took off his war bonnet and laid it on a -rock, reached into his wampum belt and produced a sack of Bull -Durham and a book of papers. The director came over and sat down -beside him, accepting the cigarette Gary had just rolled. - -“Great scene, Gary. By gosh, that ought to get over big. When you -get back, call me up right away, will you? I ought to know something -definite next week, at the latest. Try and be here when Cohen gets -here; I want you to meet him. By gosh, it’s a crime not to give you -a feature company. Well, have Mack drive you back in my car. You -haven’t any too much time.” - -That’s what it means to have the director for your friend. He can -draw out your scenes and keep you working many an extra week if you -are hard up, or he can kill you off on short notice and let you go, -if you happen to have urgent business elsewhere; and must travel -from Toponga Cañon to the studio, take off your make-up--an ungodly, -messy make-up in this case--pack a suit case, buy a ticket and catch -the eight o’clock train that evening. - -Gary, having died with much dignity and a magnificent profile in -full view of future weeping audiences, was free from further -responsibility toward the company and could go where he did not -please. Which, of course, was Tonopah. - -He was just boyish enough in his anger, hurt enough in his man’s -pride, to go without another word to Patricia. Flabby-souled, hunh? -Painted eyebrows, painted lashes, painted lips--golly grandma! Pat -surely could take the hide off a man, and smile while she did it! - -He meant to take that Power of Attorney she had so naïvely placed in -his hands, and work it for all there was in it. He meant to sell -that gold brick of a “stock ranch” Waddell had worked off on her, -and lick Waddell and the two men who had signed affidavits for him. -He meant to go back, then, and give Pat her money, and tell her for -the Lord’s sake to have a little sense, and put her five thousand -dollars in a trust fund, where she couldn’t get hold of it for the -first faker that came along and held out his hand. After that--Gary -was not sure what he would do. He was still very angry with -Patricia; but after he had asserted his masculine authority and -proved to her that the female of our species is less intelligent -than the male, it is barely possible that he might forgive the girl. - - - - - CHAPTER FIVE - - GARY DOES A LITTLE SLEUTHING - - -Tonopah as a mining town appealed strongly to Gary’s love of the -picturesque. Tonopah is a hilly little town, with a mine in its very -middle, and with narrow, crooked streets that slope steeply and take -sharp turnings. Houses perched on knobs of barren, red earth, or -clung precariously to steep hillsides. The courthouse, a modern, -cement building with broad steps flanked by pillars, stood with -aloof dignity upon a hill that made Gary puff a little in the -climbing. - -On the courthouse steps he finished his cigarette before going -inside, and stood gazing at the town below him and at the barren -buttes beyond. As far as he could see, the world was a forbidding, -sterile world; unfriendly, inhospitable--a miserly world guarding -jealously the riches deep-hidden within its hills. When he tried to -visualize range cattle roaming over those hills, Gary’s lips twisted -contemptuously. - -He turned and went in, his footsteps clumping down the empty, -echoing corridor to the office of the County Recorder. A -wholesome-looking girl with hair almost the color of Patricia’s rose -from before a typewriter and came forward to the counter. Her eyes -widened a bit when she looked at Gary, and the color deepened a -little in her cheeks. Perhaps she had seen Gary’s face on the screen -and remembered it pleasantly; certainly a man like Gary Marshall -walks but seldom into the Recorder’s office of any desert county -seat. Gary told her very briefly what he wanted, and the County -Recorder herself came forward to serve him. - -Very obligingly she looked up all the records pertaining to -Johnnywater. Gary himself went in with her to lift the heavy record -books down from their places in the vault behind the office. The -County Recorder was thorough as well as obliging. Gary lifted -approximately a quarter of a ton of books, and came out of the vault -wiping perspiration from inside his collar and smoothing his plumage -generally after the exercise. It was a warm day in Tonopah. - -Gary had not a doubt left to pin his hopes upon. The County Recorder -had looked up water rights to Johnnywater and adjacent springs, and -had made sure that Waddell had made no previous transfers to other -parties, a piece of treachery which Gary had vaguely hoped to -uncover. Patricia’s title appeared to be dishearteningly -unassailable. Gary would have been willing to spend his last dollar -in prosecuting Waddell for fraud; but apparently no such villainy -had brought Waddell within his clutches. - -From the County Recorder, who had a warm, motherly personality and -was chronically homesick for Pasadena and eager to help any one who -knew the place as intimately as did Gary, he learned how great a -stranger Tonopah is to her county corners. Pat was right, he -discovered. Miles and miles of country lay all unsurveyed; a vast -area to be approached in the spirit of the pioneer who sets out to -explore a land unknown. - -Roughly scaling the district on the county map which the Recorder -borrowed from the Clerk (and which Gary promptly bought when he -found that it was for sale) he decided that the water holes in the -Johnnywater district were approximately twenty to forty miles apart. - -“Pat’s cows will have to pack canteens where village bossies wear -bells on their lavallieres,” Gary grinned to the County Recorder. -“Calves are probably taboo in the best bovine circles of -Nevada--unless they learn to ride to water on their mammas’ backs, -like baby toads.” - -The Recorder smiled at him somewhat wistfully. “You remind me of my -son in Pasadena,” she said. “He always joked over the drawbacks. I -wish you were going to be within riding distance of here; I’ve an -extra room that I’d love to have you use sometimes. But--” she -sighed, “--you’ll probably never make the trip over here unless you -come the roundabout way on the train, to record something. And the -mail is much more convenient, of course. What few prospectors record -mining claims in that district nearly always send them by mail, I’ve -noticed. In all the time I’ve been in office, this Mr. Waddell is -the only man from that part of the county who came here personally. -He said he had other business here, I remember, and intended going -on East.” - -“So Waddell went East, did he?” Gary looked up from the map. “He’s -already gone, I suppose.” - -“I suppose so. I remember he said he was going to England to visit -his old home. His health was bad, I imagine; I noticed he looked -thin and worried, and his manner was very nervous.” - -“It ought to be,” Gary mumbled over the map. “Isn’t there any road -at all, tapping that country from here?” - -The Recorder didn’t know, but she thought the County Clerk might be -able to tell him. The County Clerk had been much longer in the -country and was in close touch with the work of the commissioners. -So Gary thanked her with his nicest manner, sent a vague smile -toward the girl with hair like Patricia’s, and went away to -interview the County Clerk. - -When he left the court house Gary had a few facts firmly fixed in -his mind. He knew that Patricia’s fake cattle ranch was more -accessible to Las Vegas than to Tonopah. Furthermore, the men who -had signed the affidavits vouching for Waddell did not belong in -Tonopah, but could probably be traced from Las Vegas more easily. -And there seemed no question at all of the legality of the -transaction. - -Gary next day retraced the miles halfway back to Los Angeles, waited -for long, lonesome hours in a tiny desert station for the train from -Barstow, boarded it and made a fresh start, on another railroad, -toward Patricia’s cattle ranch. So far he had no reason whatever for -optimism concerning the investment. The best he could muster was a -faint hope that some other trustful soul might be found with five -thousand dollars, no business sense whatever and a hunger for -story-book wilderness. Should such an improbable combination stray -into Gary’s presence before Patricia’s Walking X cattle all starved -to death, Gary promised himself grimly that he would stop at nothing -short of a blackjack in his efforts to sell Johnnywater. He felt -that Providence had prevailed upon Patricia to place that Power of -Attorney in his hands, and he meant to use it to the limit. - -In Las Vegas, where Gary continued his inquiries, he tramped here -and there before he discovered any one who had ever heard of -Johnnywater. One man knew Waddell slightly, and another was of the -opinion that the two who had made affidavit for Waddell must live -somewhere in the desert. This man suggested that Gary should stick -around town until they came in for supplies or something. Gary -snorted at that advice and continued wandering here and there, -asking questions of garage men and street loiterers who had what he -called the earmarks of the desert. One of these interrupted himself -in the middle of a sentence, spat into the gutter and pointed. - -“There’s one of ’em, now. That’s Monty Girard just turned the corner -by the hotel. When he lights som’eres, you can talk to ’im. Like as -not you can ride out with ’im to camp, if you got the nerve. Ain’t -many that has. I tried ridin’ with ’im once for a mile, down here to -the dairy, and I sure as hell feel the effects of it yet. Give me a -crick in the back I never _will_ git over. I’d ruther board a raw -bronk any day than get in that Ford uh his’n. You go speak to Monty, -mister. He can tell yuh more about what you want to know than any -man in Vegas, I reckon.” - -Gary watched the man in the Ford go rattling past, pull up to the -sidewalk in the next block and stop. He sauntered toward the spot. -It was a day for sauntering and for seeking the shady side of the -street; Monty Girard was leaving the post-office with a canvas bag -in his hand when Gary met him. Gary was not in the mood for much -ceremony. He stopped Girard in the middle of the sidewalk. - -“I believe you signed an affidavit for a man named Waddell, in -regard to the Johnnywater outfit. I’d like to have a few minutes’ -talk with you.” - -“Why, shore!” Monty Girard glanced down at the mail bag, stepped -past Gary and tossed the bag into the back of his car. “Your name’s -Connolly, I guess. Going out to Johnnywater?” - -Gary had not thought of friendliness toward any man connected with -the Johnnywater transaction; yet friendliness was the keynote of -Monty Girard’s personality. The squinty wrinkles around his young -blue eyes were not all caused by facing wind and sun; laughter lines -were there, plenty of them. His voice, that suggested years spent in -the southwest where men speak in easy, drawling tones, caressing in -their softness, was friendliness itself; as was his quick smile, -disclosing teeth as white and even as Gary himself could boast. In -spite of himself, Gary’s hostility lost its edge. - -“If you haven’t got your own car, you’re welcome to ride out with -me, Mr. Connolly. I’m going within fifteen miles of Johnnywater, and -I can take yuh-all over as well as not.” - -Gary grinned relentingly. - -“I came over to see how much of that outfit was faked,” he said. -“I’m not the buyer, but I have full authority to act for Pat -Connolly. The deal was made rather--er--impulsively, and it is -unfortunate that the buyer was unable to get over and see the place -before closing the deal. Waddell has gone East, I hear. But you -swore that things were as represented in the deal.” - -Monty Girard gave him one searching look from under the brim of his -dusty, gray Stetson range hat. He looked down, absently reaching out -a booted foot to shake a front wheel of his Ford. - -“What I swore to was straight goods, all right. I figured that if -Mr. Connolly was satisfied with the deal as it stood, it was no -put-in of mine. I don’t know of a thing that was misrepresented. Not -if a man knows this country and knows what to expect.” - -“Now we’re coming to the point, I think.” Gary felt oddly that here -was a man who would understand his position and perhaps sympathize -with the task he had set himself to accomplish. - -Monty Girard hesitated, looking at him inquiringly before he glanced -up and down the street. - -“Say, mister----” - -“Marshall. Pardon me. Gary Marshall’s my name.” - -“Well, Mr. Marshall, it’s like this. I’m just in off a -hundred-and-forty-mile drive--and it shore is hot from here to -Indian. If you don’t mind helpin’ me hunt a cool spot, we’ll have a -near beer or something and talk this thing over.” - -Over their near beer Gary found the man he had intended to lick even -more disarming. Monty Girard kept looking at him with covert -intentness. - -“Gary Marshall, you said your name was? I reckon yuh-all must be the -fellow that done that whirlwind riding in a picture I saw, last time -I was in town. I forget the name of it--but I shore don’t forget the -way yuh-all handled your hawse. A range rider gets mighty particular -about the riding he sees in the movies. I’ll bet yuh-all never -learned in no riding school, Mr. Marshall; I’ll bet another glass uh -near beer you’ve rode the range some yourself.” - -“I was born on the Pecos,” grinned Gary. “My old man had horses -mostly; some cattle, of course. I left when I was eighteen.” - -“And that shore ain’t been so many years it’d take all day to count -’em. Well, I shore didn’t expect to meet that fellow I saw in the -picture, on my next trip in to town.” - -Gary drank his beer slowly, studying Monty Girard. Somehow he got -the impression that Girard did not welcome the subject of -Johnnywater. Yet he had seemed sincere enough in declaring that he -had told the truth in the affidavit. Gary pushed the glass out of -his way and folded his arms on the table, leaning a little forward. - -“Just where’s the joker in this Johnnywater deal?” he asked -abruptly. “There is one, isn’t there?” - -“Wel-l--you’re going out there, ain’t yuh?” Monty Girard hesitated -oddly. “I don’t know as there’s any joker at all; not in the way -yuh-all mean. It’s a long ways off from the railroad, but Waddy -wrote that in his letter to Mr. Connolly. I know that for a fact, -because I read the letter. And uh course, cattle is down now--a man’s -scarcely got a livin’ chance runnin’ cattle, the way the market is -now. But Mr. Connolly must uh known all that. The price Waddy put on -the outfit could uh told ’im that, if nothin’ else. I dunno as Waddy -overcharged Connolly for the place. All depends on whether a man -wanted to buy. Connolly did--I reckon. Leastways, he bought.” - -“Yes, I see your point. The deal was all right if a man wanted the -place. But you’re wondering what kind of a man would _want_ the -place. It’s a lemon of some kind. That’s about it--stop me if I’m -wrong.” - -Monty Girard laughed dryly. “I’m mounted on a tired hawse, Mr. -Marshall. I couldn’t stop a run-down clock, and that’s a fact.” - -“Well, I think I’ll go out with you if you don’t mind. I suppose -I’ll need blankets and a few supplies.” - -“Well, I reckon Waddy left pretty much everything he had out there. -Soon as he got his money at the bank he fanned it for Merrie -England. He just barely had a suit case when I saw him last. I -reckon maybe yuh-all better take out a few things you’d hate to get -along without. Flour, bacon an’ beans you can pretty well count on. -And, unless yuh-all want to take blankets of your own, you needn’t -be afraid to use Waddy’s. Frank Waddell was shore a nice, clean -housekeeper, and a nice man all around, only--kinda nervous.” - -Gary listened, taking it all in. His eyes, trained to the profession -of putting emotions, thoughts, even things meant to be hidden, into -the human face, so that all might see and read the meaning, watched -Monty’s face as he talked. - -“Just what _is_ it that made Waddell sell the Johnnywater ranch and -clear out of the country?” he asked. “Just what makes you hate the -place?” - -Monty sent him a startled look. - -“I never said I hated it,” he parried. “It ain’t anything to me, one -way or the other.” - -“You _do_ hate it. Why?” - -“Wel-l--I dunno as I can hardly say. A man’s got feelin’s sometimes -he can’t hardly put into words. Lots of places in this country has -got histories, Mr. Marshall. I guess--Johnnywater’s all right. Waddy -was a kind of nervous cuss.” - - - - - CHAPTER SIX - - JOHNNYWATER - - -Please do not picture a level waste of sand and scant sagebrush when -you think of the Nevada desert. Barren it is, where water is not to -be had; but level it is not, except where the beds of ancient lakes -lie bare and yellow, hard as cement except when the rains soften the -surface to sticky, red mud. Long mesas, with scattering clumps of -greasewood and sage, lie gently tilted between sporadic mountain -ranges streaked and scalloped with the varying rock formations that -tell how long the world was in the making. Here and there larger -mountains lift desolate barriers against the sky. Seen close, any -part of the scene is somber at best. But distance softens the -forbidding bleakness of the uplifted hummocks and crags, and paints -them with magic lights and shadows. - -In the higher altitudes the mountains are less bare; more friendly -in a grim, uncompromising way and grown over scantily sometimes with -piñons and juniper and the flat-leafed cedar whose wood is never too -wet to burn with a great snapping, and is as likely to char -temperamentally and go black. In these great buttes secret stores of -water send little searching streams out through crevices among the -rocks. Each cañon has its spring hidden away somewhere, and the -water is clear and cold, stealing away from the melting snows on -top. - -A rough, little-used trail barely passable to a car, led into -Johnnywater Cañon. To Gary the place was a distinct relief from the -barren land that stretched between this butte and Las Vegas. The -green of the piñon trees was refreshing as cool water on a hot day. -The tiny stream that trickled over water-worn rocks in the little -gully beside the cabin astonished him. For hours he had ridden -through the parched waste land. For hours Monty had talked of scanty -grazing and little water. In spite of himself, Gary’s eyes -brightened with pleasure when he first looked upon Johnnywater. - -The sun still shone into the cañon, though presently it would drop -behind the high shoulder of the butte. The little cabin squatting -secretively between two tall piñons looked an ideal “set” for some -border romance. - -“It’s not a bad-_looking_ place,” he commented with some reluctance. -“Maybe Pat didn’t pull such a boner after all.” He climbed out of -the car and walked toward the tiny stream. “Golly grandma, what’s -that! Chickens?” - -“It shore enough is--but I kinda thought the coyotes and link-cats -would of got all Waddy’s chickens. He’s been gone a week away.” - -“Good heck! I thought chickens liked to partake of a little -nourishment occasionally. All the kinds I’ve met do.” - -Monty laughed lazily. - -“Oh, Waddell he fixed a kind of feed box for ’em that lets down a -few grains at a time. I reckon he filled it up before he went.” -Monty sent seeking glances into the undergrowth along the creek. -“There ought to be a couple of shoats around here, too. And a cat.” - -Gary went into the cabin and stood looking around him curiously. -Some attempt had been made to furnish the place with a few comforts, -but the attempt had evidently perished of inanition. Flowered calico -would have hidden the cubboard decently, had the curtains been -clean. A box tacked against the wall held magazines and a book or -two. The bunk was draped around the edge with the same flowered -calico, with an old shoe protruding from beneath. One square window -with a single sash looked down upon the little creek. Its twin -looked down the cañon. Cast-off garments hung against the wall at -the foot of the bunk. - -“Great interior set for a poverty scene,” Gary decided, rolling -himself a smoke. “I don’t intend to stay out on this location, you -know. I’m here to sell the damned place. What’s the quickest way to -do that--quietly? I mean, without advertising it.” - -Monty Girard turned slowly and stared. - -“There ain’t no quick way,” he said finally. “Waddy, he’s been -tryin’ for three months to sell it--advertisin’ in all the papers. He -was in about as much of a hurry as a man could get in--and he was -just about at the point where he was goin’ to walk off and leave it, -when this Mr. Connolly bit.” - -“Bit?” - -“Bought. Yuh-all must have misunderstood.” - -“Either way, I don’t feature it.” Gary lighted the cigarette -thoughtfully. “It looks a pretty fair place--for a hermit, or a man -that’s hiding out. What did this man Waddell buy it for? And how -long ago?” - -“I reckon he thought he wanted it. A couple of years ago, I reckon -he aimed to settle down here.” - -“Well, why the heck didn’t he do it then?” Gary sat down on the edge -of the table and folded his arms. “Spread ’em out on the table, -Monty. I won’t shoot.” - -“You say yuh-all don’t aim to stay here?” Monty leveled a glance at -him. - -“Not any longer than it takes to sell out. You look like a live -wire. I’m going to appoint you my agent and see if you can’t rustle -a buyer--_quick_. I’ll go back with you, when you go. That will be in -a couple of days, you said. So tell me the joke, Monty. I asked you -in town, yesterday, and you didn’t do it.” - -“I can’t say as I rightly know. I reckon maybe it was Waddy himself -that was wrong, and nothin’ the matter with Johnnywater. He got -along all right here for awhile--but I guess he got kind of edgey, -livin’ alone here so much. He got to kinda imaginin’ he was seein’ -things. And along last spring he got to hearin’ ’em. So then he -wanted to sell out right away quick.” - -“Oh.” Gary sounded rather crestfallen. “A nut, hunh? I thought there -was something faked about the place itself.” - -“Yuh-all read what I swore to,” Monty reminded him with a touch of -dignity. “I wouldn’t help nobody fake a deal; not even a fellow in -the shape Waddy was in. He had his money in here, and he had to git -it out before he could leave. At that, he sold out at a loss. This -is a right nice little place, Mr. Marshall, for anybody that wants a -place like this.” - -“But you don’t, hunh? Couldn’t you buy the cattle?” - -Monty shook his head regretfully. - -“No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t buy out the Walkin’ X brand now at a -dime a head, and that’s a fact. Cattle’s away down. I’m just hangin’ -on, Mr. Marshall, and that’s the case with every cattle owner in the -country. It ain’t my put-in, maybe, but if Johnnywater was mine, I -know what I’d do.” - -“Well, let’s hear it.” - -“Well, I’d fix things up best I could around here, and hang on to it -awhile till times git better. Waddell asked seven thousand at -first--and it’d be worth that if there was any market at all for -cattle. Up the cañon here a piece, Waddy’s got as pretty a patch of -alfalfa as you’d want to look at. And a patch of potatoes that was -doing fine, the last I see of ’em. He was aimin’ to put the whole -cañon bottom into alfalfa; and that’s worth money in this country, -now I’m tellin’ yuh. - -“Yuh see, Johnnywater’s different from most of these cañons. It’s -wider and bigger every way, and it’s got more water. A man could -hang on to his cattle, and by kinda pettin’ ’em along through the -winter, and herdin’ ’em away from the loco patches in the spring, he -could make this a good payin’ investment. That’s what I reckoned -this Mr. Connolly aimed to do.” - -“Pat Connolly bought this place,” said Gary shortly, “because it -sounded nice in the ad. It was a nut idea from the start. I’m here -to try and fish the five thousand up out of the hole.” - -“Well, I reckon maybe that same ad would sound good to somebody -else,” Monty ventured. - -But Gary shook his head. Since Patricia made up her mailing lists -from the newspapers, Gary emphatically did not want to advertise. - -They ended by cooking late dinner together, frying six fresh eggs -which Gary discovered in the little dugout chicken house. After -which Monty Girard unloaded what supplies Gary had brought, smoked a -farewell cigarette and drove away to his own camp twenty miles -farther on. - -“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken,” Gary observed tritely. “I -might get a kick out of this, if Pat hadn’t been so darned fresh -about the movies, and so _gol_-darned stubborn about me camping here -and doing the long-haired hick act for the rest of my life.” - -He went away then to hunt for the chicken feed; found it in another -dugout cellar, and fed the chickens that came running hysterically -out of the bushes when Gary rattled the pan and called them as he -had seen gingham-gowned ingénues do in rural scenes. - -“Golly grandma! If I could catch a young duck now, and cuddle it up -under my dimpled chin, I’d make a swell Mary Pickford close-up,” he -chuckled to himself. “Down on the farm, by gum! ‘_Left the town to -have some fun, and I’m a goin’ to have some, yes, by gum!_’ Pat -Connolly’s going to do some plain and fancy knuckling under, to pay -for this stunt. Gosh, and there’s the cat!” - - - - - CHAPTER SEVEN - - THE VOICE - - -Gary got up from his chair three separate times to remove the lamp -chimney (using a white cambric handkerchief to protect his manicured -fingers from blisters). In the beginning, the flame had flourished -two sharp points that smoked the chimney. After the third clipping -it had three, and one of them was like a signal smoke in miniature. - -Gary eyed it disgustedly while he filled his pipe. Smoking a pipe -while he dreamed in the fire glow had made so popular a close-up of -Gary Marshall that he had used the pose in his professional -photographs and had, to date, autographed and mailed sixty-seven of -the firelight profiles to sixty-seven eager fans. Nevertheless, he -forgot that he had a profile now. - -“Hunh! Pat ought to get a real kick out of this scene,” he snorted. -“Interior cabin--sitting alone--lifts head, listens. Sub-title: THE -MOURNFUL HOWL OF THE COYOTE COMES TO HIM MINGLED WITH THE SOUND OF -HORSES CHAMPING HAY. Only there ain’t no horses, and if there were -they wouldn’t champ. Only steeds do that--in hifalutin’, gol-darned -poetry. Pat ought to take a whirl at this Johnnywater stuff, -herself. About twenty-four hours of it. It might make a different -girl of her. Give her some sense, maybe.” - -Slowly his pessimistic glance went around the meager rectangle of -the cabin. Think of a man holding up here for two years! “No wonder -he went out of here a nut,” was Gary’s brief summary. “And it’s my -opinion the man’s judgment had begun to skid when he bought the -place. Good Lord! Why, he’d probably _seen_ it before he paid down -the money! He was a tough bird, if you ask me, to hang on for two -years.” - -Gary’s pipe, on its way to his lips that had just blown out a small, -billowy cloud of smoke, stopped halfway and was held there -motionless. His whole face stilled as his mind concentrated upon a -sound. - -“That’s no coyote,” he muttered, and listened again. - -He got up and opened the door, leaning out into the starlight, one -hand pressed against the rough-hewn logs of cedar. He listened -again, turning his head slightly to determine the location of the -sound. - -A wind from the west, flowing over the towering butte, shivered the -tops of the piñons. A gust it was, that died as it had been born, -suddenly. As it lessened Gary heard distinctly a far-off, faint -halloo. - -“Hello!” he called back, stepping down upon the flat rock that -formed the doorstep. “What’s wanted? _Hello!_” - -“’ll-_oo-ooh_!” cried the voice, from somewhere beyond the creek. - -“_Hello!_” shouted Gary, megaphoning with his cupped palms. Some one -was lost, probably, and had seen the light in the cabin. - -Again the voice replied. It seemed to Gary that the man was shouting -some message; but distance blurred the words so that only the -cadence of the voice reached his ears. - -Gary cupped his hands again and replied. He went down to the little -creek and stood there listening, shouting now and then encouragement -to the man on the bluff. He must be on the bluff, or at least far up -its precipitous slope; for beyond the stream the trees gave way to -bowlders, and above the bowlders rough outcroppings in ledge -formation made steep scrambling. The top of the bluff was guarded by -a huge rampart of solid rock; a “rim-rock” formation common -throughout the desert States. - -Gary tried to visualize that sheer wall of rock as he had seen it -before dark. Without giving it much thought at the time, he somehow -took it for granted that the cañon wall on that side was absolutely -impassable. Still, there might be a trail to the top through some -crevice invisible from below. - -“Gosh, if a fellow’s hurt up there, I’ll have a merry heck of a time -getting him down in the dark!” Gary told the mottled cat with one -blue eye, that rubbed against his ankle. “There ought to be a -lantern hanging somewhere. Never saw an interior cabin set in my -life where a tin lantern didn’t register.” - -He found the lantern, but it had no wick. Gary spent a profane -fifteen minutes holding the smoky lamp in one hand and searching a -high, littered shelf with the other, looking for lantern wicks. That -he actually found one at last, tucked into a tomato can among some -bolts and nails, seemed little short of a miracle. He had to rob the -lamp of oil, because he did not know where Waddell kept his supply. -Then the wick was a shade too wide, and Gary was obliged to force it -through the burner with the point of his knife. When he finally got -the lantern burning it was more distressingly horned than the lamp, -and the globe immediately began an eclipse on one side. But Gary -only swore and wiped his smeared fingers down his trousers, -man-fashion. - -Almost constantly the voice had called to him from the bluff. Gary -went out and shouted that he was coming, and crossed the creek, the -mottled cat at his heels. Gary had never been friendly toward cats, -by the way; but isolation makes strange companions sometimes between -animals and men, and Gary had already made friends with this one. He -even waited, holding the lantern while the cat jumped the creek, -forgetting it could see in the dark. - -He made his way through the bushy growth beyond the stream, and -scrambled upon a huge bowlder, from where he could see the face of -the bluff. He stood there listening, straining his eyes into the -dark. - -The voice called to him twice. A wailing, anxious tone that carried -a weight of trouble. - -Gary once more megaphoned that he was coming, and began to climb the -bluff, the smoking lantern swinging in his hands (a mere pin-prick -of light in the surrounding darkness), the mottled cat following him -in a series of leaps and quick rushes. - -The lamp had gone out when Gary returned to the cabin. The lantern -was still smoking vilely, with fumes of gas. Gary put the lantern on -the table and sat down, wiping his face and neck with his -handkerchief. The mottled cat crouched and sprang to his knee, where -it dug claws to hang on and began purring immediately. - -For an hour Gary had not heard the voice, and he was worried. Some -one must be hurt, up there in the rocks. But until daylight came to -his assistance Gary was absolutely helpless. He looked at his watch -and saw that he had been stumbling over rocks and climbing between -bowlders until nearly midnight. He had shouted, too, until his -throat ached. - -The man had answered, but Gary had never been able to distinguish -any words. Always there had been that wailing note of pain, with now -and then a muffled shriek at the end of the call. High up somewhere -on the bluff he was, but Gary had never seemed able to come very -close. There were too many ledges intervening. And at last the voice -had grown fainter, until finally it ceased altogether. - -“We’ll have to get out at daylight and hunt him up,” he said to the -cat. “I can’t feature this mountain goat stuff in the dark. But -nobody could sit still and listen to that guy hollering for help. -It’ll be a heck of a note if he’s broken a leg or something. That’s -about what happened--simplest thing in the world to break legs in -that rock pile.” - -He stroked the cat absent-mindedly, holding himself motionless now -and then while he listened. After awhile he put the cat down and -went to bed, his thoughts clinging to the man who had called down -from the bluff. - - - - - CHAPTER EIGHT - - “THE CAT’S GOT ’EM TOO!” - - -Monty Girard did not return on the second day. A full week dragged -itself minute by minute across Johnnywater; days began suddenly with -a spurt of color over the eastern rim of the cañon, snailed it -across the blue space above and after an interminable period ended -in a red riot beyond the western rim, letting night flow into the -cañon. - -The first day went quickly enough. At sunrise Gary and the spotted -cat searched the bluff where the voice had called beseechingly in -the night. Gary carried a two-quart canteen filled with water, -knowing that a man who has lain injured all night will have a -maddening thirst by morning. - -At noon he sat on a bowlder just under the rim rock, helped himself -to a long drink from the canteen and stared disheartened down into -the cañon. He was hoarse from shouting, but not so much as a whisper -had he got in reply. The spotted cat had given up in disgust long -ago and gone off on business of her own. He was willing to swear -that he had covered every foot of that hillside, and probably he -had, very nearly. And he had found no trace of any man, living or -dead. - -He slid off the bowlder and went picking his way down the steep -bluff to the cabin. A humane impulse had sent him out as soon as he -opened his eyes that morning. He was half-starved and more nearly -exhausted than he had ever been after a hard day’s work doing -“stunts” for the movies. - -Now and then he looked up the cañon to where Pat’s alfalfa field -lay, a sumptuous patch of deep green, like an emerald set deep in -some dull metal. Nearer the cabin were the rows of potato plants -which Monty had mentioned. There was a corral, too, just beyond a -clump of trees behind the cabin. And from the head of the cañon to -the mouth he could glimpse here and there the twisted thread of -Johnnywater Creek. - -By the time he had cooked and eaten breakfast and lunch together, -and had fed the chickens, and located the whereabouts of two pigs -whose grunting came to him from the bushes, the afternoon was well -gone. And, on the whole, it had not gone so badly; except that he -rather resented his fruitless search for a man who had shouted in -the night and then disappeared. - -“Drunk, maybe,” Gary finally dismissed the subject from his mind. -“He sure as heck couldn’t be hurt so bad, if he was able to get out -of the cañon in the dark. It’ll be something to tell about when I -get back. I’ll ask Monty what he thinks about it, to-morrow.” - -But he didn’t ask Monty. He rather expected that Monty would be -along rather early in the forenoon, and he was ready by nine -o’clock. He had filled the feed box for the chickens, had given the -cat a farewell talk, and locked his pyjamas into his suit case. The -rest of the day he spent in waiting. - -One bit of movie training helped him now. By the time an actor has -reached stardom, he knows how to sit and wait; doing nothing, -thinking nothing in particular, gossiping a little, perhaps, but -waiting always. Gary had many a time sat around killing time for -hours at a stretch, that he might work for fifteen minutes on a -scene. Waiting for Monty, then, was not such a hardship that second -day. - -But when the third day and the fourth and the fifth had gone, Gary -began to register impatience and concern. He walked down the cañon -and out upon the trail as far as was practical, half hoping that he -might see some chance traveler. But the whole world seemed to be -empty and waiting, with a still patience that placed no limit upon -its quiescent expectancy. - -Steeped in that desert magic which makes beautiful all distances, -the big land shamed him somehow and sent him back into the cañon in -a better frame of mind. Any trivial thing could have delayed Monty -Girard. It was slightly comforting to know that the big world out -there was smiling under the sky. - -He was sitting at supper just after sundown that evening when a -strange thing happened. The spotted cat--Gary by this time was -calling her Faith because of her trustful disposition--was squatted -on all fours beside the table, industriously lapping a saucer of -condensed milk. For the want of more human companionship, Gary was -joking with the cat, which responded now and then with a slight wave -of her tail. - -“You’re the only thing I like about the whole darn outfit,” Gary was -saying. “I don’t remember your being mentioned in the deed, so I -think I’ll just swipe you when I go. As a souvenir. Only I don’t -know what the heck I’ll do with you--give you to Pat, I reckon.” - -Faith looked up with an amiable mew, but she did not look at Gary. -Had a person been standing near the foot of the bunk six feet or so -away, she would have been looking up into his face. She went back to -lapping her milk, but Gary eyed her curiously. There was something -odd about that look and that friendly little remark of hers, but for -the life of him he could not explain just what was wrong. - -Once again, while Gary watched her, the cat looked up at that -invisible point the height of a man from the floor. She finished her -milk, licked her lips satisfiedly and got up. She glanced at Gary, -glanced again toward the bunk, arched her back, walked deliberately -over and curved her body against nothing at all, purring her -contented best. - -Gary watched her with a contraction of the scalp on the back of his -head. Faith stood there for a moment rubbing her side against empty -air, looked up inquiringly, came over and jumped upon Gary’s knee. -There she tucked her feet under her, folded her tail close to her -curiously mottled fur and settled herself for a good, purry little -nap. Now and then she opened her eyes to look toward the bunk, her -manner indifferent. - -“The cat’s got ’em, too,” Gary told himself--but it is significant -that he did not speak the words aloud as he had been doing those -five days, just to combat the awful stillness of the cañon. - -He stared intently toward the place where the cat had stood arching -her body and purring. There was nothing there, so far as Gary could -see. But slowly, as he stared toward the place, a mental picture -formed in his mind. - -He pictured to himself a man whom he had never seen; a tall, lean -man with shoulders slightly stooped and a face seamed by rough -weather and hard living more than with the years he had lived. The -man was, Gary guessed, in his late forties. His eyes were a keen -blue, his mouth thin-lipped and firm. Gary felt that if he removed -the stained gray hat he wore, he would reveal a small bald spot on -the crown of his head. Over one eye was a jagged scar. Another -puckered the skin on his left cheek bone. He was dressed in gray -flannel shirt and khaki overalls tucked into high, laced boots. - -Gary visualized him as being the man who had built this cabin. He -thought that he was picturing Waddell, and it occurred to him that -Waddell might have been mining a little in Johnnywater Cañon. The -man he was mentally visualizing seemed to be of the type of miner -who goes prospecting through the desert. And Johnnywater Cañon -certainly held mineral possibilities, if one were to judge by the -rock formation and the general look of the cañon walls. - -Gary himself had once known something about minerals, his dad having -sent him to take a course in mineralogy at Denver with a view to -making of his son a respectable mining engineer. Gary had spent two -years in the school and almost two years doing field work for -practice, and had shown a certain aptitude for the profession. But -Mills, the motion-picture director, had taken a company into Arizona -where Gary was making a report on the minerals of a certain -district, and Gary had been weaned away from mines. Now, he was so -saturated in studio ideals and atmosphere that he had almost -forgotten he had ever owned another ambition than to become a star -with a company of his own. - -Well, this man then--the man about whom he found himself thinking so -intently--must have found something here in the cañon. He did not -know why he believed it, but he began to think that Waddell had -found gold; though it was not, properly speaking, a gold country. -But Gary remembered to have noticed a few pieces of porphyry float -on the bluff the morning that he had spent in looking for the man -who shouted in the night. The float might easily be gold-bearing. -Gary had not examined it, since he had been absorbed in another -matter. It is only the novice who becomes excited and builds air -castles over a piece of float. - -Gary turned his head abruptly and looked back, exactly as he would -have done had a man approached and stood at his shoulder. He was -conscious of a slight feeling of surprise that the man of whom he -was thinking did not stand there beside him. - -“I’ll be getting ’em too, if I don’t look out,” he snorted, and -dumped the mottled cat unceremoniously on the floor. - -It has been said by many that thoughts are things. Certainly Gary’s -thoughts that evening seemed live things. While he was washing the -dishes and sweeping the cabin floor, he more than once glanced up, -expecting to see the man who looked like a miner. The picture he had -conjured seemed a living personality, unseen, unheard, but -nevertheless present there in the cabin. - -Gary was an essentially practical young man, not much given to -fanciful imaginings. He did not believe in anything to which one may -permissibly attach the word psychic. Imagination of a sort he had -possessed since he was a youngster, and stories he could weave with -more or less originality. He did not, therefore, run amuck in a maze -of futile conjecturing. He believed in hunches, and there his belief -stopped short, satisfied to omit explanations. - -That night fell pitch black, with inky clouds pushing out over the -rim rock and a wind from the west that bellowed across the cañon and -whipped the branches of the pines near the cabin. Above the clouds -played the lightning, the glare of it seeping through between the -folds and darting across small open spaces. - -Gary sat in the doorway watching the clouds with the lightning -darting through. True to his type and later training, he was -thinking what a wonderful storm scene it would make in a picture. -And then, without warning, he heard a voice shouting a loud halloo -from the bluff. Again it called, and ended with a wail of pain. - -Gary started. He turned his face to the cañon side and listened, -deep lines between his eyebrows. It was almost a week since he had -heard the call, and it did not seem natural that the man should be -shouting again from the same point on the bluff. He had been so sure -that the fellow, whoever he was, had left the cañon that first -night. It was absolutely illogical that he should return without -coming near the cabin. - -Gary got up and stood irresolute in the doorway. The voice was -insistent, calling again and again a summons difficult to resist. - -“Hel_lo-oo-ooh_! Hel_lo-oo-ooh_!” called the voice. - -Gary cupped his hands around his mouth to reply, then hesitated and -dropped them to his side. He turned to go in for the lantern and -abandoned that idea also. On that first night he had answered -repeatedly the call and had searched gropingly amongst the bowlders -and ledges. His trouble had gone for nothing, and Gary could think -of but one reason why he had failed to find the man: he believed the -man had not wanted to be found, although there was no sense in that -either. The stubborn streak in Gary dominated his actions now. He -meant to find the fellow and have it out with him. He remembered -Monty’s remark about Waddell imagining he heard things, and selling -out in a hurry, his nerves gone to pieces. Probably the man up on -the bluff could explain why Waddell left Johnnywater! - -Gary crossed the creek during spurts of lightning, and made his way -cautiously up the bluff. After spending a long forenoon there he -knew his way fairly well and could negotiate ledges that had stopped -him that first night. He went carefully, making himself as -inconspicuous as possible. The voice kept shouting, with now and -then a high note that almost amounted to a shriek. - -The storm broke, and Gary was drenched to the skin within five -minutes. Flashes of lightning blinded him. He stumbled back down the -bluff and reached the cabin, the storm beating upon him furiously. -As he closed the door, the voice on the bluff shrieked at him, and -Gary thought there was a mocking note in the call. - - - - - CHAPTER NINE - - GARY WRITES A LETTER - - -“Johnnywater Cañon. - -“Dear Pat: - -“I take it all back. There’s a new model of cow called Walking X, -that don’t need grass. It has a special food-saving device somewhere -in its anatomy, which enables it to subsist on mountain scenery, -sagebrush and hopes. I haven’t discovered yet whether the late model -of Walking X chews a cud or merely rolls a rock under its tongue to -prevent thirst. I’m guessing it’s the rock. There’s darned little -material for cuds in the country. If I were going to stay here and -make you a cattle queen, I should ask you to get prices on gum in -carload lots. - -“Yesterday I was hiking out on the desert--for exercise, my dear -girl. Can’t afford to grow flabby muscled as well as flabby souled. -Souls don’t register on the screen anyway--but it takes muscle to -throw the big heavy around in the blood-curdling scrap which occurs -usually in the fourth reel. Besides, I’m going to throw a fellow -down the bluff--when I get him located. Don’t know how big he is, as -I haven’t met the gentleman yet. It’s a cinch he hasn’t got lung -trouble though; he’s the longest-winded cuss I ever heard holler. - -“He’s been trying to get fresh with me ever since I came. Picks -wild, stormy nights when a man wants to stay indoors and then gets -up on the bluff and hollers for help. First couple of nights I heard -him, I bit. But I don’t fall for that hokum any more. A man that can -holler the way he does and come back strong the next night don’t -need any assistance from me. - -“I hoed your spuds to-day, Pat. Did a perfect imitation of Charlie -Ray--except that I wasn’t costumed for the part. Didn’t have no -gallus to hitch up and thereby register disgust with my job. But I -featured the sweat--a close-up of me would have looked like Gary out -in a rain. It was accidental. I was chasing Pat Connolly’s pigs, -trying to round them up and get acquainted. They headed for Pat -Connolly’s alfalfa and they went through the potato patch. There -ought to be a fence around those spuds, Pat; or else the pigs ought -to be shut up. You’re a darn shiftless ranch lady to let pigs run -loose to root up your spuds. They’re in full blossom--and don’t ask -me which I mean, pigs or potatoes. They needed a little strong-arm -work, bad. The pigs ducked out of the scene into the alfalfa--and -that sure needs cutting, too. There’s a scythe in the shed, and a -fork or two and a hay rake. If Waddell’s got horses he couldn’t have -used them much. Maybe he couldn’t afford a mowing machine, and cut -his hay with a scythe. There’s a wagon here, and a comedy hayrack. -But I can’t feature handsome Gary scything hay. - -“Anyway, every darned spud blossom in the patch peeked up at me -through a jungle of weeds. That wouldn’t look good to a buyer (you -won’t get a chance to read this letter, old girl, so I don’t mind -telling you you’ve played right into my hands with that Power of -Attorney, and I’m going to sell out, if Monty Girard ever comes and -hauls me back to town). They’re not finished yet, but I can do the -rest in the morning if Monty don’t come. - -“Monty Girard has plumb forgotten me, I guess. He was a friendly -cuss, too. He’s seven days overdue, and I’d get out and hunt him up, -only he forgot to leave me his address and I can’t get his ’phone -number from Information. Can’t get Information. There ain’t no -telephone. He said his camp was about twenty miles off. But I’m wise -to these desert miles. More likely it’s thirty. I tried to trail him -yesterday, but he took our back track for five miles or so, and for -all I know he may have beat it back to town. That’s not walking -distance, I’ll tell a heartless world. - -“I’m stuck here until somebody comes and hauls me away. The last -house I saw was back down the road a nice little jaunt of about -sixty-five miles. Monty Girard drives his Ford like he was working -in one of those comedy chases. And it’s four hours by the watch from -that last shack to this shack--Monty Girard driving. Figure it -yourself, Pat, and guess how many afternoon calls I’ve made on my -neighbors. I’m afraid the pinto cat couldn’t walk that far, and it -would hurt her feelings if I didn’t ask her to join the party. - -“Said pinto cat is a psychic. Waddell was a nut of some kind, and -the cat caught it. Seems Waddell got the habit of seeing -things--though I haven’t located any still yet--and now the cat looks -up and meows at the air, and rubs her fur against her imagination. -Got my goat the first time she did it--I admit it. I can’t say I -feature it yet, her talking and playing up to some gink I can’t see. -But I named her Faith and I’ve no kick coming, I reckon, if the eyes -of Faith looks up to things of which I kennest not. - -“I’m wondering if Waddell wasn’t a tall, round-shouldered gink with -a bald spot on top of his head the size of a dollar and a half, and -a puckered scar on his cheek; a Bret Harte type, before he puts on -the mustache. I keep thinking about a guy like that, as if he -belonged here. When Faith takes one of her psychic fits, I get a -funny idea she’s trying to rub up against that kind of a man. Sounds -nutty, but heck knows I never did feature the spook stuff, and I -don’t mean I’m goofy now about it. I just keep thinking about that -fellow, and there’s times when I get a funny notion he’s standing -behind me and I’ll see him if I look around. But get this--it’s good. -_I don’t look around!_ It’s over the hills to the bug-house when a -fellow starts that boob play. - -“There’s something wrong about this trick cañon, anyway. I can’t -seem to feature it. You can’t make me believe that boob up on the -bluff thinks he’s a cuckoo clock and just pops out and hollers -because he’s made that way. He’s trying to get my goat and make me -iris out of the scene. There’s going to be a real punch in the next -reel, and that guy with the big voice will be in front of it. His -head is swelled now since he’s scared Waddell out. But he’s going to -get a close-up of yours truly--and the big punch of the story. - -“The other night just after dark I sneaked up the bluff as high as I -could get without making a noise so he’d hear me, and laid for him. -I was all set to cut loose with that blood-curdling Apache yell -dad’s riders used to practice when I was a kid. But he never opened -his mouth all night. Made a fool out of me, all right, losing my -sleep like that for nothing. Then the next night he started in at -sundown and hollered half the night. - -“I’m overdue at the studio now, by several days. If Mills could get -that contract for me, it’s gone blooey by this time. And he can’t -get word to me or hear from me--I’m not even famous enough yet to -make good publicity out of my disappearance. Soon as Monty comes, I -intend to beat it in to Las Vegas and wire Mills. Then if there’s -nothing doing for me in pictures right now, I’ll get out and see how -good I am as a salesman. - -“But I hate to let that four-flusher up here in the rocks think he’s -got the laugh on me. And that alfalfa ought to be put up, and no -mistake. The spuds need water, too. After the trusty hoe has got in -its deadly work on the weeds, a good soaking would make them look -like a million dollars. And I suppose the pigs ought to be shut up -before they root up all the spuds on the place--but then some one -would have to be here to look after them. That’s the heck of it, -Pat. When you get a place on your hands, you simply let yourself in -for a dog’s life, looking after it. - -“You had a picture of me riding out at dawn after the cattle! That -shows how much you don’t know. All told there’s about fifteen head -of stock that water here at the mouth of the creek. I mean, at the -end of the creek where it flows into a big hole and forgets to flow -out again. It acts kind of tired, anyway, getting that far; no pep -to go farther. As for horses, Monty and I looked for your horses as -we came across the desert out here. There wasn’t a hoof in sight, -and Monty says they’re probably watering over at another spring -about fifteen miles from here. It’s too far to walk and drag a loop, -Pat. So your dashing Western hee-ro can’t dash. Nothing to dash on. -That’s a heck of a note, ain’t it? - -“Did you ever try to make three meals fill up a day? Well, don’t. -Can’t be did. I’ve read all the magazines--the whole two. I also have -read Mr. Waddell’s complete library. One is ‘Cattle and Their -Diseases,’ and the other is ‘Tom Brown’s School Days,’ with ten -pages gone just when I was getting a kick out of it. That was one -day when it rained. I knew a man once who could go to bed at sundown -and sleep till noon the next day. I don’t believe he kept a psychic -cat, though, or chased voices all over the hills. Anyway, I forgot -to find out how he did it. - -“This looks a good cañon for mineral. Something tells me some rich -stuff has been taken out of here. If I were going to stay any length -of time, I might look around some. I keep thinking about gold--but I -guess it’s just a notion. Monty Girard ought to be here to-morrow, -sure. I’ve packed my pyjamas every morning and unpacked them every -night. I’ve got as much faith as the pinto cat--but it don’t get me a -darn bit more than it gets her. Packing my pyjamas and waiting for -Monty Girard is just about as satisfactory as the cat’s rubbing up -against nothing. You’d think she’d get fed up on that sort of thing, -but she don’t. Just before I started to write, she trotted toward -the door looking up and purring like she does when I come in. Only -nobody came in. You wouldn’t notice it if there was anybody else -around. Being alone makes it creepy. - -“I started this because I wanted to talk to somebody. Being alone -gets a fellow’s goat in time. And seeing I don’t intend to send this -to you, Pat, I’ll say I’m crazy about you. There’s not another girl -in the world I’d want. I love the way you stand by your own ideas, -Pat, and use your own brains. If you only knew how high you stack up -alongside most of the girls, you wouldn’t worry about who played -opposite me. I was sore when I left you that night--but that was just -because I hate to see you lose your money, and that ‘flabby-soul’ -wallop put me down for the count. - -“I’ll admit now that you didn’t get cheated as much as I thought; -but I’m here to remark also that Johnnywater Cañon is no place for -my Princess Pat to live. And it’s a cinch that Handsome Gary is not -going to waste his splendid youth in this hide-out. There goes that -darned nut on the bluff again, yelling hello at me. - -“If Monty Girard doesn’t show up to-morrow I’m sure as heck going to -figure out some way of getting at that bird. Yesterday he was -hollering in the daytime. He’s crazy, or he’s trying to make a nut -out of me. I believe he wants this cañon to himself for some reason, -and tries to scare everybody out. But I don’t happen to scare quite -as easy as Waddell. Though the joke of it is, I couldn’t get out of -here till Monty Girard comes, no matter how scared I got. I’m sure -glad I never get sick. - -“Golly grandma, how I hate that howling! I’d rather have coyotes -ringed around the cañon four deep than listen to that merry -roundelay of the gink on the bluff. I’d take a shot at him if I had -a gun. - -“Good night, Pat. You’re five hundred miles away, but if every inch -was a mile I wouldn’t feel any farther or any lonesomer. Your -flabby-souled movie man is going to bed. - - “Gary.” - - - - - CHAPTER TEN - - GARY HAS SPEECH WITH HUMAN BEINGS - - -Since Gary was not a young man of pronounced literary leanings, he -failed to chronicle all of the moods and the trivial incidents which -borrowed importance from the paucity of larger events. He finished -hoeing the potatoes and spent a mildly interested half-day in -running the water down the long rows, as Waddell’s primitive system -of irrigation permitted. - -That evening there was no voice shouting from the hillside, and Gary -spent a somberly ruminative hour in cleaning the mud off his shoes. -He was worried about his clothes, which were looking the worse for -his activities; until it occurred to him that he had passed and -repassed a very efficient-looking store devoted to men’s clothing -alone. It comforted him considerably to reflect that he could buy -whatever he needed in Las Vegas. - -On the eleventh day he started down the cañon on the chance that he -might see Monty coming across the desert. The tall piñon trees shut -out the view of the open country beyond until he came almost abreast -of the last pool of the creek where the cattle watered. He was -worrying a good deal now over Monty Girard. He could not believe -that he had been deliberately left afoot there in the cañon, as -effectively imprisoned as if four stone walls shut him in, held -within the limit of his own endurance in walking. Should he push -that endurance beyond the limit, he would die very miserably. - -Gary was not particularly alarmed over that phase of his desertion, -however. He knew that he was not going to be foolish enough to start -out afoot in the hope of getting somewhere. Only panic would drive a -man to that extreme, and Gary was not of the panicky type. He had -food enough to last for a long time. The air, as he told himself -sardonically, was good enough for any health resort. He didn’t feel -as if he could get sick there if he tried. His physical well-being, -therefore, was not threatened; but he owned himself willing to tell -a heartless world that he was most ungodly lonesome. - -He was walking down the rough trail with his hands in his pockets, -whistling a doleful ditty, the spotted cat at his heels like a dog. -He was trying to persuade himself that this was about the time of -day when Monty would be most likely to show up, when Faith ran -before him, stopped abruptly, arched her back and ruffled her tail -at something by the water hole. - -Gary stopped also and stared suspiciously at two men who were -filling canteens at the water hole. What roused Gary’s suspicion was -the manner of the two men. While they sunk their canteens beneath -the surface of the water and held them so, they kept looking up the -cañon and at the bluff across the creek; sending furtive, frightened -glances into the piñon grove. - -“Hello!” shouted Gary, going toward them. The cañon wall echoed the -shout. The two dropped their canteens and fled incontinently out -toward the open. Gary walked over to the pool, caught the two -canteen straps, filled the canteens and went after the men, -considerably puzzled. He came upon them at their camp, beside a -ten-foot ledge outcropping, a hundred yards or so below the pool. -They were standing by their horses, evidently debating the question -of moving on. - -“Here’s your canteens,” Gary announced as he walked up to them. -“What’s the big idea--running off like that?” - -“Hello,” one responded guardedly. “We don’t see who hollers. That’s -bad place. Don’t like ’m.” - -They were Indians, though by their look they might almost be -Mexicans. They were dressed much as Monty Girard had been clothed, -in blue overalls and denim jacket, with old gray Stetson hats and -coarse, sand-rusted shoes. - -Gary lowered the canteens to the ground beside their little camp -fire and got out his tobacco and papers, while he looked the two -over. - -“So you think it’s a bad place, do you? Is that why you camp out -here?” - -“Them cañon no good,” stated the other Indian, speaking for the -first time. “Too much holler all time no see ’m. That’s bad luck.” - -“You mean the man up on the bluff, that hollers so much?” Gary eyed -them interestedly. “Who is he? You fellows know anything about it?” - -They looked at one another and muttered some Indian words. The old -man began to unpack the apathetic mule standing with dropped lip -behind the two saddle horses. - -“You know Monty Girard?” Gary asked, lighting his cigarette and -proffering his smoking material to the younger Indian when he saw an -oblique glance go hungrily to the smoke. - -“Yass! Monty Girard. His camp by Kawich,” the old man answered in a -tone of relief that the subject had changed. - -“Well, I don’t know where Kawich is--I’m a stranger in the country. -Seen him lately?” Gary waved his hand for the younger Indian to pass -the tobacco and papers to the older buck. “Seen Monty lately?” - -“Nah. We don’t see him, two months, maybe.” The old buck was trying -to conceal his pleasure over the tobacco. - -Gary thought of something. “You see any Walking X horses--work -horses, or saddle horses?” - -With characteristic Indian deliberation the two waited until their -cigarettes were going before either replied. Then the old man, -taking his time in the telling, informed Gary that the horses were -ranging about ten miles to the east of Johnnywater, and that they -were watering at a small spring called Deer Lick. It occurred to -Gary that he might be able to hire these Indians to run in the -horses so that he could have a saddle horse at least and be less at -the mercy of chance. With a horse he could get out of the country -without Monty and the Ford, if worst came to worst. - -He squatted with the Indians in the shade of the ledge while they -waited for the water to boil in a bent galvanized bucket blackened -with the smoke of many camp fires, and set himself seriously to the -business of winning their confidence. They were out of tobacco, and -Gary had plenty, which helped the business along amazingly. He -caught himself wishing they wore the traditional garb of the redman, -which would have been picturesque and satisfying. But these Piutes -were merely unkempt and not at all interesting, except that their -speech was clipped to absolutely essential words. They were stodgy -and apathetic, except toward the tobacco. He found that they could -dicker harder than a white man. - -They wanted ten dollars for driving in his horses, and even then -they made it plain to Gary that the price did not include getting -them into the corral. For ten dollars they would bring the horses -right there to the mouth of the cañon. - -“Not go in,” the old man stipulated. “Bring ’m here, this place. Not -corral. No. No more. You take my horse, drive ’m to corral. I wait -here.” - -Gary knew a little about Indians, and at the moment he did not ask -for a reason. The corral was not a quarter of a mile farther on; as -a matter of fact it was just beyond the cabin at the edge of the -grove of piñons. - -Faith came out from a clutter of rocks and hopped into Gary’s arms, -purring and rubbing herself against him. The Piutes eyed the cat -askance. - -“B’long ’m Steve Carson, them cat,” the young Indian stated -abruptly. “You ain’t scare them cat bad luck?” - -Gary laughed. “No--I’m not afraid of the cat. Faith and I get along -pretty well. Belongs to a Steve Carson, you say? I thought this was -Waddell’s cat. It was left here when Waddell sold out.” - -They deliberated upon this, as was their way. “Waddell sell this -place?” The old Indian turned his head and looked into the cañon. -“Hunh. You buy ’m?” - -“No. A friend of mine bought it. I came here to see if it’s any -good.” Gary began to feel as if he were making some headway at last. - -They smoked stolidly. - -“No good.” The old man carefully rubbed the ash from his cigarette. -“Bad spirits. You call ’m bad luck.” He looked at Gary searchingly. -“You hear ’m holler?” - -Gary grinned. “Somebody hollers about half the time. Who is it?” - -The two looked at each other queerly. It was the younger one who -spoke. - -“Them’s ghos’. When Steve go, comes holler. Nobody holler when -Steve’s all right. Five year them ghos’ holler. Same time Steve go. -Nobody ketchum Steve. Nobody stop holler.” - -“Well, that’s a heck of a note!” Gary smoothed the cat’s back -mechanically and tried to laugh. “So the Voice is Steve Carson’s -ghost, you think? And what happened to Steve?” - -“Dunno. Don’ nobody know. Steve, he makes them shack. Got cattle, -got horses, got chickens. Mine a little, mebby. One time my brother -she go there. No ketchum Steve Carson no place. Hears all time -holler up there. My brother holler. Thinks that’s Steve, mebby. My -brother wait damn long time. Steve don’t come. All time them holler -up on hill. My brother thinks Steve’s hurt, mebby. My brother goes. -Hunts damn long time. Looks all over. No ketchum Steve. My brother -scare, you bet! - -“My brother comes my place. Tells Steve Carson, he’s hurt, hollers -all time. Tells no ketchum Steve no place. I go, my father goes. -Other mans go. Hunt damn long time. Nobody hollers. No ketchum Steve -Carson. Saddle in shed, wagon by tree, canteens hang up, beans on -stove--burnt like hell. Them cat holler all time. - -“By ’m by we go. Hunt two days, then go. We get on horses, then -comes holler like hell up on hill. Get off horses. Hunt some more. -All night. No ketchum holler. No ketchum Steve no place. Them cat go -‘Yeouw! Yeouw!’ all time like hell. - -“My brother, she’s damn ’fraid for ghos’. My brother gets on horse -and goes away from that place. Pretty soon my brother dies. That’s -five years we don’t find Steve Carson. All them time holler comes -sometimes. This place bad luck. Injuns don’t come here no more, you -bet. We come here now little while when sun shines. Comes night time -it’s damn bad place. You hear them hollers you don’t get scared?” It -would seem that Gary’s assertion had not quite convinced them. The -young Indian was plainly skeptical. According to the judgment of his -tribe, it was scarcely decent for a man to foregather with ghosts -and feel no fear. - -The mottled cat squirmed out of Gary’s embrace and went bounding -away among the rocks. The eyes of the Indians followed it -inscrutably. The old man got up, clawed in his pack, pulled out a -dirty cloth in which something was tied. He opened the small bundle, -scooped a handful of tea and emptied it into the bucket of boiling -water. The young man opened a savage-looking pocket knife and began -cutting thick slices of salt pork. The old Indian brought a dirty -frying pan to the fire. - -Gary leaned against the rock ledge and watched them interestedly. -After so long an exile from all human intercourse, even two grimy -Piutes meant much to him in the way of companionship. They talked -little while they were preparing the meal. And when they ate, -squatting on their heels and spearing pork from the frying pan with -the points of their big jackknives, and folding the pieces around -fragments of hard, untempting bannock, they said nothing at all. -Gary decided that eating was a serious business with them and was -not to be interrupted by anything so trivial as conversation. - -He wanted to hear more about the Johnnywater ghost and about Steve -Carson. But the Piutes evidently considered the subject closed, and -he could get nothing more out of them. He suspected that he had his -sack of Bull Durham to thank for the unusual loquacity while they -smoked. - -After they had eaten they led their horses up to the pool and let -them drink their fill. After that they mounted and rode away, in -spite of Gary’s urging them to camp where they were until they had -brought in the Walking X horses. They would go back, they said, to -Deer Lick and camp there for the night. In the morning they would -round up his horses and drive them over to Johnnywater. - -Gary was not quite satisfied with the arrangement, but they had -logic on their side so far as getting the horses was concerned. -Their own mounts would be fresh in the morning for the work they had -to do. But the thing Gary hated most was their flat refusal to spend -a night at Johnnywater Cañon. - - - - - CHAPTER ELEVEN - - “HOW WILL YOU TAKE YOUR MILLIONS?” - - - “Johnnywater Cañon, - “On a Dark and Gloomy Night. - -“My Princess Pat: - -“You are the possessor of a possession of which you wittest not. You -have a ghost. Wire Conan Doyle, Sir Oliver Lodge and others of their -ilk. Ask them what is the best recipe for catching a Voice. The gink -up on the bluff that does so much vocal practice is not a gink--he’s -a spook. He’s up there vocaling right now, doing his spookish -heckest to give me the willies. - -“Pat, did you send me out here just from curiosity, to see if I’d go -goofy? Tut, tut! This is no place for a flabby-souled young man; -broad shoulders, my dear girl, don’t amount to a darn in grappling -with a man-size Voice. I believe you did, you little huzzy. I -remember you distinctly mentioned howling on a hill, and my sitting -in the cabin listening to it. Great idea you had. I’m sitting here -listening. What am I supposed to do next? - -“You also indicated business of listening to a horse champing hay in -a stable. Well, I have a horse at last, but the property man -overlooked the sod-roofed stable. Not having the prop in which my -horse should champ, he’s picketed up the cañon, and he’s supposed to -be champing sagebrush or grass or something. He isn’t doing it -though. He absolutely refuses to follow direction. He’s up there -going ‘MMMH-_hmmm-Hmmm_-hm-hm-hm!!!!’ I’m sorry, Pat, but that’s -exactly what he’s doing--as close as it can be put into human -spelling. He can’t feature this cañon, honey. I suspect he’s flabby -souled, too. - -“He wants to chase off with the rest of the bunch about ten or -fifteen miles. Nobody loves this cañon except the psychic cat and -the two pigs. And the pigs don’t love it any more; not since I made -a rock corral and waylaid the little devils when they went snooping -in there after some stuff I put in a trough. I baited the trap, you -see--oh, this gigantic brain of mine has been hitting on all two -cylinders lately!--and then I hid. Lizards crawled over me, and the -sun blistered the back of my neck while I waited for those two -brutes to walk into the foreground. Animal pictures are hard to get, -as you may have heard while you were enduring a spasm of Handsome -Gary’s shop talk. Cut. Iris in Gary sneaking up with the board gate -he’d artcrafted the day before. So the pigs don’t love Handsome Gary -any more, and they’re spending most of their spare time talking -about me behind my back and hunting for a soft place where they can -run a drift under my perfectly nice rock fence, and then stope up to -the surface and beat it, registering contempt. I’ll call ’em shoats -if they don’t behave. - -“I scythed some alfalfa to-day, Pat. Put on a swell rural comedy, -featuring Handsome Gary making side-swipes at his heels. It was a -scream, I reckon. But I came within an inch of scything Faith, only -she’s a wizard at jumping over rocks and things, and she did as -pretty a side-slip as you ever saw, and made her get-away. I’ve -wondered since--would I have had two pinto cats, or only one psychic -Voice? I mean one more psychic Voice. This one up on the bluff used -to belong to Steve Carson, according to the yarn the Piutes told me. -He’d have made a great director, if the rest of him measured up to -his lung power. The Piutes say he faded out very mysteriously, five -years ago, leaving his holler behind him. I’m afraid folks didn’t -like him very well. At any rate his Voice is darned unpopular. I -can’t say it makes any great hit with me, either. Though it’s not so -bad, at that. The main trouble seems to be not having any man to go -with the Voice. The Piutes couldn’t feature it at all. They wouldn’t -drive the horses into the corral, even. I had to double for them -when they got the bunch down there at the mouth of the cañon. Jazzed -around for two hours on an Injun pony with a gait like a pile -driver, getting your horses into your corral. You seem to have four -or five fair imitations, Pat. The rest are the bunk, if you ask me. -Not broken and not worth breaking. Don’t even look good to eat. - -“There is one work team which I mean to give a try-out when I put on -my character part entitled, Making Hay Whether the Sun Shines or -Not. They have collar marks, and they’re old enough to be my dad’s -wedding team. Lips hang down like a mule, and hollows over their -eyes you could drop an egg in. I hate to flatter you, kid, but your -horse herd, take it by and large, is not what I’d be proud of. -You’re a wonderful girl--you got stung in several places at once. - -“Haven’t seen anything yet of Monty Girard. Can’t think what’s the -matter, unless that savage Ford of his attacked him when he wasn’t -looking. It will be just as well now if he holds off till I get your -alfalfa cut and stacked. I’ll have a merry heck of a time doing it -alone. There’s about four acres, I should judge. To-morrow morning I -start in and do a one-step around the patch with that cussed scythe. -You needn’t think it’s going to be funny--not for Handsome Gary. I -tried to get the youngest Piute to double for me in the part, but -nothing doing. ‘Them holler no good,’ is what he said. Funny--I kinda -feel that way myself. Money wouldn’t tempt ’em. He spoke well of -Steve Carson, too; but he sure as heck don’t like his voice. - -“What would you say, kid, if I found you a mine in here? I’ve had -the strongest hunch--I can’t explain it. I keep thinking there’s a -mine up on the bluff where that Voice is. I suppose I can trace the -idea back to that porphyry float I picked up the day after I landed -here. I found another piece yesterday, lying out here behind the -cabin. It must have been packed in from somewhere else. Pretty -rich-looking rock, kid. If I could find enough of that, you wouldn’t -need to pound out invoices and gol-darned letters about horse feed -and what to wean calves on. You could have a white mansion topping -that hill of ours, where we climb up and sit under the oak while we -build our air castles. Will we ever again? You feel farther away -than the sun, kid. I have to write just to keep my thoughts from -growing numb with the damned chill of this place. You know--I wrote -it down before. It’s hell to be wondering what you’d see if you -looked around.... - -“Well, if I find you a mine you can have your mansion on the hill. -Because, if the mine stacked up like the rock I found, you could -carry a million dollars around with you careless-like for spending -money--street-car fare, you know, and a meal at the cafeteria, and -such luxuries. And if your pocket was picked or your purse snatched -or anything, you could wave your hand airily and say, ‘Oh, that’s -all right. I’ve hundreds of millions more at home!’ How’d you like -that, old girl? - -“Because I mortared a piece of that rock and panned it. It was rich, -Pat--so darned rich it scared me for a minute. I thought I had a bad -case of Desert Rat’s Delusion. I wouldn’t tell you this, kid, if I -ever meant to send the letter. I’m just writing to please myself, -not you. No, sir, I wouldn’t tell you a word about it. I’d just go -ahead and open up the mine--after I’d found it--and get about a -million dollars on the dump before I let a yip out of me. Then maybe -I’d send you word through your lawyer saying ‘I begged to inform you -that I had dug you a million dollars, and how would you have it?’ -Golly grandma, if I could only find the ledge that rock came from! - -“You know, Pat, you got me all wrong that night. What made me so -doggoned sore was to think how you’d handed over five thousand -dollars to a gink, just on the strength of his say-so. It showed on -the face of it that it was no investment for you to make. It wasn’t -that I am so stuck on the movies. Heck knows I’m not. But I sure am -stuck on the job that will pay me the money I can get from working -in the movies. I’ll rent my profile any time--for a hundred dollars a -day, and as much more as I can get. That’s what the contract would -have paid me the first year, Pat, and double that the second if I -made good. So I was dead willing to put paint on my eyebrows and -paint on my lips, and let my profile--if you insist that’s all I got -over on the screen--earn a little home for my Princess Pat and me. - -“But if I could find a mine to match that chunk of rock, the studios -would never see Handsome Gary--never no more. I’d kiss my own girl on -the lips--for love. Honest, Pat, those kisses, that looked so real on -the screen and made you so sore, were awfully faked. I never told -you. I guess I’m a mean cuss. But I never touched a girl’s lips, -Lady, after I met you. I had one alibi guaranteed never to slip. I -told ’em, one and all, confidentially before we went into the scene, -that they could trust me. I swore I’d remember and not smear their -lips all over their cheeks. I said I knew girls hated that, and I’d -be careful. Then it was up to me to do some plain and fancy faking. -And when my Lady Patricia put up her chin and registered supreme -indifference, it always tickled me to see how well I’d put it over. -I always meant to tell you some time, girlie. - -“I had a wild idea when I left the city that I’d maybe write down a -story I’d been framing in my mind when I was on location and waiting -between scenes. I told Mills just enough of it to get him curious to -hear the rest. He told me to write it out in scenario form and if it -was good he’d see that the company bought it. That would have been a -couple of hundred more toward our home, kid. The point is, I laid in -a lot of paper. Now that darn story’s gone stale on me and I’m using -up the paper writing letters to you that you’ll never read. As a -little blond jane in our company was always saying, ‘Isn’t life a -perfect _scream_?’ I’ll say it is. - - “Your Grouchy Gary.” - - - - - CHAPTER TWELVE - - MONTY APPEARS - - -Monty Girard, mounted on a lean-flanked sorrel, came jogging up the -trail into Johnnywater Cañon. His eyes, that managed to see -everything within their range of vision, roved questingly here and -there through the grove, seeking some sign of the fastidiously -tailored young man he had left there two weeks before. His horse -went single-footing up to the cabin and stopped when Monty lifted -his rein hand as a signal. - -“Hello!” Monty shouted buoyantly, for all he had just finished a -twenty-mile ride through desert heat. He waited a minute, got no -reply, and dismounted. - -He pushed open the door and went in, his eyes betraying a shade of -anxiety. The cabin was clean, blankets spread smoothly on the bunk. -He lifted a square of unbleached cloth that had once been a flour -sack which covered sugar, salt, pepper, condensed milk and four tin -teaspoons, lately scoured until they almost shone, leaning bowls up -in an empty milk can. Also a white enameled bowl two thirds full of -dried apples and raisins stewed together. Monty heaved a sigh of -relief. The movie star was evidently keeping house just like a -human. - -Monty went out and stood at the corner of the cabin near the horse. -There was nothing the matter with his lungs, but the rest of him was -tired. He hunted Gary by the simplest means at his command. That is, -he cupped his palms around his mouth, curved his spine inward, -planted his feet rather far apart, and sent a loud “Hello!” echoing -through the cañon. - -The thin-flanked sorrel threw up its head violently and backed, -stepped on the dragging reins and was brought up short. Monty -turned, picked up the reins and drawled a reproof before he called -again. Four times he shouted and proceeded then to unsaddle. If the -movie star were anywhere within Johnnywater Cañon he could not fail -to know that he had a caller come to see him. - -Five minutes later Monty glanced up and stared with his mouth -slightly open. Gary was sneaking around the corner of the cabin with -raised pitchfork in his hands and a glitter in his eyes. When he saw -who it was, Gary lowered the pitchfork and grinned sheepishly. - -“When you holler hello in this cañon, _smile_!” he paraphrased -whimsically, and drew his shirt sleeve across his forehead. “Thought -I’d landed that trick Voice at last. Well, darn it, how are you?” - -“All right,” Monty grinned slowly, “if you just put down that hay -fork. What’s the matter? You gittin’ like Waddell?” - -Gary leaned the pitchfork against the cabin. He pushed his hair back -from his forehead with a gesture familiar to audiences the country -over. - -“By heck, I hope not,” he exclaimed brusquely. “I’d given up looking -for you, Monty. And that cussed Voice sounded to me like it had -slipped. I’ve got used to it up on the hill, but I sure as heck will -take a fall out of it if it comes hollering around my humble -hang-out. Where’s the Ford?” - -Monty pulled saddle and blanket together from the back of the -sorrel, leaving the wet imprint shining in the sun. The sorrel -twitched its hide as the air struck through the moisture coldly. - -“Well, now, the old Ford’s done been cremated ever since the night I -left here,” Monty informed him pensively. “Yuh-all recollect we had -quite a wind from the west that night. Anyway, it blowed hard over -to my camp. I started a fire and never thought a word about the Ford -being on the lee side of camp, so first I knew the whole top of the -car was afire. I just had time to give her a start down the hill -away from camp before the gas tank blowed up. So that left me afoot, -except for a saddle horse or two. Then I had some ridin’ to do off -over the other way. And I knew yuh had grub enough to last a month -or two, so I didn’t hurry right over like I would have done if -yuh-all needed anything.” His keen eyes dwelt upon Gary’s face with -unobtrusive attention. - -The young movie star, he thought, had changed noticeably. He was a -shade browner, a shade thinner, more than a shade less immaculate. -Monty observed that he was wearing a pair of Waddell’s old trousers, -tucked into a pair of Waddell’s high-laced boots with the heels worn -down to half their height, the result of climbing over rocks. Gary’s -shirt was open with a deep V turned in at the collar, disclosing a -neck which certain sentimental extra girls at the studio had likened -to that of a Greek god. Gary’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. -He looked, in short, exactly as any upstanding city chap looks when -he is having the time of his life in the country, wearing old -clothes--the older, the better suited to his mood--and roughing it -exuberantly. - -Yet there was a difference. Exuberant young fellows from the city -seldom have just that look in the eyes, or those lines at the -corners of the mouth. Monty unconsciously adopted a faintly -solicitous tone. - -“How yuh-all been making it, anyway?” he asked, watching Gary roll a -cigarette. - -“Finest ever!” Gary declared cheerfully, lighting a match with his -thumb nail, a trick he had learned from an old range man because it -lent an effective touch sometimes to his acting. - -“A couple of Piutes happened along the other day, and I had them run -in the horses for me. Thought I’d keep up a saddle horse so I could -round up a team of work horses when I get ready to haul the hay.” He -blew a mouthful of smoke and gave a short laugh. “I’m a heck of a -stock hand for a gink that was born on a horse ranch.” He blew -another mouthful of smoke deliberately, not at all conscious that he -was making what is termed a dramatic pause, nor that he was making -it with good effect. “I owe Pat Connolly,” he said slowly, “a cheap -saddle horse. I’m glad Pat hadn’t learned to love that scrawny bay. -Where can I get a horse for about a dollar and six bits?” - -Monty eyed him dubiously. “Yuh-all mean yuh lost a hawse?” - -“No-o, I didn’t exactly _lose_ a horse. It died.” Gary sat down in -the doorway and folded his arms upon his knees. - -“I ought to have had more sense,” he sighed, “than to stake him out -so close to the shed where the sack of grain was. I sort of knew -that rolled barley is not good as an exclusive diet for horses. I -had a heck of a job,” he added complainingly, “digging a hole big -enough to plant him in.” - -Monty swore sympathetically; and after the manner of men the world -over, related sundry misfortunes of his own by way of giving -comfort. Gary listened, made profane ejaculations in the proper -places, and otherwise deported himself agreeably. But when Monty -ceased speaking while he attended to the serious business of -searching his most inaccessible pockets for a match, Gary broached a -subject altogether foreign to Monty’s plaintive reminiscences. - -“Say, Monty! Was Waddell tall and kind of stoop-shouldered and bald -under his hat? And did he have blue eyes and a kind of sandy -complexion and lips rather thin--but pleasant, you know; and did he -always wear an old gray Stetson and khaki pants tucked into boots -like these?” - -Monty found the match, in his shirt pocket after all. A shadow -flicked across his face. Perhaps even Monty Girard had an instinct -for dramatic pauses and hated to see one fall flat. - -“Naw. Waddell wasn’t a very tall man and he was dark complected; the -sallow kind of dark. His eyes was dark, too.” He examined the match -rather carefully, as if he were in some doubt as to its proper use. -He decided to light it and lifted a foot deliberately, so that he -might draw the match sharply across the sole. - -“That description of yours,” he said, flipping the match stub away -from him and watching to see just where it landed, “tallies up with -Steve Carson. Yuh ain’t----” He turned his head and regarded curiously -the Gary Marshall profile, which at that moment was absolutely -impassive. “It was Steve cut the logs and built this cabin,” he -finished lamely. - -Gary unfolded his arms and stretched his legs out straight before -him. “What happened to this Steve Carson?” he asked innocently. “Did -he sell out to Waddell?” - -Monty smoked absent-mindedly, one spurred heel digging a little -trench in the dirt. - -“That’s Steve’s cat,” he observed irrelevantly, glancing up as Faith -came out of the bushes, picking her way carefully amongst the small -rocks that littered the dooryard. - -“Uh-huh.” Gary drew up his legs and clasped his hands around his -knees. “If this Steve Carson didn’t sell out to Waddell, then where -does Waddell come into the scene? Did Steve Carson give the darned -thing away?” - -Monty leaned forward, inspecting the small trench his spur had dug. -Very carefully he began to rake the dirt back into it. - -“It ain’t gettin’ yuh, is it?” He did not look up when he asked the -question. He was painstakingly patting the dirt smooth with the toe -of his boot. - -“_Getting_ me! Hell!” said Gary. - -“It got Waddell--bad,” drawled Monty, biting a corner of his lip. -“That’s why he sold out. It was gettin’ him. Bad.” Having filled the -trench and patted the dirt smooth, Monty straightway began to dig -another trench beside it. - -“What is there to get a fellow?” Gary looked challengingly at Monty. -“I’ve stayed with it two weeks, and I haven’t been got yet.” He -laughed a little. “The Piutes told me a man disappeared here and -left his Voice behind him. Of course that’s Injun talk. What’s the -straight of it, Monty?” - -“Well--nobody ever called me superstitious yet,” Monty grinned, “but -that’s about the size of it. Steve Carson came up missing. Since -then, there’s that Voice. I know it started in right away. I was -over here helping hunt for him, and I heard it. Some says Steve went -loco and tried to walk out. If he did, he left mighty onexpected, -and he didn’t take anything at all with him. Not even a canteen, far -as I could see. He had two, I know--and they was both hangin’ on the -same nail beside the door. Uh course, he might a had another one--I -hadn’t been over to Johnnywater for a coupla months, till I come -over to see what was wrong. I was scoutin’ around the country for a -week or more, tryin’ to get some trace of him.” - -Having completed the second trench, Monty filled that one as -carefully as he had filled the first. Abruptly he looked at Gary. -“Yuh-all ain’t--_seen_ anything, have yuh?” - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - - “I DON’T BELIEVE IN SPOOKS” - - -A silence significant, almost sinister, fell. Gary rose from the -doorsill, took a restless step or two and turned, so that he faced -Monty, and the open doorway. He looked past Monty, into the cabin. A -quick glance, almost a furtive one. Then he laughed, meeting Monty’s -inquiring eyes mockingly. - -“Seen anything? No. Nothing I shouldn’t see, at least. Why?” He -laughed again, a mirthless kind of laugh. “Did Waddell throw in a -spook along with the Voice?” - -“Waddy got powerful oneasy,” Monty observed, choosing his words with -some care. “Waddy claimed he seen Steve Carson frequent. I didn’t -know----Say! Did the Piutes tell yuh-all how Steve Carson looked?” - -Gary’s eyes slid away from Monty’s searching look. - -“No. I didn’t ask. I just got a notion that Waddell maybe looked -like that.” He lifted his chin, his glance once more passing Monty -by to go questing within the cabin. - -“I don’t believe in spooks,” he stated clearly, a defiant note -creeping into his voice in spite of him. “That’s the bunk. When -people start seeing spooks, it’s time they saw a doctor and had -their heads X-rayed. I’ll tell you what I think, Monty. I think that -when we check out, we stay _out_. Get me? I can’t feature giving -death all these encores--when, damn it, the audience is sitting -hunched down into its chairs with its hands over its faces, afraid -to look. If we clapped and stamped and whistled to get ’em out -before the curtain, then I’d say they had some excuse. - -“I tell you, Monty, I’ve got a lot of respect for the way this Life -picture is being directed. And it don’t stand to reason that a -director who’s on to his job is going to let a character that was -killed off in the first reel come slipping back into the film in the -fourth reel. I know what _that_ would mean at Cohen’s. It would mean -that some one in the cutting room would get the gate. No, sir, -that’s bad technique--and the Big Director up there won’t stand for -any cut-backs that don’t help the story along.” His eyes left -Monty’s face to send another involuntary glance through the open -door. “So all this hokum about ghosts is pure rot to me.” - -“Well, I ain’t superstitious none myself,” Monty repeated somewhat -defensively. “I never seen anything--but one time I was here when -Waddy thought _he_ seen something. He tried to point it out to me. -But I couldn’t see nothin’. I reckon you’re right. And I’m shore -glad yuh-all feel that way.” - -The spotted cat, having dined well upon a kangaroo rat caught down -by the creek, was sitting near them calmly washing her face. She got -up, looked up into the open doorway, and mewed a greeting. Then she -trotted to meet--a memory, perhaps. She stopped three feet from the -doorstep and stood there purring, her body arched with a rubbing -movement. - -Monty Girard turned his head and stared at the cat over his -shoulder. Three deep creases formed between Gary’s eyebrows while he -also watched the pantomime. The cat turned, looked up ingratiatingly -(still, perhaps, clinging to a memory) and trotted away toward the -creek exactly as if she were following some one. Monty got up and -the eyes of the two men met unsmilingly. - -“Oh, heck,” said Gary, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on and see the -hay I’ve put up!” - -They walked in a constrained silence to the alfalfa field. Monty -cast a critical eye over the raggedy edge of the cutting. He grinned -slowly, tilting his head sidewise. - -“Whereabouts did yuh-all learn to swing a scythe?” he asked -banteringly. “I reckon yuh could do it a heap better on a hawse.” - -“But the darned horse idea blew up on me. Did the balloon stunt. You -get me, don’t you?” Gary’s laugh hinted at overstrained nerves. “I -wish you’d been here then, Monty. Why, I didn’t dig any grave. I had -to excavate a cellar to plant him in.” He waved a hand toward the -haycocks. “How do you like the decorations? You will observe that -they are somewhat larger than were being worn by meadows last year. -These are the new 1921 models, specially designed with the -stream-line effect, with a view to shedding rain. Also hail, snow -and any other form of moisture. They are particularly good where -horses are unavailable for hauling hay to a stack.” - -“I’ll run in the horses to-morrow,” Monty volunteered casually. “The -two of us together ought to get that hay hauled in a day, all right. -Spuds is lookin’ good. I reckon this ain’t your first attempt at -farming.” - -“The first and the last--I’ll tell a waiting world. Say, I forgot you -might be hungry. If this new hay won’t give your horse acute -gastritis, why not tie him down by the cabin and carry him a forkful -or two? I can’t feature this corral stuck off here by itself where -we can’t keep an eye on it. Still, if you say it’s all right, we’ll -put him in.” - -Monty said it was all right, and Gary did not argue. His spirits had -reacted to the stimulus of Monty’s presence, and he was conscious -now and then of a heady feeling, as if he had been drinking -champagne. His laughter was a bit too frequent, a shade too loud to -be perfectly normal. The mental pendulum, having been tilted too far -in one direction, was swinging quite as far the other way in an -effort to adjust itself to normalcy. - -Monty Girard was not of an analytical temperament, though -circumstance had forced him to observe keenly as a matter of -self-protection. He apprehended Gary’s mood sufficiently to let him -set the tempo of their talk. Gary, he remembered, had been two weeks -alone in Johnnywater Cañon. By his own account he was wholly -unaccustomed to isolation of any degree. Monty, therefore, accepted -Gary’s talkative mood as a perfectly natural desire to make up for -lost time. - -But there was a reserve in Gary’s talk, nevertheless, an invisible -boundary which he would not pass and which held Monty Girard within -certain well-defined conversational limits. It seemed to pass -directly through Gary’s life at Johnnywater, and to shut off -completely the things which Monty wanted most to know. Of all the -trivial, surface incidents of those two weeks, Gary talked -profusely. His amusing efforts to corral the pigs and keep them -there; his corraling of the horses on the old Piute’s hard-gaited -pony; his rural activities with hoe and irrigating shovel; all these -things he described in great detail. But of his mental life in the -cañon he would not speak. - -But Monty Girard was observing, and he watched Gary rather closely -during the three days which he spent at Johnnywater. He saw Gary’s -lips tighten when, on the second evening just after supper, the -Voice shouted unexpectedly from high up on the bluff. He saw a -certain look creep into Gary’s eyes, and the three little creases -show themselves suddenly between his eyebrows. But the next moment -Gary was looking at Monty and laughing as though he had not heard -the Voice. - -Monty Girard, having eyes that saw nearly everything that came -within their range of vision, saw also this: He saw Gary frequently -rise, walk across the cabin and stand with his back leaning against -the wall, facing the place where he had been sitting. He would -continue his laughing monologue, perhaps--but his eyes would glance -now and then with reluctance toward that place, as if he were -testing an impression. After a bit of that, Gary would return and -sit down again, resuming his old careless manner. The strange, -combative look would leave his eyes and his forehead would smooth -itself. - -Gary never spoke of these things, and Monty Girard respected his -silence. But he felt that, although he knew just what the pigs had -done and how long it took to corral the horses and how many blisters -it took to “scythe” the hay, he would remain in ignorance of Gary’s -real life in Johnnywater Cañon, the life that was changing him -imperceptibly but nevertheless as surely as old age creeps upon a -man who has passed the peak of his activities. - -“Yuh-all better ride on over with me to my camp and stop there till -you get a chance to ride in to town,” Monty said, when they were -unhooking the team from the hay wagon after hauling in the last load -of alfalfa. “Yuh can turn the pigs loose again and let ’em take -their chances on the coyotes, same as they was doin’ when yuh come. -Some one’s liable to come drivin’ in to my camp any day. But,” he -added significantly, “yuh’ll set a long time before anybody comes to -Johnnywater.” - -“That’s all right,” Gary said easily, pulling the harness off the -horse he was attending to, and beginning to unbuckle the collar -strap, stiff and unruly from disuse. “I’ll just stick here for -awhile, anyway. Er--the potatoes need a lot of man-with-the-hoe -business.” His fingers tugged at the collar strap. He would not look -up from his work, though he knew that Monty was eyeing him steadily -over the sweaty backs of the horses. - -“I’d kill that damned cat if I was you,” Monty exploded with a venom -altogether foreign to his natural manner. “Waddy’d never let it near -the house. He never did and I never knowed why till the other day.” - -Gary had one expression which usually silenced all argument. -Patricia called it his stubborn smile. Dead men who have gone out -fighting sometimes wear that same little smile frozen immutably upon -their features. It was that smile which answered Monty Girard. - -Monty looked at him again, puzzled and more than slightly uneasy. - -“Yuh better come along with me,” he said again, persuasively, as one -urges the sick to follow the doctor’s orders. - -“No--I think I’ll just stick around for awhile.” Having removed the -collar, Gary gave the horse a slap on the shoulder that sent it off -seeking a soft spot on which to roll. - -“Well, for God’s sake, kill that cat! By gosh, it’s enough to drive -a fellow crazy. It’s wrong in the head and--and yuh know it might -have hydrophoby.” - -Gary laughed. “Why, I couldn’t keep house without the pinto cat! -That’s great business. Furnishes atmosphere and--er--entertainment.” - -It was perfectly apparent that Gary had some secret reason for -staying. Something which he would not tell Monty Girard, although -the two had become rather good friends. Monty’s face clouded; but -Gary slapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. - -“Tell you what you do, old fellow. You draw me a map so I can find -my way over to your place later on. And if one of these horses is -any good under the saddle, I’ll keep him in the corral so I’ll have -something to ride. Now I’ve got hay, the beggar ought to make out -all right.” - -Monty had to be content with that and rode away to his own camp -somewhat reluctantly, leaving Gary standing in the doorway of the -cabin, his hands braced against the frame on either side, smoking -and staring after him a bit wistfully. - - - - - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - - PATRICIA REGISTERS FURY - - -Patricia waited a week. One day at the office when she happened to -be alone for half an hour, she jerked the telephone hook off its -shelf and looked up Cohen’s studio number. Inwardly she was furious. -She would be a long time forgiving Gary for forcing her to speak the -first word. She could see no possible excuse for such behavior, and -her voice, when she spoke into the mouthpiece, was coldly -impersonal. - -“Will you please tell me where I can get into touch with Mr. Mills’ -company?” Patricia might have been calling up the freight office to -put a tracer on a lost shipment of ground barley. - -“Mr. Mills’ company is out on location,” replied a voice which -Patricia mentally dubbed snippy. - -“I asked you where I could get in touch with Mr. Mills’ company. -This is important.” Patricia spoke into a dead telephone. The snippy -one in Cohen’s office had hung up. - -While Patricia was still furious, she wrote a note to Gary. And, -since her chin had squared itself and her head ached and she hated -her job and the laundry had lost the collar to her favorite vestee, -Patricia’s note read like this: - - “Los Angeles, Calif. - “June 17, 1921. - - “Gary Herbert Marshall, - “Cohen’s Studio, - “Hollywood, Calif. - - “Dear Sir: - - “Kindly return the papers which you carried - off with you a week ago last night. - - “Very truly, - “P. Connolly.” - -Patricia mailed this letter along with a dozen invoices, fourteen -“please remits” and a letter to the main office in Kansas City. She -felt better after she had poked it into the mail box. She could even -contemplate buying a new vestee set without calling the laundry -names. - -Patricia waited a week and then called Cohen’s studio again. She was -quite prepared for another snub, and perhaps that is the reason why -she got it. Mr. Mills’ company was on location; and Patricia could -believe that or not, just as she chose. Patricia did not believe it. -She barked a request for Mr. Gary Marshall. - -“We do not deliver telephone messages to actors,” the snippy one -informed Patricia superciliously, and hung up before Patricia could -enunciate the scathing retort she had ready. - -That night at seven o’clock Patricia called Gary’s apartment. Her -mood was such, when she dialed the number, that a repair man had to -come the next day and replace a broken spring in the instrument. She -held the receiver to her ear a full five minutes and listened to the -steady drone of the bell calling Gary. Had Gary been there to -answer, he would have had a broken engagement within five minutes to -hold him awake nights. - -After awhile little Pat Connolly wiped the tears of rage from her -eyes and called the landlady of Gary’s apartment. - -The landlady assured her that Mr. Marshall hadn’t been near the -place for two weeks. At least, she had not seen him. He might have -come in late and gone out early--a good many of her tenants did--and -in that case she wouldn’t be so apt to see him. But she hadn’t -noticed him around last Sunday, and most generally she did see him -Sundays because he slept late and if she didn’t see him she was -pretty sure to hear his voice in the hall speaking to some one. She -could always tell Mr. Marshall’s voice as far as she could hear it, -it was so pleasant---- - -“Oh, my good heavens!” gritted Patricia and followed the example of -the snippy office girl at Cohen’s. She hung up while the landlady -was still talking. Which was not polite of Patricia, but excusable. - -Well, perhaps Gary was out on location. But that seemed strange, -because even after quarrels Gary had never failed to call Patricia -up and let her know that he was leaving town. After quarrels his -voice would be very cool and dignified, it is true; but nevertheless -he had never before failed to let her know that he was leaving town. - -Patricia spent another week in mentally reviewing that last evening -with Gary and in justifying herself for everything she had said to -him. Gary really did need to be told the plain truth, and she had -told him. If he wanted to go away and nurse his injured vanity and -sulk, that merely proved how much he had needed the plain truth told -him. - -She waited until Friday morning. On Friday, because she had not -heard from Gary, and because she had lain awake Thursday night -telling herself that she was thankful she had found him out in time, -and that it didn’t make a particle of difference to her whether she -ever heard from him or not, Patricia manufactured an errand down -town for her employers. Because she was a conscientious young woman -she attended to the manufactured errand first. Immediately -thereafter she marched into the branch office of the _Examiner_. - -In years Patricia’s chin had never looked so square. She was not in -the habit of wetting her pencil, but now she stood at the ad -counter, licked an indelible pencil defiantly, and wrote this, so -emphatically that the pad was marked with the imprint of the letters -seven pages deep: - - WANTED: Man to take charge of small cattle ranch in - Nevada. Open range, living springs, imp. Completely - furnished on shares. Phone 11270 Sun. - -Patricia read this over twice with her lips buttoned in tightly. -Then she licked the pencil again--indelibly marking her pink tongue -for an inch down the middle--and inserted just before the ’phone -number, the word “_permanent_” and drew two lines underneath for -emphasis. This was meant as a trenchant warning to Gary Marshall -that he need not trouble himself any further concerning Patricia’s -investment nor about Patricia herself, for that matter. - -Patricia paid the display ad rate and marched out, feeling as -irrevocably committed to cynical maidenhood as if she had taken the -veil. Men as such were weak, vain creatures who thought to hold the -heart of a woman in the curve of an eyelash. Meaning, needless to -say, Gary Marshall’s eyelash which should _not_ longer hold the -heart of Patricia Connolly. - -Patricia’s telephone began ringing at six o’clock on Sunday morning -and continued ringing spasmodically until ten minutes past twelve, -when Patricia dropped the receiver off the hook and let it dangle, -thereby giving the busy signal whenever 11270 was dialed. - -For six hours and ten minutes Patricia had felt a definite sinking -sensation in her chest when a strange voice came to her over the -’phone. She would have wanted to murder any one who so much as -hinted that she hoped to hear Gary say expostulatingly, “For heck’s -sake, Pat, what’s the big idea of this ad? I can’t _feature_ it!” - -Had she heard that, Patricia would have gloried in telling him, with -the voice that went with the square chin, that she was sorry, but -the place was already taken. Then she would have hung up and waited -until he recovered from that wallop and called again. Then--well, -Patricia had not decided definitely just what she would do, except -that she was still firmly resolved upon being an old maid. - -At seven o’clock in the morning the first man called to see her. -Patricia was ready for him, clothed in her office tailored suit and -her office manner. The man’s name was Hawkins, and he seemed much -surprised to find that a young woman owned the “small cattle ranch -in Nevada.” - -Hawkins informed Patricia, in the very beginning of their -conversation, that he was a fair man who never yet had cheated any -one out of a nickel. He said that if anything he was too honest, and -that this was the reason why he hadn’t a ranch of his own and was -not independent. He said that he invariably let the other fellow -have the big end of a bargain, rather than have the load on his -conscience that he had possibly not been perfectly square. As to -cheating a woman, well, he hinted darkly that killing was too good -for any man who would take advantage of a woman in a business deal. -Hawkins was so homely that Patricia knew he must be honest as he -said he was. She believed practically everything he said, and by -eight o’clock on a calm Sunday morning, P. Connolly and James Blaine -Hawkins were partners in the ranch at Johnnywater. - -James Blaine Hawkins was so anxious that Patricia should have -practically all the profits in the deal, that he dictated terms -which he facetiously urged her never to tell on him; they were so -one-sided (Patricia’s side). Hawkins, in his altruistic -extravagance, had volunteered to devote his time, labor and long -experience in cattle raising, to almost the sole benefit of -Patricia. He was to receive merely two thirds of the increase in -stock, plus his living expenses. For good measure he proposed to -donate the use of his car, charging Patricia only for the gas and -oil. - -Patricia typed the agreement on her machine, using all the business -phrases she had learned from taking dictation in the office. The -document when finished was a beautiful piece of work, absolutely -letter perfect and profusely decorated with whereases, be it -therefore agreeds and--of course--hereofs, party of the first parts -and party of the second parts. Any lawyer would have gasped over the -reading. But James Blaine Hawkins considered it a marvelous piece of -work and said so. And Patricia was mightily pleased with herself and -drew a sigh of relief when James Blaine Hawkins had departed with a -signed copy of the Patricia-made AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT in his -pocket. Patricia held the original; held it literally for the next -two hours. She read it over and over and couldn’t see where one word -could be changed for the betterment of the document. - -“And what’s the use of haggling and talking and whittling sticks -over a simple thing like this?” Patricia asked a critical world. -“Mr. Hawkins knew what he wanted to do, and I knew what I wanted to -do--and talking for a week wouldn’t have accomplished anything at -all. And anyway, that’s settled, and I’ve got Johnnywater off my -mind for the next five years, thank Heaven. Gary Marshall can go on -smirking the rest of his life if he wants to. I’m sure it’s -absolutely immaterial to me.” - -Gary Marshall was so absolutely immaterial to Patricia that she -couldn’t sleep nights, but lay awake telling herself about his -absolute immateriality. She was so pleased over her agreement with -James Blaine Hawkins that her boss twice stopped his dictation to -ask her if she were sick or in trouble. On both occasions Patricia’s -glance turned him red in the face. And her “Certainly not” gave the -poor man a guilty feeling that he must have insulted her somehow. - -Patricia formed a habit of walking very fast from the car line to -Rose Court and of having the key to her mail box in her fingers when -she turned in from the street. But she absolutely did not want or -expect to receive a letter from Gary Marshall. - -Curiously, Cohen’s telephone number kept running through her mind -when her mind had every reason to be fully occupied with her work. -She even wrote “Hollywood 741” when she meant to write “Hollister, -Calif.” on a letter she was transcribing. The curious feature of -this freak of her memory is that Patricia could not remember firm -telephones that she used nearly every day, but was obliged to keep a -private list at her elbow for reference. - -Patricia did not call Hollywood 741. She did, however, write a -second stern request for her papers which Gary had taken away. - -On the heels of that, Patricia’s boss--a kindly man in gold-bowed -spectacles and close-cropped whiskers--gave Patricia a terrific shock -when she had taken the last letter of the morning’s correspondence -and was slipping the rubber band over her notebook. - -“Oh, by the way, Miss Connolly, day after to-morrow I leave for -Kansas City. I’m to have charge of the purchasing department there, -and I should like to have you with me if you care to make the -change. The salary will be twenty-five a month more--to start; if the -work justifies it, I think you could safely look forward to another -advance. And of course your traveling expenses will be met by the -firm.” - -Patricia twisted her pencil in the rubber band. “My laundry won’t be -back till Friday,” she informed him primly. “But I suppose I can go -out there and pay for it and have it sent on by mail. What train are -you taking, Mr. Wilson?” - -In this manner did the dauntless Patricia meet the shock of -opportunity’s door slamming open unexpectedly in her face. Patricia -did not know that she would like Kansas City. She had a vague -impression of heat and cyclones whenever she thought of the place. -But it seemed to her a Heaven-sent chance to show Gary Marshall just -how immaterial he was in her life. - -She debated the wisdom of sending back Gary’s ring. But the debate -did not seem to get much of anywhere. She left for Kansas City with -the ring still on her finger and the hope in her heart that Gary -would be worried when he found she was gone, and would try to find -her, and would fail. - -And Providence, she told herself confidently, had surely been -looking after her all along and had sent James Blaine Hawkins to -take that darned Johnnywater white elephant off her hands just -nicely in time for the boss to offer her this change. And she didn’t -care how much she hated Kansas City. She couldn’t hate it half as -much as she hated Los Angeles. - -It merely illustrates Patricia’s firmness with herself that she did -not add her reason for hating Los Angeles. In May she had loved it -better than any other place on earth. - - - - - CHAPTER FIFTEEN - - “WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH THIS PLACE?” - - -With his beautifully typed AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT in his inner coat -pocket, and two hundred dollars of Patricia’s money in his purse, -James Blaine Hawkins set out from Los Angeles to drive overland to -Johnnywater, Nevada. He knew no more of Johnnywater than Patricia -had told him, but he had worked through three haying seasons on a -big cattle ranch in King County, California, and he felt qualified -to fulfill his share of the agreement, especially that clause -concerning two thirds of the increase of the stock and other profits -from the ranch. - -James Blaine Hawkins belonged to that class of men which is tired of -working for wages. A certain percentage of that class is apparently -tired of working for anything; James Blaine Hawkins formed a part of -that percentage. His idea of raising range cattle was the popular -one of sitting in the shade and watching the cattle grow. In all -sincerity he agreed with Patricia that one simply _cannot_ lose -money in cattle. - -I am going to say right here that James Blaine Hawkins owned many of -the instincts for villainy. He actually sat in Patricia’s trustful -presence and wondered just how far the law protected an absent owner -of squatter’s rights on a piece of unsurveyed land. He thought he -would look it up. He believed that the man who lives on the place is -the real squatter, and that Waddell, in leaving Johnnywater, had -legally abandoned the place and had no right to sell his claim on it -to Patricia or any one else. - -James Blaine Hawkins did not look Patricia in the eyes and actually -plan to rob her of Johnnywater, but he did sit there and wonder who -would have the best title to the place, if he went and lived there -for a year or two, and Patricia failed to live there at all. To -James Blaine Hawkins it seemed but common justice that the man who -lived on a ranch so isolated, and braved the hardships of the -wilderness, should acquire unqualified title to the land. He did not -discuss this point, however, with Patricia. - -Patricia’s two hundred dollars had been easily obtained as an -advance for supplies, which, under the terms of the contract, -Patricia was to furnish. So James Blaine Hawkins was almost -enthusiastic over the proposition and couldn’t see why three or four -years at the most shouldn’t put him on Easy Street, which is -rainbow’s end for all men of his type. - -He made the trip without mishap to Las Vegas, and was fortunate -enough to find there a man who could--and did--give him explicit -directions for reaching Johnnywater. And along about four o’clock on -the afternoon of the fourth day, Patricia’s new partner let down a -new wire gate in the mended fence across the cañon just above the -water hole, and gazed about him with an air of possession before he -got into the car and drove on to the cabin. He did not know, of -course, that the gate was very new indeed, or that the fence had -been mended less than a week before. He was therefore considerably -astonished when a young man with his sleeves rolled to his elbows -and the wind blowing through his hair came walking out of the grove -to meet him. - -James Blaine Hawkins frowned. He felt so much the master of -Johnnywater that he resented the sight of a trespasser who looked so -much at home as did Gary Marshall. He grunted a gruff hello in -response to Gary’s greeting, drove on into the dooryard and killed -his engine. - -Gary turned back and came close to the car. He was rather quick at -reading a man’s mood from little, indefinable signs which would have -been overlooked by another man. Something in the general attitude of -James Blaine Hawkins spelled insolence which Gary instinctively -challenged. - -“Are you lost?” Gary asked rather noncommittally. “You’re pretty -well off the beaten track, you know. This trail ends right here.” - -“Well, that suits me. Right here is where I headed for. Might I ask -what you’re doing here?” - -“Why, I suppose you might.” Now that Gary had taken a good look at -James Blaine Hawkins, he did not like him at all. - -James Blaine Hawkins waited a reasonable time for Gary to say what -he was doing in Johnnywater Cañon. But Gary did not say. He was -rolling a cigarette with maddening precision and a nonchalant manner -that was in itself an affront; or so James Blaine Hawkins chose to -consider it. - -“Well, damn it, what _are_ you doing here?” he blurted arrogantly. -James Blaine Hawkins was of the physical type which is frequently -called beefy. His red face darkened and seemed to swell. - -“I? Why, I’m stopping here,” drawled Gary. “What are _you_ doing -here?” - -James Blaine Hawkins leaned against the side of the car, folded his -arms and spat into the dust. Then he laughed. - -“I’m here to stay!” he announced somewhat pompously. “I don’t reckon -it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a half interest in this -place--better ’n a half interest. I got what you might call a -straight two thirds interest in everything. Two thirds and _found_.” -He laughed again. “So, I guess mebby I got a right to know why -you’re stopping here.” - -Not for nothing was Gary Marshall an actor. When he learned to -portray emotion before the camera, he also learned to conceal -emotion. Not even Patricia in her most suspicious mood could have -discovered how astonished, how utterly taken aback Gary was at that -moment. - -He lighted his cigarette, blew out the match and flipped it from -him. He took three long, luxurious inhalations and studied James -Blaine Hawkins more carefully from under the deep-fringed eyelashes -that had helped to earn him a living. Patricia, he perceived, had -been attacked by another “wonderful” idea. Though it seemed rather -incredible that even the impulsive Patricia should have failed to -read aright a man so true to type as was James Blaine Hawkins. - -“Well, I’ve saved you a few tons of alfalfa hay,” Gary observed -carelessly. “Fellow I was with left me here while he went on to -another camp. I found Waddell gone, and my friend hasn’t come after -me yet. So I’m stuck here for the present, you see. And Waddy’s hay -needed cutting, so I cut it for him. Had to kill time somehow till -he gets back.” Gary blew a leisurely mouthful of smoke. “Isn’t -Waddell coming back?” he asked with exactly the right degree of -concern in voice and manner. - -James Blaine Hawkins studied that question for a minute. But he -could see nothing to doubt or criticize in the elucidation, so he -decided to accept it at face value. He failed to see that Gary’s -explanation had been merely suggested. - -“Waddell, as you call him, has sold out to a girl in Los Angeles,” -James Blaine Hawkins explained in a more friendly tone. “I got an -agreement here to run the place on shares. I don’t know nothing -about Waddell. He’s out of it.” - -Gary’s eyebrows lifted slightly in what the camera would record as -his terribly worried expression. - -“He isn’t--in the--er--asylum, is he? Was I too late to save poor -Waddy?” - -James Blaine Hawkins looked blank. - -“Save him from what? What yuh talkin’ about, anyway?” - -Gary opened his lips to answer, then closed them and shook his head. -When he really did speak it was quite plain to James Blaine Hawkins -that he had reconsidered, and was not saying as much as he had at -first intended to say. - -“If you’re here to stay, I hope you’ll be all right and don’t have -the same thing happen to you that happened to Waddy,” he said -cautiously. “I think, myself, that Waddell had too keen an -imagination. He was a nervous cuss, anyway; I really don’t think -you’ll be bothered.” - -“Bothered with what?” James Blaine Hawkins demanded impatiently. “I -can’t see what you’re driving at.” - -Gary gave him a little, secretive smile and the slight head-shake -that always went with it on the screen. - -“Well, I sure hope you never do--see.” And with that he deliberately -changed the subject and refused artfully to be led back toward it. - -He went in and started the fire going, saying that he knew a man -couldn’t drive out from Las Vegas without being mighty hungry when -he arrived. He made fresh coffee, warmed over his pot of Mexican -beans cooked with chili peppers, and opened a can of blackberry jam -for the occasion. He apologized for his biscuits, which needed no -apology whatever. He went down to the creek and brought up the -butter, bewailing the fact that there was so little of it. But then, -as he took pains to explain again, he had not expected to stay so -long when he arrived. - -James Blaine Hawkins warmed perceptibly under the good-natured -service he was getting. It was pleasant to have some one cook his -supper for him after that long drive across the desert and it was -satisfying to his vanity to be able to talk largely of his plans for -running Johnnywater ranch at a profit. By the time he had mopped up -his third helping of jam with his fourth hot biscuit, James Blaine -Hawkins felt at peace with the world and with Gary Marshall, who was -a fine young man and a good cook. - -“Didn’t make such a bad deal with that girl,” he boasted, leaning -back against the dish cupboard and heaving a sigh of repletion. -“Kinda had a white elephant on her hands, I guess. Had this place -here and nobody to look after it. Yes, sir, time I’d talked with her -awhile, she was ready to agree to every damned thing I said. Got my -own terms, ab-so-lute-ly. Five years’ contract, and two thirds the -increase of stock--cattle _and_ horses--two thirds of all the -crops--and _found_!” - -“Get out!” exclaimed Gary, and grinned when he said it. “I suppose -there _are_ such snaps in the world, but I never saw one. She agreed -to that? _On paper?_” - -“On paper!” James Blaine Hawkins affirmed solemnly. He reached into -his coat pocket (exactly as Gary had meant that he should). “Read it -yourself,” he invited triumphantly. “Guess that spells Easy Street -in less than five years. Don’t it?” - -“It’s a bird,” Gary assured him heartily. Then his face clouded. He -sat with his head slightly bowed, drumming with his fingers on the -table, in frowning meditation. - -“What’s wrong?” James Blaine Hawkins looked at him anxiously. -“Anything wrong with that contract?” - -Gary started and with a noticeable effort pulled himself out of his -mood. He laughed constrainedly. - -“The contract? Why, the contract’s all right--fine. I was just -wondering----” He shook his shoulders impatiently. “But you’ll be all -right, I guess. A man of your type----” He forced another laugh. “Of -course it’s all right!” - -“You got something on your mind,” James Blaine Hawkins challenged -uneasily. “What is it? You needn’t be afraid to tell _me_.” - -But Gary forced a laugh and declared that he had nothing at all on -his mind. And by his very manner and tone James Blaine Hawkins knew -that he was lying. - -The mottled cat hopped upon the doorstep, hesitated when she saw -James Blaine Hawkins sitting there, then walked in demurely. - -“Funny-looking cat,” James Blaine Hawkins commented carelessly. - -Gary looked up at him surprisedly; saw the direction of his glance, -and turned and looked that way with a blank expression of -astonishment. - -“Cat? What cat?” - -“_That_ cat! Hell, can’t you see that _cat_?” James Blaine Hawkins -leaned forward excitedly. - -Gary’s glance wandered over the cabin floor. Toward Faith, over -Faith and beyond Faith. He might have been a blind man for all the -expression there was in his eyes. He turned and eyed James Blaine -Hawkins curiously. - -“You mean to say you--you see a _cat_?” he asked solicitously. - -“Ain’t there a cat?” James Blaine Hawkins half rose from his seat -and pointed a shaking finger. “Mean to tell me that ain’t a cat -walkin’ over there to the bunk?” - -Gary looked toward the bunk, but it was perfectly apparent that he -saw nothing. - -“Waddell used to see--a cat,” he murmured regretfully. “There used to -be a cat that belonged to a man named Steve Carson, that built this -cabin and used to live here. Steve disappeared very mysteriously -awhile back. Five years or so ago. Ever since then----” He broke off -suddenly. “Really, Mr. Hawkins, maybe I hadn’t better be telling you -this. I didn’t think a man of your type would be bothered----” - -“What about it?” A sallow streak had appeared around the mouth and -nostrils of James Blaine Hawkins. “Yuh needn’t be afraid to go on -and tell me. If that ain’t a cat----” - -“There _was_ a cat, a few years back,” Gary corrected himself -gently. “There was the cat’s master, too. Now--they say there’s a -Voice--away up on the bluff, that calls and calls. Waddell--poor old -duffer! He used to see Steve Carson--and the cat. It was, as you say, -a funny-looking cat. White, I believe, with black spots and -yellowish-brown spots. And half of its face was said to be white, -with a blue eye in that side.” - -Gary leaned forward, his arms folded on the table. His voice dropped -almost to a whisper. - -“Is that the kind of a cat you see?” he asked. - -James Blaine Hawkins got up from the bench as if some extraneous -force were pulling him up. His jaw sagged. His eyes had in them a -glassy look which Gary recognized at once as stark terror. A cold -feeling went crimpling up Gary’s spine to his scalp. - -James Blaine Hawkins was staring, not at the cat lying curled up on -the bunk, but at something midway between the bunk and the door. - -Gary could see nothing. But he had a queer feeling that he knew what -it was that James Blaine Hawkins saw. The eyes of the man followed -something to the bunk. Gary saw the cat lift its head and look, -heard it mew lazily, saw it rise, stretch itself and hop lightly -down. He saw that terrified stare of James Blaine Hawkins follow -something to the open doorway. The cat trotted out into the dusky -warmth of the starlit night. It looked to Gary as if the cat were -following some one--or some _thing_. - -James Blaine Hawkins relaxed, drew a deep breath and looked at Gary. - -“Did you see it?” he whispered, and licked his lips. - -Gary shivered a little and shook his head. The three deep creases -stood between his eyebrows, and his lips were pressed together so -that the deep lines showed more distinctly beside his mouth. - -“Didn’t yuh--_honest_?” James Blaine Hawkins whispered again. - -Again Gary shook his head. He got up and began clearing the table, -his hands not quite steady. He lifted the dented teakettle, saw that -it needed water and picked up the bucket. He hesitated for an -instant on the doorstep before he started to the creek. He heard a -scrape of feet behind him on the rough floor and looked back. James -Blaine Hawkins was following him like a frightened child. - -They returned to the cabin, and Gary washed the dishes and swept the -floor. James Blaine Hawkins sat with his back against the wall and -smoked one cigarette after another, his eyes roving here and there. -They did not talk at all until Gary had finished his work and seated -himself on the bunk to roll a cigarette. - -“What’s the matter with this damn place, anyway?” James Blaine -Hawkins demanded abruptly in that tone of resentment with which a -man tacitly acknowledges himself completely baffled. - -Gary shrugged his shoulders expressively and lifted his eyebrows. - -“What would you say was the matter with it?” he countered. “I know -that one man disappeared here very mysteriously. An Indian, so they -tell me, heard a Voice calling, up on the bluff. He died soon -afterwards. And I know Waddell was in a fair way to go crazy from -staying here alone. But as to what ails the place--one man’s guess is -as good as another man’s.” He lighted his cigarette. “I’ve quit -guessing,” he added grimly. - -“You think the cabin’s haunted?” James Blaine Hawkins asked him -reluctantly. - -Again Gary shrugged. “If the cabin’s haunted, the whole darn cañon -is in the same fix,” he stated evenly. “You can’t drag an Indian in -here with a rope.” - -“It’s all damn nonsense!” James Blaine Hawkins asserted -blusteringly. - -Gary made no reply, but smoked imperturbably, staring abstractedly -at the floor. - -“Wherever there’s a spook there’s a man at the back of it,” declared -James Blaine Hawkins, gathering courage from the continued calm. -“That was a man I seen standin’ by the bunk. Felt slippers, likely -as not--so he wouldn’t make no noise walkin’. He likely come in when -I wasn’t looking. And yuh needn’t try to tell _me_,” he added -defiantly, “that wasn’t no cat!” - -Gary turned his head slowly and looked at James Blaine Hawkins. - -“If there was a cat,” he argued, “why the heck didn’t I see it? -There’s nothing wrong with _my_ eyes.” - -“I dunno why you never seen it,” James Blaine Hawkins retorted -pettishly. “_I_ seen it, plain as I see you this minute. Funny you -never seen it. I s’pose you’ll say next yuh never seen that man -standin’ there by the bunk! He went outside, and the cat follered -him.” - -Gary looked up quickly. “I didn’t see any man,” he said gravely. -“There wasn’t any man. I think you just imagined it. Waddell used to -imagine the same thing. And he used to see a cat. He particularly -hated the cat.” James Blaine Hawkins gave a gasp. Gary looked at him -sharply and saw that he was once more staring at the empty air near -the door. The cat had come in again and was gazing questioningly -about her as if trying to decide where she would curl herself down -for a nap. The eyes of James Blaine Hawkins pulled themselves away -from the terrifying vision near the door, and turned toward Faith. -He gave a sudden yell and rushed out of the cabin. - -Faith ran and jumped upon the bunk, her tail the size of a bologna -sausage. Gary got up and followed James Blaine Hawkins as far as the -door. - -“Look out you don’t hear the Voice, Mr. Hawkins,” he said -commiseratingly. “If I let my imagination get a fair running start, -I couldn’t stay in this cañon over night. I’d be a plain nut inside -twenty-four hours.” - -James Blaine Hawkins was busy cranking his car. If he heard Gary -speak he paid no attention. He got a sputter from the engine, rushed -to the wheel and coaxed it with spark and gas-lever, straddled in -over the side and went careening away down the trail to the open -desert beyond. - -Faith came inquisitively to the door, and Gary picked her up in his -hands and held her, purring, against his face while he stroked her -mottled back. - -“I think you’ve saved little Pat Connolly a darned lot of trouble,” -he murmured into the cat’s ear. “Thrashing that bird wouldn’t have -had half the effect.” - - - - - CHAPTER SIXTEEN - - “THERE’S MYSTERY HERE----” - - -“Dear Pat:-- - -“In God’s name, what were you thinking of when you sent this fellow -Hawkins over here with a five years’ contract? Couldn’t you see the -man’s a crook? Are the lawyers in Los Angeles all _dead_, that you -couldn’t call one up on the ’phone and ask a question or two about -letting places on shares? Of course you’d want to write the contract -yourself. Perfect Patricia is the little lady that invented brains! -If she doesn’t know all there is to know in the world, she’ll go as -far as she does know and fake the rest. - -“Permit me to congratulate you, Miss Connolly, upon the artistic -manner in which you handed over to James Blaine Hawkins the best -imitation of a legacy that I ever saw! Of course you’d have to -invent a new way of having your pocket picked. Two thirds and found! -My word! - -“Any ordinary, peanut-headed man would have given the usual one half -of increase in stock, and the old stock made good at the end of the -term of contract. And _not_ found, Pat! No one but you would ever -dream of doing a thing like that. And he says you agreed to buy his -gas and oil. Pat, if ever a girl needed some one to look after her, -you’re that small person. And he bragged about it--the dirty whelp. -Laughed at the way you met his terms and thought they were all -right! - -“He never came nearer a licking in his life and missed it, Pat. But -I had another scheme, and I didn’t want to gum it up by letting on I -knew you. I had to sit pretty and let him brag, and register -admiration for the rotter. He’s gone now--it worked. But he’ll come -back--to-morrow, when the sun is shining and his blood thaws out -again. I may have to lick him yet. If he were a white man, with the -intelligence of a hen turkey, I could play the joker and make him -lay down his hand. But I’ll probably have to take a few falls out of -him before I can convince him he’s whipped from the start. - -“You know, Pat, you’ve made an ungodly mess of things. In the whole -sorry assortment of blunders you did just one thing that gives me a -chance to save you. Before I left the city I made it a point to find -out what kind of power runs a Power of Attorney, anyway. I happen to -know a darned good lawyer, and I had a talk with him. - -“Pat, you did something when you gave me that Power of Attorney. You -gave me more right over the disposal of this place than if I were -your husband. I came over here to use this right and sell -Johnnywater. I think even James Blaine Hawkins will stop, look and -listen when I tell him how come to-morrow. - -“He’ll come back. A good, strong dose of sunlight will bring him -back--on the rampage, I’m guessing--mad to think how scared he was -when he left. I played a dirty trick on him, Pat. I made him think -the psychic cat was a spook. - -“He thought it all right! But you see, I didn’t know. - -“I wonder if he really did see something. I think he did--or at any -rate he kidded himself into thinking he did. I never dreamed he’d -see. - -“Pat, you called me flabby souled. That hurt--and it wasn’t my vanity -you hit. I’ve wanted you to respect me, Pat, in spite of my -profession. And when you flung that at me, I saw you didn’t -understand. Lord knows I hate a whiner, and I won’t try to explain -just why I called you unjust. - -“But after I got over here, Pat, I began to see the way I must have -looked to you. You took at face value all the slams you’ve heard -about the movies. You lumped us all together and called us cheap and -weak and vain. Just puppets strutting around before the camera like -damned peacocks. You couldn’t see that maybe it takes quite as much -character for a man to make good in the movies and live clean and -honest, as it does to drive cows to water. - -“But after all these hills and the desert out here beyond the cañon -are mighty big and clean--my God, Pat, they’d shame the biggest man -that ever lived! When you get out here and measure yourself -alongside them you feel like a buffalo gnat on an elephant. And -there’s things in this cañon it takes a man to meet. - -“There’s mystery here; the kind you can’t put your finger on. The -kind the movies can’t feature on the screen. Until James Blaine -Hawkins drove into the scene, I’d have sworn a man could live here -for forty years in the wilderness like the children of Israel--or -maybe it was Noah and the ark--and never meet a villain who’s out to -make you either the goat or a corpse--both, maybe, if the story runs -that way. - -“But I’ve learned something I never knew before. I’ve learned there -are things a man can fight that’s worse than crooks. Dad was kind of -religious, and he used to quote Bible at me. One of his favorite -lines was about ‘He that is master of himself is greater than he -that taketh a city.’ It sounded like the bunk to me when I was a -kid. Now I kind of see what the old man was driving at. This country -puts it right up to you, Pat. - -“So, I’m going to find out something before I leave here, Pat. I -want to know who’s going to lick: Gary Marshall, or Johnnywater -Cañon. It sort of dawned on me gradually that if I leave here now, -I’ll leave here licked. Licked by something that’s never laid a -finger on me! Scared out--like Waddell. Pat, my dear, I never could -go back and face you if I had that to remember. Every time you -looked at me I’d feel that you were calling me flabby souled in your -heart--and I’d know I had it coming. - -“Of course, I don’t need to be hit with an axe in order to take a -hint. I got the slap you sent me, Pat--along with James Blaine -Hawkins. _You_ know I’m over here. You know it as well as you know -anything. Even if I didn’t say I was coming--even though I _did_ say -I wasn’t coming--you knew I came. You’d call up the studio, and Mills -would tell you I was out of town on business. So you’d know; there’s -nothing else could take me out. - -“So I got the slam you handed me, when you let the place to Hawkins -for five years. You couldn’t go into court, Pat, and swear that you -didn’t offer me the management of Johnnywater. The very fact that I -have all the documents pertaining to the deal, plus the Power of -Attorney, will prove that anywhere. Then Monty Girard knows it--a -valuable witness, Monty. So I can save you from your own -foolishness, and I’ll do it, young lady, if I have to fight you in -court. Hawkins is not going to get his two thirds and _found_! The -two hundred he grafted off you I may not be able to save. But I’ll -keep the rest out of his clutches, make no mistake. - -“I’ve got the glooms to-night, Pat. Feel sort of blue and sick at -heart. It hit me pretty hard, reading that contract you drew up for -Hawkins to brag about. It hurt to see him take that paper out of his -pocket--paper that you had handled, Pat, words that you had typed. -He’s not fit to touch it. He left it here--lying on the table when he -beat it, scared silly. You were stubborn when you signed your -name--you did that to spite Gary. Own up now, Pat; didn’t you do it -just for spite--because I left without saying good-by? I wonder if it -hurt you like it hurt me. I reckon not. Girls are so damned -self-righteous--but then, they have the right. God knows, the best of -men don’t amount to much. - -“There’s something I want to do for you; if I don’t do it before I -leave here, it won’t be for want of trying. You’ll never make one -dollar off this investment, just hanging on to it as it stands. This -country’s full of loco, for one thing. The percentage of loss is -higher than my dad would ever have stood for. Practically every -horse you own has got a touch of loco. And Monty says the calf crop -is never up to normal. It’s a losing game, in dollars and cents. A -man could stay with it and make a bare living, I suppose. He could -raise his own vegetables, put up enough hay to keep a horse or two, -and manage to exist. But that would be the extent of it. And I don’t -want to see you lose--you won’t, if I can help it. Having Hawkins in -the deal may complicate matters--unless he quits. And, honey, I’ll -make the quitting as good as possible for him. - -“I was sore when I started to write. But now I’m just sorry--and I -love you, Pat. I wouldn’t have you different if I could. - - “Gary.” - - - - - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - - JAMES BLAINE HAWKINS FINDS HIS COURAGE--AND LOSES IT - - -Gary had measured his man rather accurately, and his guess hit close -to the mark. He slept late that morning, probably because he had -lain awake until the morning star looked at him through the window. -The sun was three hours high when he got up, and he loitered over -his breakfast, gave Faith a severe talking to and fed her all the -canned milk she would drink, so that she would not be teasing him -for it later on when her insistence might be embarrassing. Faith was -a methodical cat and a self-reliant cat. She loved her milk -breakfast and her little talk with Gary afterward. Then she would -head straight for the creek, cross it and go bounding away up the -bluff. She always took the same direction, and Gary had sometimes -wondered why. Of course, she hunted birds and kangaroo rats and -mice; she was an expert huntress. Gary thought she must keep a -private game preserve up on the bluff somewhere. However that might -be, Faith was off for her daily prowl on the bluff and would not -show up again at the cabin until noon or later. - -Gary was up at the corral rubbing down the chunky little sorrel -horse he called Jazz, when he heard the chug of a motor coming -up-grade through the sand. James Blaine Hawkins, he knew without -looking, had discounted his terror of last night and was returning -to take possession. - -“Well, Jazz, if I get the gate, there’s your new master.” Gary -slapped the horsefly that was just settling on the sorrel’s neck. -“But I won’t tell you good-by till I’m gone.” - -He turned and went down to the cabin, reaching it just as James -Blaine Hawkins stopped in the dooryard. Gary chose to take the -return as a matter of course. - -“Had your breakfast, Mr. Hawkins?” Gary asked him genially. “The -coffee may still be hot. I had a pretty good fire while I was -washing the dishes. Thought I’d cook up a mess of beans. Takes a -heck of a while to cook them in this altitude.” - -James Blaine Hawkins gave him a look that might easily be called -suspicious. But Gary met it innocently. - -“I’ve et,” James Blaine Hawkins grunted. “Camped out on the -desert--better than walking distance away from whoever it was that -tried to get funny last night. Feller don’t know what he’s going up -against, in a strange place like that after dark. But there can’t -nobody bamboozle me, once I’ve got my bearings!” - -His whole manner was a challenge. He eyed Gary boldly, watching for -some overt act of hostility. He climbed out of the car and began to -unpack, with a great deal of fussing and mighty little accomplished. - -Gary did not say anything. He leaned against the cabin with his arms -folded and watched James Blaine Hawkins indifferently. His silence -affected the other unpleasantly. - -“Well, why don’t you say something? What yuh standin’ there grinnin’ -that way for? Why don’t yuh own up you know a damn sight more’n what -yuh let on?” he demanded pugnaciously. - -James Blaine Hawkins came toward him, his fists opening and closing -nervously at his side. “I ain’t to be bluffed, you know! I ain’t to -be bluffed _nor_ scared!” - -Gary’s lip curled. He rubbed the ash from his cigarette against a -splinter on the log wall beside him. - -“You’re brighter than I thought,” he drawled. “I _do_ know a damn -sight more than I’m saying. I’ll say as much of what I know as I -happen to choose. No more--and bullying won’t get you anything at -all. I might have told you a few things last night, if you hadn’t -got scared and beat it.” - -“Scared? Who was scared?” fleered James Blaine Hawkins. “Not me, -anyway. I seen right away there was some kind of frame-up agin me -here and I didn’t want no trouble. Any fool can go head down into -trouble, but a man uh brains’ll side-step till he knows what he’s up -against.” - -“Well,” smiled Gary, “do you know what you’re up against?” - -“Sure, I know! For some reason, somebody don’t want me here. They -tried to scare me last night--but I seen through that right off.” - -“Yes, you saw more than I did,” Gary told him quietly. - -“Well, and what’s all this you know?” Hawkins’ voice was rising -angrily. “I’m here to stay. I want to know what’s back of all this.” - -Gary took an exasperating time to reply. “If you find out, you’ll do -more than Waddell did,” he said at last. His face was sober, his -tone convincing. “I’ve a little matter of my own to discuss with -you, but that has nothing whatever to do with last night. Last night -you claimed to see a man--and there _wasn’t_ any man. You know darned -well there wasn’t, or you wouldn’t have been so scared. That’s -something I have nothing to do with. I didn’t see any one in the -cabin--but you.” He smoked for another minute. “You also claimed you -saw a cat.” He looked at James Blaine Hawkins steadily. - -“I claimed to and I _did_! There’s a frame-up of some kind. You said -yourself----” - -“I said Waddell thought _he_ saw things here. That’s the plain -truth, Hawkins. It worried Waddell so he nearly went crazy, from all -accounts. You needn’t take my word for that. You can ask the -Indians, or Monty Girard--any one who knows this place.” - -He stopped and drew some legal papers from his pocket. “Here’s -something I meant to show you last night--if you had stayed,” he -said. “I’m not in the habit of babbling my business to every chance -stranger. I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to make sure that it -concerned you. But it happens that I have a prior right here. That’s -what brought me over here in the first place. It’s true I wanted to -see Waddell, and he was gone when I arrived. But I knew all about -the sale, Mr. Hawkins. I know Miss Connolly very well. She begged me -to undertake the complete management of Johnnywater ranch, and to -that end she signed this Power of Attorney. You will see, Mr. -Hawkins, that it has been duly certified and that the date is much -earlier than your first knowledge of the place. Miss Connolly also -gave me the deed and this certificate of the water rights. -Everything is perfectly legal and straight, and I’m sorry to say--No, -by heck, I’m not sorry! It’s a relief to me to know that your -contract isn’t worth a lead nickel. In order to get this place on -shares, you would need to make an agreement with me. And you would -not get the terms Miss Connolly was so generous as to give you. One -half the increase in stock, any loss in the old stock during the -term of contract to be made good when you turned the place back to -its owner, are the usual terms. Your expenses would not be paid for -you. - -“However, that is beside the point. I am not in favor of letting the -place go on shares--not at present, anyway. So this is what you did -not wait last night to hear.” - -“It’s a frame-up!” snorted James Blaine Hawkins indignantly. “It’s a -rotten frame-up! I’ll bet them papers is forged. There’s a law made -to handle just such cases as yours, young feller. And yuh needn’t -think I’m going to stand and be held up like that.” - -“Well, I’ve told you all you’re entitled to know. I’ve no objection -to your camping here for a while, so long as you behave yourself.” -Gary threw away his cigarette stub. His tone had been as casual as -if he were gossiping with Monty, but was not so friendly. He really -did not want to fight James Blaine Hawkins, in spite of the fact -that he had discussed the possibility quite frankly with the cat. - -But James Blaine Hawkins had spent an uncomfortable night and he -wanted some one else to pay for it. He began to shake his fists and -to call names, none of which were nice. Gary was up to something, -and Hawkins was not going to stand for it, whatever it was. Gary was -a faker, a thief--though what he had stolen James Blaine Hawkins -failed to stipulate. Gary was a forger (Hawkins hinted darkly that -he had, in some mysterious manner, evolved those papers during the -night for the express purpose of using them as a bluff this morning) -and he was also a liar. - -Wherefore Gary reached out a long arm and slapped James Blaine -Hawkins stingingly on the ear. When the head of James Blaine Hawkins -snapped over to his right shoulder, Gary reached his other long arm -and slapped the head upright. James Blaine Hawkins backed up and -felt his ear; both ears, to be exact. - -“I didn’t come here to have no trouble,” James Blaine Hawkins -protested indignantly. “A man of brains can always settle things -_with_ his brains. I don’t want to fight, and I ain’t goin’ to -fight. I’m goin’ to settle this thing----” - -“With your brains. Well, go on and settle it then. Only be careful -and don’t sprain your head! Thinking’s dangerous when you’re not -used to it. And if you do any more talking--which I certainly don’t -advise--be careful of the words you use, Mr. Hawkins. I’m not a liar -or a thief. Don’t call me either one.” - -James Blaine Hawkins spluttered and swore and argued one-sidedly. -Gary leaned against the cabin with his arms folded negligently and -listened with supreme indifference if one were to believe his -manner. - -“Rave on,” he said indulgently. “Get it all out of your system--and -then crank your little Ford and iris out of this scene, will you? I -did say you could stay for a day or so if you behaved yourself. But -you better beat it. The going may not be so good after awhile.” - -James Blaine Hawkins intimated that he would go when he got good and -ready. So Gary went in and shut the door. He was sick of the fellow. -The man was the weakest kind of a bully. He wouldn’t fight. -Heretofore Gary had believed that only a make-believe villain in a -story would refuse to fight after he had been slapped twice. - -When Gary came out of the cabin for a bucket of water, James Blaine -Hawkins was fumbling in the car and talking to himself. He -straightened up and renewed his aimless accusations when Gary passed -him going to the creek. - -The Voice suddenly shouted from the bluff, but Gary continued on his -way, seemingly oblivious to the sound. - -“Who’s that hollerin’ up there? Thought you said you was alone here. -What does that feller want?” James Blaine Hawkins left the Ford and -started after Gary. - -“Beg pardon?” While the Voice continued to shout, Gary looked -inquiringly at Hawkins. - -“I asked yuh who was hollerin’ up there! What does he want?” - -Gary continued to look at James Blaine Hawkins. “Hollering?” His -eyes narrowed a bit. “On the bluff, did you say?” - -“Not over on _that_ bluff,” James Blaine Hawkins bellowed. “Up -there, across the creek! Good Lord, are yuh deef? Can’t yuh hear -that hollering?” - -Gary half turned his head and listened carefully. “Can you still -hear it?” he asked in the midst of a loud halloo. - -“You must be deef if _you_ don’t,” James Blaine Hawkins spluttered. - -Gary shook his head. “My hearing is splendid,” he stated calmly. “I -was a wireless operator on a sub-chaser during the war. Do you still -hear it?” - -James Blaine Hawkins testified profanely that he did. He was looking -somewhat paler than was normal. He stared at Gary anxiously. - -“What was that damfool yarn you was telling last night----” - -“Oh, about the Indian that heard some one hollering on the bluff -after Steve Carson disappeared? By Jove! I wonder if it can be the -_Voice_ you hear!” He looked at Hawkins blankly. “Say, I’m sorry I -slapped you, Mr. Hawkins. I’d like to feel--afterwards--that you -didn’t hold any grudge against me for that.” He held out his hand -with the pitying smile of one who wishes to make amends before it is -too late. - -James Blaine Hawkins swallowed twice. Gary set down the bucket and -laid a hand kindly on the man’s shoulder. - -“Aw, buck up, Mr. Hawkins. I--I guess they lied about that Injun -dying right after--don’t you believe it, anyway.” And then, -anxiously, “Do you still hear it, old fellow?” - -Gary felt absolutely certain that James Blaine Hawkins did hear. -Above the sound of the wind in the tree tops, the Voice was calling -imperiously from the bluff. - -“You can keep the damn place for all of me,” James Blaine Hawkins -exploded viciously. “I wouldn’t have it as a gift. There’s that -damned cat I seen last night! A man’s crazy that’d think of staying -in a hole like this.” - -He was cranking furiously when Gary tapped him on the shoulder. - -“Since you aren’t going to stay and fulfill the contract,” Gary said -evenly, “you better hand over that two hundred dollars which Miss -Connolly advanced you under the ‘found’ clause of your agreement. -I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course.” - -James Blaine Hawkins meant to refuse, but Gary’s fingers slid up to -his ear and pulled him upright. - -“We’ll just go in the cabin where I can write that receipt,” he -explained cheerfully, and led James Blaine Hawkins inside. “You’re -in a hurry to go, and I’m in a hurry to have you. So we’ll make this -snappy.” - -It must have been snappy indeed, for within five minutes James -Blaine Hawkins was driving down the trail toward the mouth of the -cañon, quite as fast as he had driven the night before. Only this -time he went in broad daylight and he had no intention of ever -coming back. - - - - - CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - - GARY RIDES TO KAWICH - - -Gary saddled Jazz, filled the two canteens at the creek, tied some -food for himself and rolled barley for Jazz in a flour sack--with a -knot tied between to prevent mixing--and rode down the trail before -the dust had fully settled after the passing of James Blaine -Hawkins. - -Primarily he wanted to make sure that Hawkins was actually leaving -for town. After that he meant to ride over to Kawich, if he could -find the place. In the mental slump that followed close on the heels -of his altercation, Gary felt an overwhelming hunger for speech with -a friend. Monty Girard was practical, wholesome and loyal as a man -may be. Not for a long while had Gary known a man of Monty Girard’s -exact type. He confessed frankly to himself that certain phases of -the James Blaine Hawkins incident had shaken his nerves. He was not -at all sure that he meant to tell Monty about that side of the -encounter, but he felt that he needed the mental tonic of Monty -Girard’s simple outlook on life. There was nothing subtle, no -complexities in Monty’s nature. - -He dismounted and fastened the gate carefully behind him with a -secret twist of the wire that would betray the fact if another -opened the gate in his absence. As an added precaution he brushed -out the trail of his own passing, as far as he could reach inside -the gate with a pine branch. It was not likely that any one would -visit Johnnywater Cañon; but Gary felt an unexplained desire to know -it if they did. There was not one chance in a hundred that any one -passing through the gate would observe the untracked space just -within. An Indian might. But Gary had no fear that any Indian would -invade Johnnywater Cañon. For that matter, it was not fear at all -that impelled the caution. He simply wanted to know if any one -visited the place. - -Far down the mesa a cloud of gray dust rolled swiftly along a brown -pencil-marking through the sage. That would be James Blaine Hawkins -heading for Las Vegas as fast as gas and four cylinders would take -him. Gary pulled up and watched the dust cloud, his eyes laughing. - -“God bless that pinto cat!” he murmured, and leaned to smooth the -sorrel’s mane which the wind was tossing and tangling. “We won’t see -him again--for a while, anyway. But golly grandma, won’t Pat be sore -at the way I jimmed her revenge on Handsome Gary! But you know, -Jazz, I expect to have to live with Pat, and I don’t expect to do -all my walking on my knees, either. A little demonstration of manly -authority now and then does ’em good. They won’t own it, Jazz, but -they all like to feel they’ve tamed a cave man, and goodness knows -when he may get rough. I worked in ‘The Taming of the Shrew,’ and I -learned a lot about women from that.” - -The dust cloud rolled out of sight around a lonesome black butte, -and Gary waved it a mocking farewell and got out the map which Monty -had made of the trail to Kawich. - -“Five miles down the trail toward town, and then turn short off to -the left,” he mumbled, studying the crude map. “That’s simple -enough--and no wonder I couldn’t trail Monty afoot. I didn’t walk to -where he turned off. But hold on here! Dotted line shows faint stock -trail straight across country to the Kawich road. Monty did say -something about a cut-off, Jazz. All right, we’ll hunt around here -in the sage till we find that dotted line. This is great stuff. Feel -so good now I don’t have to go see Monty to get cheered up. But -we’ll go just the same--and see the country.” - -The trail, when he found it, was so faint that it was scarcely -distinguishable in the gravelly soil. In places where they followed -a rocky ridge Gary would have missed it altogether; but once on the -trail Jazz followed it by instinct and his familiarity with the -country. Probably he had traveled that way before, carrying Waddell, -or perhaps Steve Carson, since Jazz was well past his youth. - -Unconsciously Gary laid aside his movie habit of weaving in and out -among the sage at a gallop, and dropped back into the old, shacking -trail-trot he had learned from his father’s riders. It was the gait -to which Jazz was long accustomed, and it carried them steadily over -the rough mesa to where the road angled off through the foothills. - -The distant hills looked more unreal than ever. The clouds that -grouped themselves around the violet-tinted peaks were like dabs of -white paint upon a painted sky line. Again the sense of waiting in a -tremendous calm impressed Gary with the immeasurable patience of the -universe. - -Insensibly the mental burden of loneliness, the nameless dread of -things unseen and incomprehensible, lightened. The strained look -left his eyes; the lines in his face relaxed as if he slept and, -sleeping, forgot the worries of his waking hours. The world around -him was so big, so quiet--the forces of nature were so invincible in -their strength--that the cares of one small human being seemed as -pettily unimportant as the scurrying of a lizard down the road. It -occurred to Gary whimsically that the lizard’s panicky retreat -before the approaching cataclysm of the horse’s shadow was very real -and tremendously important--to the lizard. Quite as important, no -doubt, as the complexity of emotions that filled the human soul of a -certain Gary Marshall in Johnnywater Cañon. And the great butte that -stood in its immutable strength under the buffetings of wind and sun -and rain looked alike upon the troubles of the lizard and of Gary -Marshall. - -“After all, Jazz, we haven’t got such a heck of a lot to worry -about. If I was a jack rabbit I reckon I’d still have troubles of my -own. Take your ears off your neck, Jazz, and shack along. Packing me -over to Kawich isn’t the worst thing could happen you, you lazy -brute.” - -Gradually it dawned upon Gary that the road was creeping around the -great butte that held Johnnywater Cañon gashed into the side turned -toward the southeast. He wondered if the place called Kawich might -not be just across the butte from Johnnywater. There was a certain -comfort in the thought that Monty might not be so far from him, -after all. Above him towered the bold outline of the butte, capped -by the sheer wall of rock that rose like a cliff above its -precipitous slopes. The trail itself followed the line of least -resistance through the wrinkles formed in the foothills when this -old world was cooling. But however deep the cañon, wherever the -winding trail led, always the butte stood high-shouldered and grim -just under the clouds. Gary could not wonder at the dilapidated -condition of Monty’s Ford, when he saw the trail it had been -compelled to travel. - -He ate his lunch beside a little spring that trickled out from -beneath a rock just above the trail. Another hour’s riding brought -him into the very dooryard of a camp which he judged was Monty’s, -though no one appeared in answer to his call. - -In point of picturesqueness and the natural beauty of its -surroundings, Gary felt impelled to confide to Jazz that Johnnywater -had Kawich beaten to a pulp. Kawich lacked the timber and the -talkative little stream that distinguished Johnnywater Cañon. The -camp itself was a rude shack built of boards and canvas, with a roof -of corrugated iron and a sprinkle of tin cans and bits of broken -implements surrounding it. The sun beat harshly down upon the barren -knoll, and heat waves radiated from the iron roof. A cattle-trodden -pathway led down to a zinc-lined trough in a hollow. The trough was -full, with little lips of water pushing out over the edge here and -there in a continuous drip-drip that muddied the ground immediately -beneath the trough and made deep trampling tracks when the cattle -crowded down to water. A crude corral was built above the trough, -enclosing one end so that corralled stock could drink at will. The -charred remains of the burnt Ford tilted crazily on the slope with -its nose toward a brushy little gulch. - -Gary took in all the bleak surroundings and the general air of -discomfort that permeated the place. It struck him suddenly that -Johnnywater Cañon was not so bad a place after all, with its -whispery piñons, its picturesque log cabin set in the grove and the -little gurgling stream just beyond. If it were not for the Voice and -the eerie atmosphere of the place, he thought a person might rather -enjoy a month or two there in the summer. Certainly it held more of -the vacation elements than did this camp at Kawich. - -He dismounted, led Jazz down into the corral, unsaddled him and left -him to his own devices. There did not seem to be any feed about the -place, and he was glad that he had brought plenty of grain for Jazz. -He could do very well for twenty-four hours on rolled barley -rations, Gary thought. - -Monty could not be very far away, for he had eaten his breakfast -there and had left cooked food covered under a cloth on the table -for his next meal. As to the comforts of living, Monty seemed to be -no better off than was Gary in Johnnywater Cañon. A camp bed in its -canvas tarp was spread upon the board bunk in one corner of the -shack. The cook stove was small and rusty from many rains that had -beaten down through the haggled hole in the corrugated iron roof. -The stovepipe was streaked with red lines of rust. There was the -inevitable cupboard built of boxes nailed one above the other, -bottoms against the wall. There was the regulation assortment of -necessary supplies: coffee, salt, lard, a can of bacon grease, rice, -sugar, beans and canned corn and tomatoes. Of reading matter, Monty -seemed to have a little more than Waddell had left behind him. There -was a small pile of _Stock Growers Journals_, some old Salt Lake -papers and half a dozen old _Populars_ with the backs torn off. - -Gary chose a magazine that had a complete novel by an author whose -work he liked. He stretched himself out on his back on the bunk, -crossed his feet, wriggled his shoulders into a comfortable position -just under Monty’s only pillow, and in two sentences was away back -in Texas after a mysterious gang of cattle rustlers. - - - - - CHAPTER NINETEEN - - “HAVE YUH-ALL GOT A GUN?” - - -He was still hot on the trail and expecting every moment to have his -horse shot from under him, when Monty pulled open the door and -walked in upon him, swearing affectionately. Gary sat up, turned -down a corner of the page to mark his place, and reached for his -smoking material. - -“Golly grandma, I meant to have supper ready!” he exclaimed. “But I -got to reading and forgot all about eating.” - -“How yuh-all been making out?” Monty wanted to know. “Going to catch -a ride back to town?” - -Gary licked the cigarette paper and shook his head while he pressed -it into place. “No, the action is just beginning to get snappy now,” -he said. - -“Meanin’ what?” Monty paused in the act of lifting a stove lid. - -“Meaning that I just put on a fight scene, and ran the heavy clean -out of the cañon as per usual.” - -“Yeah?” Monty’s tone betrayed a complete lack of understanding. - -“You bet. Never saw a leading man get licked, did you? I’m starring -in this piece--so naturally I just _had_ to put the heavy on the -run.” - -“What’s a heavy?” - -“The villain. Pat Connolly went and had another impulse. She let the -place on shares to a gink that I’ll bet has done time. He had every -mark of a crook, and he had the darndest holdup game you ever saw. -Pat Connolly doesn’t know anything at all about ranches. She went -and----” - -“Pat Connolly--_she_?” Monty was dipping cold water into the -coffeepot, and he spilled a cupful. - -“Er--yes.” Gary reddened a bit. “She’s a girl all right. Finest in -the world. Patricia Connolly’s her name, and if I can pull her clear -on this damned Johnnywater investment and remain on speaking terms -with Pat, I expect she’ll become Mrs. Marshall. She’s not at all -like other girls, Monty. Pat’s got brains. A crackerjack -stenographer and bookkeeper. Got a man-sized job with the -Consolidated Grain and Milling Company in the city. You may have -heard of them.” - -“Sure,” said Monty. “Sent there once for some oil cakes to winter my -she stock on. Costs too much, though. A cow ain’t worth what it -costs to feed one through the winter. What about this feller yuh run -off?” - -Gary got up and began helping with the supper while he told all -about James Blaine Hawkins and his AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT. - -Monty was in the position of a man who dips into the middle of a -story and finds it something of a jumble because he does not know -what went before. He asked a good many questions, so that the -telling lasted through supper and the dishwashing afterwards. By the -time they were ready to sit down and smoke with the comfortable -assurance that further exertion would not be necessary that night, -Monty was pretty well up-to-date on the affairs of Gary Marshall and -Patricia Connolly, up to and including the arrival of James Blaine -Hawkins at Johnnywater and his hurried departure that morning. - -“And yuh-all say the feller seen something,” Monty drawled -meditatively after a minute or two of silence. “Did he tell yuh what -it was he saw?” - -“No, except that he thought it was a man who had slipped into the -cabin when he wasn’t looking. But it was the cat that really put him -on the run. Seems he hated to see a cat unless I saw it too.” - -Monty looked up quickly. In Gary’s tone he had caught a certain -reluctance to speak of the man which James Blaine Hawkins declared -he saw. He was willing enough to explain all about James Blaine -Hawkins and the cat, and he had laughed when he told how he had -pretended not to hear the Voice. But of the possible apparition of a -man Gary did not like to talk. - -“Tell the truth, now--ain’t yuh scared to stay there alone?” Monty’s -question was anxious. - -Gary shrugged his shoulders and blew a smoke ring, watching it drift -up toward the ceiling. “Being scared or not being scared makes no -difference whatever. I’m going to stay. For a while, anyway.” - -“I wisht you’d tell me what for,” Monty urged uneasily. “A man that -can hold down the position and earn the money yuh did in pictures -kain’t afford to set around in Johnnywater Cañon lookin’ after two -shoats and a dozen or fifteen hens. I don’t agree with Miss Connolly -at all. I’d be mighty proud if I could do what I’ve seen yuh-all do -in pictures. Your actin’ was real--and I reckon that’s what puts a -man at the top. I know the top-notchers all act so good you kain’t -ketch ’em at it. Yuh just seem to be lookin’ in on ’em whilst -they’re livin’.” - -“The best acting I’ve done,” chuckled Gary, “was last night and this -morning. I was scared to death that the pinto cat would come and hop -up on my lap like she usually does. I’d have had a merry heck of a -time acting like she wasn’t there. But I put it over--enough to send -him breezing down the cañon, anyway.” - -“You’re liable to have trouble with that feller yet,” warned Monty. -“If he got an agreement out of Miss Connolly, he ain’t liable to -give up the idea of holding her to it. Have yuh-all got a gun?” - -“An automatic, yes.” Gary pulled the gun from his hip pocket. “I -carry this just in case. I was born and raised where men pack -guns--but they didn’t ride with ’em cocked and in their hands ready -to shoot, like we do in the movies. There’s a lot of hokum I do -before the camera that gives me a pain. So if I should happen to -need a gun, I’ve got one. But don’t you worry about James Blaine -Hawkins. _He_ won’t show up again.” - -“I wouldn’t be none too sure of that,” Monty reiterated -admonishingly. “He’s liable to get to thinkin’ it over in town and -git his courage back. Things like Johnnywater has got don’t look so -important when you’re away off somewhere just thinkin’ about it.” - -“I guess you’re right, at that,” Gary admitted. “He’ll probably get -over the cat and the Voice, all right, and--that other spell of -imagination. But without meaning to brag on myself, I think he’ll -study it over a while before he comes around trying to bully me -again. You see, Monty, the man’s an awful coward. I slapped him -twice and even then he wouldn’t fight. He just backed up away from -me and cooled right down.” - -“Them’s the kind uh skunks yuh want to look out for,” Monty declared -sententiously. - -But Gary only laughed at him and called him the original gloom, and -insisted upon talking of something altogether different. - -Monty, it transpired, had promised to help a man through haying over -in Pahranagat Valley and meant to start the next day. He was frankly -relieved to know that Gary was still all right. He had wanted to -ride over to Johnnywater again before going to Pahranagat, but had -had too much riding of his own to do. - -“But if you’re bent on hangin’ out there,” he said, after some -futile argument, “I’ll ride on over when I get through with this -job. What yuh-all trying to do over there, anyway? Hate yourself to -death?” - -“Well, I hope I’m pleasing Pat,” Gary laughed evasively. - -“Well, I hate to be butting in,” Monty said diffidently, “but if she -wanted yuh to stay over here and run Johnnywater, it don’t seem to -me like she’d ’a’ sent this Hawkins feller over with a five years’ -contract to run the place on shares. Didn’t she send yuh no word -about why she done it?” - -“She did not! I have a hunch Pat’s pretty sore at me. You see, she -sprung this deal on me kinda sudden, right on top of a strawberry -shortcake when I didn’t want to think. I told her what I thought -about it--and I told it straight. So we had a little--er--argument. She -up and threw my profile in my face, and called me flabby souled. So -I up and left. And I didn’t go back to tell her good-by when I -started over here, so I wouldn’t be surprised if little Pat Connolly -is pretty well peeved.” - -Monty smoked and studied the matter. “Does she know you’re over -here?” he asked abruptly. “Seems kinda funny to me, that she’d go -and send Hawkins over here without sayin’ a word to yuh about it. -She could ’a’ wrote, couldn’t she? If yuh-all didn’t tell her yuh -was coming, how would she know yuh was here?” - -“Why, she could call up the studio and get the dope from Mills, my -director,” Gary explained uncomfortably. - -“But would she? Seems like as if _I_ was a girl and had any spunk, I -wouldn’t want to let on that the feller I was engaged to had gone -off somewheres without letting me know about it.” - -“That’s one way to look at it,” Gary admitted. “But Pat’s nobody’s -fool. She could find out all right, without letting on.” - -“Well, it’s none of my put-in--but I don’t reckon yuh-all are -pleasing Pat Connolly much by sticking over here.” - -Gary got up and stretched his arms above his head. “She wanted me to -sit in my cabin and listen to a saddle horse champing hay,” he -contended lightly. “I think I’ll go down and give Jazz a feed of -barley to champ.” - -Monty understood quite well that Gary meant to end the discussion -right there. He said no more about it, therefore. But he promised -himself--and mentally he promised Patricia as well--that he would -manage somehow to bring about a complete understanding between these -two obstinate young people. - -They slept shoulder to shoulder that night in Monty’s bunk, and the -next morning they saddled early and each rode his way, feeling the -better for the meeting. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY - - “THAT CAT AIN’T HUMAN!” - - -Monty rode rather anxiously into Johnnywater Cañon, determined to -take whatever means he found necessary to persuade Gary to return to -Los Angeles and “make it up with his girl.” With three weeks’ wages -in his pocket Monty felt sufficiently affluent to buy the pigs and -chickens if Gary used them for a point in his argument against -going. - -Monty had spent a lot of time during those three weeks in mulling -over in his mind the peculiar chain of circumstances that had -dragged Gary to Johnnywater. What bond it was that held him there, -Monty would have given much to know. He was sure that Gary disliked -the place, and that he hated to stay there alone. It seemed -unreasonable that any normal young man would punish himself like -that from sheer stubbornness; yet Gary would have had Monty believe -that he was staying to spite Patricia. - -Monty did not believe it. Gary had shown himself to be too -intelligent, too level-headed and safely humorous in his viewpoints -to harbor that peculiar form of egotism. Monty was shrewd enough to -recognize the fact that “cutting off the nose to spite the face” is -a sport indulged in only by weak natures who own an exaggerated ego. -Wherefore, Gary failed to convince him that he was of that type of -individual. - -At the same time, he could think of no other reason that could -possibly hold a man like Gary Marshall at Johnnywater. Monty had a -good memory for details. Certain trivial incidents he remembered -vividly: Gary’s stealthy approach around the corner of the cabin -with the upraised pitchfork in his hands; Gary’s forced gayety -afterwards, and the strained look in his eyes--the lines beside the -mouth; Gary’s reluctance to speak of the uncanny, nameless -_something_ that clung to Johnnywater Cañon; the incomprehensible -behavior of the spotted cat. And always Monty brought up short with -a question which he asked himself but could not answer. - -Why had Gary Marshall described Steven Carson--who had dropped from -sight of mortal eyes five years and more ago?--why had Gary described -Steve Carson and asked if that description fitted Waddell? - -“Gary never saw Steve Carson--not when he was alive, anyway. He says -the Indians never told him how Steve looked. I reckon he really -thought Waddell was that kind uh lookin’ man. But how in thunder did -he _get the idea_?” Monty frequently found himself mentally asking -that question, but he never attempted to put an answer into words. -He couldn’t. He didn’t know the answer. - -So here he was, peering anxiously at the cabin squatted between the -two great piñon trees in the grove and hoping that Gary was still -all right. He had consciously put aside an incipient dread of James -Blaine Hawkins and his possible vengefulness toward Gary. Monty told -himself that there was no use in crossing that bridge until he came -to it. He had come over for the express purpose of offering to take -the Walking X cattle on shares and look after them with his own. He -would manage somehow to take charge of the pigs and chickens as -well. He decided that he could kill the pigs and pack the meat over -on his horse. And he could carry the chickens on a pack horse in a -couple of crates. There would be nothing then to give Gary any -excuse for staying. - -Remembering how he had startled Gary before with calling, Monty did -not dismount at the cabin. Instead, he rode close to the front -window, leaned and peered in like an Indian; and finding the cabin -empty, he went on through the grove to the corral. Jazz was there, -standing hip-shot in a shady corner next the creek, his head nodding -jerkily while he dozed. Monty’s horse whinnied a greeting and Jazz -awoke with a start and came trotting across the corral to slide his -nose over the top rail nearest them. - -Monty rode on past the potato patch and the alfalfa meadow where a -second crop was already growing apace. There was no sign of Gary, -and Monty rode on to the very head of the cañon and back to the -cabin. - -A vague uneasiness seized Monty in spite of his efforts to throw it -off. Gary should be somewhere in the cañon, since he would not leave -it afoot, not while he had a horse doing nothing in the corral. Of -course, if anything were wrong with Jazz----Monty turned and rode back -to the corral, where he dismounted by the gate. He went in and -walked up to Jazz, and examined him with the practiced palms of the -expert horseman. He slapped Jazz on the rump and shooed him around -the corral at a lope. - -“There ain’t a thing in the world the matter with _you_,” he told -the horse, after a watchful minute or two. Then he rolled a -cigarette, lighted and smoked it while he waited and meditated upon -the probable whereabouts of Gary. - -He went out into the open and studied the steep bluff sides, foot by -foot. The entire width of the cañon was no more than a long -rifle-shot. If Gary were climbing anywhere along its sides, Monty -would be able to see him. But there was no sign of movement -anywhere, though he took half an hour for the examination. - -He returned to the cabin, leaving his horse in the corral with -saddle and bridle off and a forkful of hay under his eager nose. He -shouted Gary’s name. - -“Hey, _Gary! Oh-h-h_, Gary!” he called, over and over, careful to -enunciate the words. - -From high up on the bluff somewhere the Voice answered him -mockingly, shouting again and again a monotonous, eerie call. There -was no other sound for a time, and Monty went into the cabin to see -if he could find there some clue to Gary’s absence. - -Little things bear a message plain as print to those dwellers of the -wilderness who depend much upon their eyes and their ears. The cabin -told Monty with absolute certainty that Gary had not planned an -absence of more than a few hours at most. Nor had he left in any -great haste. He had been gone, Monty judged, since breakfast. Of the -cooked food set away in the cupboard, two pancakes lay on top of a -plate containing three slices of fried bacon. To Monty that meant -breakfast cleared away and no later meal prepared. He looked at his -watch. He had taken an early start from Kawich, and it was now two -o’clock. - -He lifted the lid of the stove and reached in, feeling the ashes. -There had been no fire since morning; he was sure of that. He stood -in the middle of the room and studied the whole interior -questioningly. Gary’s good clothes--which were not nearly so good as -they had been when Monty first saw him--hung against the wall -farthest from the stove, the coat neatly spread over a makeshift -hanger. Gary’s good hat was in the cupboard nailed to the wall. A -corner of his suit case protruded from under the bunk. Gary was in -the rough clothes he had gleaned from Waddell’s leavings. - -Monty could not find any canteen, but that told him nothing at all. -He could not remember whether Waddell had canteens or not. The vague -uneasiness which he had at first smothered under his natural -optimism grew to a definite anxiety. He knew the ways of the desert. -And he could think of no plausible reason why Gary should have left -the cañon afoot. - -He went out and began looking for tracks. The dry soil still held -the imprint of automobile tires, but it was impossible to tell just -how long ago they had been made. Several days, at least, he judged -after a careful inspection. He heard a noise in the bushes across -the little creek and turned that way expectantly. - -The spotted cat came out of the brush, jumped the tiny stream and -approached him, meowing dolefully. Monty stood stock still, watching -her advance. She came directly toward him, her tail drooping and -waving nervously from side to side. She looked straight up into his -face and yowled four or five times without stopping. - -“Get out, damn yuh!” cried Monty and motioned threateningly with his -foot. “Yuh can’t stand there and yowl at _me_--I got enough on my -mind right now.” - -The mottled cat ducked and started back to the creek, stopping now -and then to look over her shoulder and yowl at Monty. Monty picked -up a pebble and shied it after her. The cat gave a final squall and -ran into a clump of bushes a few yards up-stream from where Monty -had first seen her. - -“That damned cat ain’t human!” Monty ejaculated uncomfortably. -“That’s the way she yowled around when Steve Carson----” He lifted his -shoulders impatiently at the thought. - -After a minute or two spent in resisting the impulse, Monty yielded -and started out to see where the cat had gone. Beyond the clump of -bushes lay an open space along the bank of the creek. On the farther -side he saw the mottled cat picking her way through weeds and small -bushes, still going up the creek and yowling mournfully as she went. -Monty walked slowly after her. He noticed, while he was crossing the -open space, a man’s footprints going that way and another set coming -back. The soil was too loose to hold a clear imprint, so that Monty -could not tell whose tracks they were; though he believed them to -have been made by Gary. - -The cat looked back and yowled at Monty, then went on. At a point -nearly opposite the potato patch the cat stopped near a bushy little -juniper tree that stood by itself where the creek bank rounded up to -a tiny knoll. As Monty neared the spot the cat leaped behind the -juniper and disappeared. - -Monty went closer, stopped with a jerk and stood staring. He felt -his knees quiver with a distinct tendency to buckle under him. The -blood seeped slowly away from his face, leaving it sallow under the -tan. - -Monty was standing at the very edge of a narrow mound of earth that -still bore the marks of a shovel where the mound had been smoothed -and patted into symmetrical form. A grave, the length of a man. - -Here again were the blurred footprints in the loose soil. Who had -made them, what lay buried beneath that narrow ridge of heaped sand, -Monty shrank from conjecturing. - -With an involuntary movement, of which Monty was wholly unconscious, -his right hand went up to his hat brim. He stood there for a space -without moving. Then he turned and almost ran to the corral. It was -not until he reached to open the gate that Monty discovered his hat -in his hand. - -He was thinking swiftly now, holding his thoughts rigidly to the -details of what he must do. The name Hawkins obtruded itself -frequently upon his mind, but he pushed the thought of Hawkins from -him. Beyond the details of his own part, which he knew he must play -unfalteringly from now on, he would not think--he could not bear to -think. He saddled Jazz, mounted and led his own horse down to the -cabin. Working swiftly, he packed a few blankets, food for three -days and his own refilled canteens upon the led horse. - -Then with a last shrinking glance around the cañon walls, he mounted -Jazz. He remembered then something that he must do, something that -Gary would wish to have him do. He rode back to the stone pen and -opened the gate so that the pigs could run free and look after -themselves. - -He remounted, then half-turned in the saddle and took up the slack -in the lead rope, got the led horse straightened out behind him and -kicked Jazz into a trot. In his mental stress he loped the horses -all the way down to the cañon’s mouth. And then, striking into the -dim trail, he went racking away over the small ridges and into the -hollows, heading straight for the road most likely to be traveled in -this big, empty land; the road that stretched its long, long miles -between Goldfield and Las Vegas. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - - GARY FOLLOWS THE PINTO CAT - - -Gary had prospected pretty thoroughly the whole cañon, following the -theory that some one--he felt that it was probably Steve Carson--had -carried that rich, gold-bearing rock down to the cabin. Waddell had -left neither chemicals nor appliances by which he could test any of -the mineralized rock he found; but Gary was looking for one -particular kind, the porphyry that carried free gold. - -Greater than the loneliness, stronger than his dread of the cañon -and the cabin, was his desire to find more of that gold-bearing -rock. It would not take much of it to make Pat’s investment in -Johnnywater more than profitable. He even climbed to the top of the -butte--a heart-breaking effort accomplished at the risk of his neck -on the sheer wall of the rim rock. There was no means of knowing -just where that porphyry had come from. In some prehistoric eruption -it might have been thrown for miles, though Gary did not believe -that it had been. The top of the bluff gave no clue whatever. Malapi -bowlders strewed much of the surface with outcroppings of country -rock. Certainly there was no sign of mineral up there. He tramped -the butte for miles, however, and spent two days in doing it. Then, -satisfied that the porphyry must be somewhere in the cañon, he -renewed his search on the slope. - -Prospecting here was quite as difficult, because so much of the -upper slopes was covered with an overburden of the malapi that -formed the rim rock. Portions of the rim would break and slide when -the storms beat upon it. Considerable areas of loose rock had formed -during the centuries of wear and tear, and if there had been mineral -outcroppings they were as effectually hidden as if they had never -come to the surface at all. But a strain of persistence which Gary -had inherited from pioneering forebears held him somewhat doggedly -to the search. - -He reasoned that he had more time than he knew what to do with, and -if a fortune were hidden away in this cañon, it would be inexcusable -for him to mope through the days without making any systematic -effort to find it. Patricia deserved the best fortune the world had -to bestow. To find one for her would, he told himself whimsically, -wipe out the stain of owning a profile and a natural marcel wave -over his temples. Pat might possibly forgive even his painted -eyebrows and painted lashes and painted lips, if he found her a gold -mine. - -So he tramped and scrambled and climbed from one end of the cañon -walls to the other, and would not hint to Monty Girard what it was -that held him in Johnnywater Cañon. He would not even put his hopes -on paper in the long, lonely evenings when he wrote to Patricia. -After the jibing letter concerning the millions she might have if -she owned a mine as rich as the rock he had found behind the cabin, -Gary had not put his search into words even when he talked to Faith. - -He found himself thinking more and more about Steve Carson. The -weak-souled Waddell he had come practically to ignore. Waddell had -left no impress upon the cañon, at least, so far as Gary was -concerned. And that in spite of the fact that he was walking about -in Waddell’s boots and trousers, wearing Waddell’s hat, tending -Waddell’s pigs. Walking in Waddell’s boots, Gary wondered about -Steve Carson, speculated upon his life and his hopes and the things -he had put away in his past when he came to Johnnywater to live -alone, wholly apart from his fellows. Steve Carson’s hands had built -the cabin between the two piñons. Steve Carson--Gary did not attempt -any explanation of why he knew it was so--had brought the -gold-bearing rock to the cabin. A prospector of sorts, he must have -been, to have found gold-bearing rock in that cañon. - -It was during the forenoon after Gary had returned from Kawich that -he obeyed a sudden, inexplicable impulse to follow Faith, the -mottled cat. - -Ever since Gary had come to Johnnywater he had seen Faith go off -across the creek after breakfast. Usually she returned in the course -of three or four hours, and frequently she brought some small rodent -or a bird home with her. Gary had been faintly amused by the pinto -cat’s regular hours and settled habits of living. He used to -compliment her upon her decorous behavior, stroking her back while -she purred on his knee, her paws tucked snugly close to her body. - -On this morning Gary rose abruptly from the doorstep, and, -bareheaded, he followed Faith across the creek and up the bluff. It -was hot climbing, but Gary did not think about the heat. Indeed, he -was not consciously thinking of anything much. He was simply -following Faith up the bluff, because he had got up from the -doorstep to follow Faith. - -Faith climbed up and up quite as if she knew exactly where she was -going. Gary, stopping once on a bowlder to breathe for a minute -after an unusually stiff bit of climbing, saw the cat look up in the -queer way she had of doing. In a minute she went on and Gary -followed. - -It began to look as if Faith meant to climb to the top of the butte. -She made her way around the lower edge of a slide, went out of sight -into a narrow gulch which Gary, with all his prospecting had never -noticed before--or at least had never entered--and reappeared farther -up, just under the rim rock where many slides had evidently had -their birth. For the first time since he had left the cabin, the cat -looked back at Gary, gave an amiable mew and waited a minute before -she started on. - -Gary hesitated. He was thirsty, and the rapid climb was beginning to -tell on him. He looked back down the bluff to the cool green of the -grove, and for the first time wondered why he had been such a fool -as to follow a cat away up here on a hunting trip in which he could -not possibly take any active interest or part. He told himself what -a fool he was and said he must be getting goofy himself. But when he -moved it was upward, after the cat. - -He brought up at the foot of a high ledge seamed and cracked as one -would never suspect, looking up from below. It was up here somewhere -that the Voice always seemed to be located. He stopped and listened, -but the whole cañon lay in a somnolent calm under the mounting sun. -It looked as if nothing could disturb it; as if there never could be -a Voice other than the everyday voices of men. While he stood there -wiping his forehead and panting with the heat and the labor of -climbing, the red rooster down in the grove began to crow lustily. -The sound came faintly up to Gary, linking him lightly to -commonplace affairs. - -A little distance away the cat had curled herself down in a tiny -hollow at the edge of the slide. Gary made his way over to her. She -opened one eye and regarded him sleepily, gave a lazy purr or two -and settled herself again more comfortably. Gary saw, from certain -small scratchings in the gravel, that the pinto cat had made this -little nest for herself. She had not been hunting at all. She had -come to a spot with which she was very familiar. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - - THE PAT CONNOLLY MINE - - -Gary decided offhand that he had been neatly sold. He sat down on -the loose rubble near Faith and made himself a smoke. The grove and -the cabin were hidden from him by the narrow little ridge that -looked perfectly smooth from the cañon bottom. But the rest of the -cañon--the corral, the potato patch, the alfalfa--lay blocked out in -miniature far below him. He stared down upon the peaceful picture it -made and wondered why he had climbed all the way up here just -following the pinto cat. For the matter of that, his following the -cat was not half so purposeless as the cat’s coming had been. - -He looked down at her curled asleep in her little hollow. It struck -him that this must have been her destination each time she crossed -the creek and started up the bluff. But why should the cat come away -up here every day? Gary did not attempt to explain the vagaries of a -cat so eccentric as Faith had proved herself to be. He wondered idly -if he were becoming eccentric also, just from constant association -with Faith. - -He laughed a little to himself and picked up a piece of malapi rock; -balanced it in his hand while he thought of other things, and tossed -it down the slide. It landed ten feet below him and began rolling -farther, carrying with it a small avalanche of loose rocks. Gary -watched the slide with languid interest. Even so small a thing could -make a tiny ripple in the dead calm of the cañon that day. - -The slide started by that one rock spread farther. Other rocks -loosened and went rolling down the bluff, and Gary’s eyes followed -them and went higher, watching to see where next a rock would slip -away from the mass and go rolling down. It seemed to him that the -whole slide might be easily set in motion with no more than a kick -or two at the top. He got up and began to experiment, kicking a rock -loose here and there. There was no danger to himself, since he stood -at the top of the slide. As for Faith, she had sprung up in a furry -arch at the first slithering clatter and was now viewing the scene -with extreme disfavor from the secure vantage point of a shelf on -the ledge above Gary. - -In a very few minutes Gary had set the whole surface of the slide in -motion. The noise it made pleased him immensely. It served to break -that waiting silence in the cañon. When the rocks ceased rolling, he -started others. Finally he found himself standing upon firm ground -again, with an outcropping of gray quartz just below him. His eyes -fixed themselves upon the quartz in a steady stare before he dug -heels into the slope and edged down to it. - -With a malapi rock bigger than his two fists he hammered off a piece -of quartz and held it in the shade of his body while he examined it -closely. He turned it this way and that, fearful of deceiving -himself by the very strength of his desire. But all the while he -knew what were those little yellow specks that gleamed in the shade. - -He knelt and pounded off other pieces of the quartz and compared -them anxiously with the first. They were all identical in character: -steel gray, with here and there the specks of gold in the gray, and -the chocolate brown streaks and splotches of hematite--the “red -oxide” iron which runs as high as seventy per cent. iron. Hematite -and free gold in gray quartz---- - -“A prettier combination for free gold I couldn’t have made to -order!” he whispered, almost as if he were praying. “It’s good -enough for my girl’s ‘million-dollar mine’--though they _do_ get rich -off a piece of gold float in the movies!” He began to laugh -nervously. A weaker-souled man would probably have wept instead. - -With the side of his foot he tore away the rubble from the quartz -outcropping. There, just where he had been kneeling, he discovered a -narrow vein of the bird’s-eye porphyry such as he had found at the -cabin. Here, then, lay the object of all his tiresome prospecting. -So far as he could judge, with only his hands and feet for digging, -the vein averaged about eight inches in width. Whether the porphyry -formed a wall for the quartz he could not tell at the surface; but -he hoped fervently that it did. With hematite, gray quartz and -bird’s-eye porphyry he would have the ideal combination for a rich, -permanent gold mine. And Pat, he reflected breathlessly, might -really have her millions after all. - -He picked up what he believed to be average samples of the vein and -started back down the bluff, his imagination building air castles, -mostly for Patricia. If he dramatized the event and cast himself for -the leading man playing opposite Patricia, who was the star, surely -he had earned the right to paint rose tints across the veil that hid -his future and hers. - -He had forgotten all about the cat; but when he reached the cabin, -there she was at his heels looking extremely self-satisfied and -waving her tail with a gentle air of importance. Gary laid his ore -samples on the table and stood with his hands on his hips, looking -down at Faith with a peculiar expression in his eyes. Suddenly he -smiled endearingly at the cat, stooped and picked her up, holding -her by his two hands so that he could look into her eyes. - -“Doggone you, Faith, I wish to heck you could talk! I wouldn’t put -it past you to think like humans. I’ll bet you’ve been trying all -along to show me that outcropping. And I thought you were hunting -mice and birds and gophers just like a plain, ordinary cat! You -can’t tell _me_--you knew all about that gold! I’ll bet you’ve got a -name all picked out for the mine, too. But it won’t go, I’ll tell a -meddlesome world. That is, unless you’ve decided it ought to be -called ‘The Pat Connolly.’ Because that’s the way it’s going on -record, if Handsome Gary has anything to say about it--and I rather -think he has!” - -Faith blinked at him and mewed understandingly. Gary wooled her a -bit and put her down, considerately smoothing down the fur he had -roughed. Faith was a forgiving cat, and she immediately began -purring under his fingers. After that she tagged him indefatigably -while he got mortar, pestle and pan, and carried them down to a -shady spot beside the creek. - -Gary’s glance strayed often to the bluff while he broke bits off -each sample of quartz and dropped them into the iron mortar. Then, -with the mortar held firmly between his knees, Gary picked up the -eight-inch length of iron with the round knob on the end and began -to pulverize the ore. For a full quarter of an hour the quiet air of -the grove throbbed to the steady _pung, pung, pung_, of the iron -pestle striking upon rock particles in the deep iron bowl. - -About twice in every minute, Gary would stop, dip thumb and finger -into the mortar, and bring up a pinch of pulverized rock at which he -would squint with the wholly unconscious eagerness of a small boy. -Naturally, since he was not flattening a nugget of solid gold in the -mortar, he failed to see anything except once when he caught an -unmistakable yellow gleam from a speck of gold almost half the size -of a small pinhead. - -He gloated over that speck for a full minute before he shook it -carefully back into the mortar. And then you should have heard him -pound! - -He was all aquiver with hope and eager expectancy when at last he -poured the pulverized quartz into the gold pan and went digging his -heels down the bank to the water. Faith came forward and stood upon -a dry rock, mewing and purring by turns, and waving her tail -encouragingly while she watched him. - -Those who plod along the beaten trail toward commercial success can -scarcely apprehend the thrill of winning from nature herself the -symbol that promises fulfillment of hope and dreams coming true. The -ardency of Gary’s desire was measurable only by the depth of his -love for Patricia. For himself he had a man’s normal hunger for -achievement. To discover a gold mine here in Johnnywater Cañon, to -develop it in secret to the point where he could command what -capital he needed for the making of a real mine, that in itself -seemed to Gary a goal worth striving for. To fill Patricia’s hands -with virgin gold which he had found for her, there spoke the -primitive desire of man since the world was young; to bring the -spoils of war or the chase and lay them, proud offering of love, at -the feet of his Woman. - -Gary turned and tilted the pan, tenderly as a young mother cradles -her first-born. He dipped and rocked and spilled the water carefully -over the rim; dipped and rocked and tilted again. The three deep -creases stood between his straight, dark eyebrows, but now they -betokened eager concentration upon his work. At last, he poured -clear water from the pan carefully, almost drop by drop. He tilted -the pan slowly in the sunlight and bent his head, peering sharply -into the pan. His heart seemed to be beating in his throat when he -saw the trail of tiny yellow particles following sluggishly the -spoonful of black sand when he tilted the pan. - -“I’ve got it, Steve,” he exclaimed, looking up over his shoulder. He -caught his breath in the sudden realization that he was looking into -the empty sunlight. Absorbed as he had been in the gold, the felt -presence of Steve Carson looking over his shoulder had seemed -perfectly natural and altogether real. - -The momentary shock sobered him. But the old dread of that felt -presence no longer assailed him as something he must combat by -feigning unconsciousness. The unreasoning impression that Steve -Carson--the mind of him--was there just behind his shoulder, watching -and sharing in his delight, persisted nevertheless. Gary caught -himself wondering if the thing was really only a prank of his -imagination. Feeling a bit foolish, but choosing to indulge the -whimsy, he stood up and turned deliberately, the pan held out before -him. - -“Steve Carson, if dead people go on living and thinking, and if you -really are hanging around just out of sight but watching the game, -I’m here to say that I hope you’re glad I found this vein. And I -want to tell you right now that if there’s any money to be made out -of it, it’s going to the finest, squarest little girl in the world. -So if there is such a thing as a spirit, just take it from me -everything’s going to be on the square.” - -He carried the pan up to the cabin and carefully rinsed the gold -down into a jelly glass. He made no apology to himself for the -little speech to a man dead and gone these five years. Having made -himself as clear on the subject as was diplomatic--supposing Steve -Carson’s spirit had been present and could hear--he felt a certain -relief and could lay the subject aside and devote himself to the -fascination of hunting the gold out of the hills where it had lain -buried for ages. - -It occurred to him that he might find some particularly rich -specimens, mortar them by hand and pan them for Patricia. A wedding -ring made from the first gold taken and panned by hand--the hand of -Gary Marshall--from “The Pat Connolly” mine, appealed to him -irresistibly. Before he had mortared a lump of porphyry the size of -a pigeon’s egg, Gary had resolved to pan enough gold for that very -purpose. He pictured himself pulling the ring from his vest pocket -while the minister waited. He experienced a prophetic thrill of -ecstasy when he slipped the ring upon Patricia’s finger. The dreamed -sentence, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” intoned by an -imaginary minister, thrilled him to the soul. - -_Pung, pung, pung!_ It wouldn’t take so very long, if he mortared -rock evenings, say, instead of killing time minute by minute playing -solitaire with the deck of cards Waddell had thumbed before him. -_Pung, pung, pung!_ He could mortar the quartz in the evenings and -pan it in the morning before he went to work. _Pung, pung, pung, -pung!_ He would hunt up a cow’s horn and fix it as he had seen old -prospectors do, so that he could blow the sand from the panned gold -and carry it unmixed to the jeweler. _Pung, pung!_ The porphyry -sample was fine as corn meal under the miniature stamp-mill of -Gary’s pounding. - -He was mighty careful of that handful of pulp. He even dipped the -mortar half full of water and sloshed it round and round, pouring it -afterward into the pan to rinse out what gold may have stuck to the -iron. His finger tips stirred the wet mass caressingly in the pan, -muddying the water with the waste matter and pouring that out before -he squatted on his heels at the edge of the stream. - -The result was gratifying in the extreme. Granting that the values -were inclined to “jump” from quartz to porphyry and back again to -the quartz, he would still lose none of the gold. He tried to be -very conservative in estimating the probable value of the vein. He -knew that, granting quartz and porphyry were in place from the -surface downward, the values should increase with depth. It would -take some digging, however, to determine that point. He was glad -that Patricia knew nothing at all about it. If there were to be -disappointment later on, he wanted to bear it alone. The joys of -success he was perfectly willing to share; but not the sickening -certitude of failure. He judged that the outcropping would run -several hundred dollars to the ton, provided his panned samples had -run a fair average of the vein. - -Material for air castles aplenty, that! Gary was afraid to believe -it. He kept warning himself headily that the world would be peopled -entirely with multimillionaires if every man’s dream of wealth came -true and every man’s hopes were realized. - -“Ninety-nine per cent. of all mineral prospects are failures, -Faith,” he told the spotted cat admonishingly. “We may get the -raspberry yet on this proposition. I’m just waiting to see whether -you’re a mascot or a jinx. I wish to heck you were a dog--I’d make -you get busy and help dig!” - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - - GARY FINDS THE VOICE--AND SOMETHING ELSE - - -“Here’s where Handsome Gary raises a crop of callouses big as birds’ -eggs in his mad pursuit of the fickle jade, Fortune. Come on, Faith, -doggone you; I want you handy in case this gold thing is a fluke.” - -Gary had remembered that eating is considered necessary to the -preservation of life and had delayed his further investigation of -the outcropping until he had scrambled together some sort of a meal. -He had bolted food as if he must hurry to catch a train that was -already whistling a warning. Now he took down a canteen from behind -the door, shouldered an old pick and shovel he had found in the -shed, and started back up the bluff, stopping just long enough to -fill the canteen at the creek as he passed. - -Loaded with canteen and tools, the climb was a heart-breaking one. -The spotted cat led the way, going as straight as possible toward -the tiny ridge behind which lay the outcropping. At the top, Gary -decided that hereafter he would bring a lunch and spend the day up -there, thus saving a valuable hour or two and a good deal of energy. -Energy, he realized, would be needed in unlimited quantities if he -did much development work alone. - -By hard labor he managed to clear away the rubble of the slide and -uncover the vein for a distance of several feet before dusk began to -fill the cañon. He carried down with him the richest pieces of rock -that he could find, and that night he worked with mortar and pestle -until his arms ached with the unaccustomed exercise. - -Several times that evening he was pulled away from his air castles -by the peculiar sensation of some one standing very close to him. It -was not the first time he had experienced the sensation, but never -before had the impression brought him a comforting sense of friendly -companionship. It struck him suddenly that he must be growing used -to the idea, and that Johnnywater Cañon was not at all likely to -“get” him as it had got Waddell. He had not heard the Voice all day, -but he believed that he could now listen to it with perfect -equanimity. - -He had just one worry that evening; rather, he had one difficult -problem to solve. In order to work in that quartz, dynamite was -absolutely necessary. Unless he could find some on the place, it -began to look very much as if he would not be able to do much unless -he could get some brought out to him from town. - -The result of his cogitations that evening was a belief that Steve -Carson must have had dynamite, caps and fuse on hand. Men living out -in a country known to produce minerals of one sort and another -usually were supplied with explosives. Even if they never did any -mining, they might want to blow a bowlder out of the way now and -then. He had never seen any powder about the place; but on the other -hand, he had not looked for any. - -The next morning he panned the pulped rock immediately after -breakfast and was overjoyed at the amount of gold he gleaned from -the pint or so of pulp. At that rate, he told himself gleefully, the -wedding ring would not need to wait very long. After that he went -hunting dynamite in the storehouse and shed. He was lucky enough to -find a couple of dozen sticks of powder and some caps and fuse -wrapped in a gunny sack and hung from the ridgepole of the shed. The -dynamite did not look so very old, and he guessed that it had been -brought there by Waddell. This seemed to him an amazing bit of good -luck, and he shouldered the stuff and went off up the bluff with an -extra canteen and his lunch, whistling in an exuberance of good -humor with the world. Faith, of course, went with him and curled -herself in her little hollow just under the frowning malapi ledge. - -Gary worked for three days, following the quartz and porphyry down -at an incline of forty-five degrees. The vein held true to form, and -the samples he panned each morning never failed to show a drag of -gold after the concentrate. It was killing work for a man unused to -pick and shovel. In the afternoon of the third day even Gary’s -driving energy began to slow down. He had learned how to drill and -shoot in rock, but the steady swing of the four-pound hammer (miners -call them single-jacks) lamed his right arm so that he could not -strike a forceful blow. Moreover, he discovered that twisting a -drill in rock is not soothing to broken blisters. So, much as he -wanted to make Patricia rich in the shortest possible time, -protesting flesh prevailed upon him to knock off work for the time -being. - -He was sitting on the edge of what would one day be an incline -shaft--when he had dug it deep enough--inspecting his blistered hands. -After several days of quiet the wind began to blow in gusts from off -the butte. Somewhere behind Gary and above him there came a -bellowing halloo that made him jump and slide into the open cut. -Again and again came the bellow above him--and after his first -astonishment Gary’s mouth relaxed into a slow grin. - -“I’ll bet right there’s the makings of that spook Voice!” he said -aloud. “Up there in the rim rock somewhere.” - -He climbed out of the cut and stood facing the cliff, listening. At -close quarters the call became a bellow with only a faint -resemblance to a Voice shouting hello. He remembered now that on -that first morning when he had searched for the elusive “man” on the -bluff, the wind had died before he had climbed very high. After that -he had not heard the Voice again that day. - -He made his way laboriously up to the rim rock, listening always to -locate the exact source of the sound. The bluff was almost -perpendicular just under the rim, and huge bowlders lay where they -had fallen in some forgotten time from the top. Gary scrambled over -the first of these and confronted a narrow aperture which seemed to -lead back into the cliff. The opening was perhaps three feet wide at -the bottom, drawing in to a pointed roof a few feet above his head. - -The Voice did not seem to come from this opening, but Gary’s -curiosity was roused. He went into the cave. Fifteen feet, as he -paced the distance, brought him to the rear wall--and to a small -recess where a couple of boxes sat side by side with a three-pound -coffee can on top and a bundle wrapped in canvas. Gary forgot the -Voice for the time being and began to investigate the cache. - -It was perfectly simple; perfectly amazing also. The boxes had been -opened, probably in order to carry the contents more easily up the -bluff; the most ambitious man would scarcely want to make that climb -with a fifty-pound box of dynamite on his shoulder. But both boxes -were full, or so nearly full that the few missing sticks did not -matter. The coffee can contained six boxes of caps, and in the -canvas bundle were eight full coils of fuse. - -“Golly grandma, if this ain’t movie luck!” Gary jubilated to the -cat, which had tagged him into the cave. “Or it would be if the -dynamite were fresh. From the weird tales I’ve heard about men who -got fresh with stale dynamite and landed in fragments before a -horrified audience, Handsome Gary’s liable to lose his profile if he -doesn’t watch his step. But it’s giant powder, and if it will shoot -at all, I’ve simply got to use it. It’s just about as necessary a -prop in this scene as a rope is in a lynching bee. Well, now we’ll -go ketchum that Voice.” - -By dint of hard climbing he made his way higher, to where the ledge -seemed broken in splintered clefts above the slide. As he went, the -Voice bellowed at him with a rising tone which distance might easily -modify to a human cry. Even so close, he was some time in -discovering just how the sound was made. But at last, after much -listening and investigating the splintered slits, he caught the rush -of wind up through a series of small, chimneylike openings. Here, -then, was the Voice that had given Johnnywater Cañon so weird a -reputation. - -As to the appearance of the Voice just after Steve Carson’s -disappearance, Gary considered that an exaggeration, unconscious, -perhaps, but nevertheless born of superstitious fear. Steve Carson -might have told a different story could he have been questioned -about the sound. - -“I’d say that Injun was about due to check out, anyway,” he told -Faith, who was nosing a crack that probably held a rat or two. “Now -I see how it’s done, the Voice isn’t half so mysterious or spookish -as all that giant powder right on hand where I need it. Don’t even -have to pack it up the bluff. And that’s Providence, I’ll tell the -cock-eyed world! When I think how I chased that supernatural Voice -all over the bluff and then sat and shivered in the cabin because I -couldn’t find it--Faith, I should think you might have told me! You -can’t kid _me_ into believing you weren’t wise all the while. You -know a heap more than you let on. You can’t string _me_.” - -He made his way back to the cave and examined more carefully the -giant powder cached there. He cut a foot length of fuse, lighted and -timed it with his watch. The fuse burned with almost perfect -accuracy--a minute to the foot. Then he capped a two-foot length, -broke a stick of powder in two, carefully inserted the cap in the -dynamite and went out and laid it under a bowlder the size of a -half-barrel. He scraped loose dirt over it, split the fuse end back -an inch, “spitted” it with his cigarette and ducked into the cave -with his watch in his hand to await the result. - -The explosion lifted the bowlder, and broke it in three pieces, and -Gary felt that the experiment had been a success. The powder would -probably miss fire occasionally, since it was crystallized with age. -It might also explode when he least expected it to do so, but Gary -was prepared to take that risk; though many an old miner would have -refused profanely to touch the stuff. - -“Well, I used to take a chance on breaking my neck every time I put -over a stunt before the camera,” he mused. “That was just to hold -down a job. I ought to be dead willing to take a chance with this -junk when it means millions for my girl--maybe.” - -With explosives enough to last him a couple of months at the very -least, Gary felt that Fate was giving him a broad smile of -encouragement. He acknowledged to himself, while he mortared rich -pieces of porphyry and quartz that night, the growing belief that he -had been all wrong in blaming Patricia for making the investment. It -was, he was beginning to think, the whispering of Destiny that had -urged Patricia to buy Johnnywater in the first place; and it was -Destiny again at work that had pushed him out of pictures and over -here to work out the plan. - -Perhaps he did not reduce the thought to so definite a form, but -that was the substance of his speculations. - -So he dreamed and worked with untiring energy through the days, -dreamed and pulped gold-bearing rock for the wedding ring during the -evenings when he should have been resting, and slept like a tired -baby at night. Whenever he heard the Voice shouting from the bluff, -he shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the joke the wind was -trying to play. Whenever he felt that unseen presence beside him, if -he did not grin he at least accepted it with a certain sense of -friendly companionship. And the spotted cat, Faith, was always -close, like a pet dog. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - - “STEVE CARSON--POOR DEVIL!” - - -Gary went down ten feet at an incline so sharp he could not carry -the muck up in the buckets he had expected to use for the purpose. -He knew, because he spent two perspiring hours in the attempt. Could -he have done it, it would have been slow, toilsome work. But at -least he could have gone down. He would not take the time to -experiment with a ladder. To carry the necessary material up the -bluff and build a thing would consume the best part of a day, and -the richness of the vein bred impatience that could not brook delay. - -He therefore decided to crosscut on the side where the vein showed -the highest values and continue throwing out the muck. It would be -slow, but Gary was thankful that he could make headway working by -himself. So he drilled a round of holes in the left wall of the -shaft, with the quartz and porphyry in the center of the face of the -proposed crosscut. The vein on that side was wider, and the values -were fully as high as on the other. He was pleased with his plan and -tried to remember all he had learned about mining, so that he would -waste neither time, effort, nor ore. - -It takes practice to handle dynamite to the best advantage, and Gary -did not always shoot the gangue cleanly away from the ore, but mixed -some of his richest values with the muck. To offset that, he used -the pick as much as possible and sorted the ore carefully at the -bottom of the incline shaft, before he threw it to the surface. - -Any experienced miner would have made better footage in a day, but -it is doubtful if any man would have put in longer shifts or worked -harder. And it is a great pity that Patricia could not have watched -him for a day and appreciated the full strength of his devotion to -her interests. - -At the end of ten days, Gary had gone five feet into his crosscut, -and was hoping to make better footage now that his muscles had -adjusted themselves somewhat to the labor. His hands, too, had -hardened amazingly. Altogether, Gary felt that he was justified in -thinking mighty well of himself. There were so many things for which -he was thankful, and there were so few for which he felt regret. - -He did not even worry about Patricia, now that he was accomplishing -something really worth while for her. It amused him to picture -Patricia’s astonishment when he returned to Los Angeles and told her -that he had investigated Johnnywater ranch very carefully, and that -she could not expect to make a nickel running cattle over there. He -would tell her that his hunch had been a bird. He dramatized for -himself her indignation and chuckled at the way she would fly at him -for daring to convince her that she had made a foolish investment. - -Then, when she had called him a lot of names and argued and squared -her chin--_then_ he would tell her that he had found the makings of a -wedding ring at Johnnywater, and that he would expect her finger to -be ready for it the minute it was cool enough to wear. After he had -teased her sufficiently, he would tell her how he and the pinto cat -had located “The Pat Connolly” mine; he would ask her for the job of -general manager, because he would want to make sure that half of -Patricia’s millions were not being stolen from her. - -Now that the cañon held a potential fortune, Gary could appreciate -its picturesque setting and could contemplate with pleasure the -prospect of spending long summers there with Patricia. He would -locate sufficient claims to protect the cañon from an influx of -strangers, and they would have it for their own special little -corner of the world. It is astonishing how prosperity will change a -man’s point of view. - -Six feet into the crosscut, Gary’s round of holes shot unexpectedly -through hard rock into a close-packed mass of broken malapi. The -stuff had no logical right to be there, breaking short off the -formation and vein. Had the vein pinched out and the malapi come in -gradually, he might have seen some geologic reason for the change. -But the whole face of his crosscut opened up malapi bowlders and -“nigger-heads.” - -Gary filled his two buckets and carried them out into the shaft, -dumping them disgustedly on the floor. It was like being shaken out -of a blissful dream. He would have given a good deal just then for -the presence of his old field boss, who was wise in all the vagaries -of mineral formations. But there was ore still in the loosened muck, -and Gary went back after it, thinking that he would make a clean job -of that side before he started crosscutting the vein to the right of -the shaft. - -He filled one bucket. Then his shovel struck into something tough -and yielding. Gary stooped, holding his candle low. He groped with -his hand and pulled out a shapeless, earth-stained felt hat, with -part of a skull inside it. - -He dropped the gruesome thing and made for the opening, took the -steep incline like a scared centipede and sat down weakly on a rock, -drawing the back of his hand again and again across his clammy -forehead. His knees shook. The flesh of his entire body was all -aquiver with the horror of it. - -Some time elapsed before Gary could even bring himself to think of -the thing he had uncovered. He moved farther away, pretending that -he was seeking the shade; in reality, he wanted to push a little -more sunlight between the shaft and himself. - -Faith came and mewed suddenly at his elbow, rubbing herself against -his arm, and Gary jumped as if some one had struck him from behind. -The contact of the cat set him quivering again, and he pushed her -away from him with a backward sweep of his arm. Faith retreated to -another rock and stood there with her back arched, regarding him -fixedly in round-eyed amazement. Gary slid off the bowlder and -started down the bluff, his going savoring strongly of retreat. He -was not particularly squeamish, nor had he ever been called a -coward; nevertheless the grisly discovery drove him from the spot -with the very unexpectedness of the disinterment. - -At the cabin he stopped and looked back up the bluff, ashamed of his -flight. - -“Steve Carson--the poor devil!” he muttered under his breath. “A -cave-in caught him, I reckon. And nobody ever knew what became of -him.” - -He walked aimlessly to the corral, perhaps seeking the small comfort -of even the horse’s presence. He gave Jazz an extra forkful of hay -and stood leaning his elbows upon the top rail of the corral, -watching Jazz nose the heap for the tenderest morsels. The -phlegmatic content of the old horse steadied him. He could think of -the horror now, without shaking inside like joggled jelly. - -He looked at his watch and saw that it lacked half an hour until -noon. There would be time enough to do what he knew must be done, if -he were to have any future peace in Johnnywater Cañon. - -He found an extra pick, shouldered the long-handled irrigating -shovel and set out to find a suitable spot--not too close to the -house--where he might give the shattered bones of Steve Carson decent -burial. He chose the tiny knoll crowned with the thick-branched -juniper and dug the grave there that afternoon. For the time being -he must leave the body where it was, crushed under the cave-in. - -“But he stayed there for five years,” Gary excused the seeming -slight. “One more night shouldn’t hurt him.” - -It was an uncomfortable night, however, for Gary. Even in his sleep -the thought of that broken body would not leave him. It overshadowed -all his hopes and dreams, and even Patricia seemed very far away, -and life seemed very short and uncertain. - -The next day Gary devoted to moving what little was left of Steve -Carson from under the mass of broken rock and burying the remains in -the grave under the juniper. The mottled cat walked solemnly behind -him all the way; and it seemed to Gary that the unseen yet sentient -spirit of the man walked beside him. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - - THE VALUE OF A HUNCH - - -The resiliency of youth, aided by the allurement of riches to be -gained by digging, drove Gary back up the bluff to his work. Here -again circumstances had forced him to continue where he would -voluntarily have left off. In digging out the body of Steve Carson, -Gary had dug completely through the broken stuff to a continuation -of the vein and its contact beyond. - -He felt that he understood in a general way what had happened five -years ago. Steve Carson had undoubtedly discovered the gold-bearing -quartz and had started to sink on the vein much as Gary had done. -The calamity of a cave-in--or perhaps a slide--had overtaken him while -he was at work underground. He had never known what hit him, which -was a mercy. And since no one in the country had heard of the -prospect up on the bluff, the discovery of his body would never have -been made if Gary had not followed the cat up there and so stumbled -upon the vein. - -He thought he also understood now why Faith had shown her strange -penchant for that particular spot on the bluff. Monty had told him -that the cat had belonged to Steve Carson. She had undoubtedly been -in the habit of following Steve Carson to work, just as she followed -Gary. Very likely she had been somewhere near at the time when her -master was killed. That she should continue the habit of going each -day to the spot where she had last seen him was not unlikely. So -another small mystery was cleared to Gary’s satisfaction. Save for -its grim history, Johnnywater Cañon was likely to drop at last to -the dead level of commonplace respectability. - -If Steve Carson had worked in an open shaft that had been filled by -a slide, the opening had been effectually blocked afterward. For on -the surface Gary could see no evidence whatever, among the piled -bowlders, of an opening beneath. And the roof, when he lifted his -candle to examine it, looked to be a smooth expanse of rock. - -For himself, he pronounced his own incline shaft safe from any -similar catastrophe. He had started it at the extreme edge of the -slide, and above it the rocks seemed firmly in place. He was working -under dangerous conditions, it is true; but the danger lay in using -five-year-old dynamite. Still, he must chance it or let the -development of Patricia’s claim stand still. - -Pondering the necessary steps to protect Patricia in case anything -happened to him, Gary wrote a copy of his location notice, declared -the necessary location work done, described the exact spot as -closely as possible--lining it up with blazed trees in the grove -behind the cabin, and placed the papers in his suit case. That, he -knew, would effectually forestall any claim-jumping; unless James -Blaine Hawkins or some other crook appeared first on the scene and -ransacked his belongings, destroying the papers and placing their -own location notices on the claim. He felt that the danger of such -villainy was slight and not worth considering seriously. Monty would -probably ride over as soon as he had finished his work in Pahranagat -Valley; and when he did, Gary meant to tell him all about it and -take him up and show him the claim. - -Monty would keep the secret for him, he was sure. He did not want -Patricia to know anything about it until he was sure that the vein -was not going to peter out before it yielded at least a modest -fortune. - -One night soon after he had made these elaborate arrangements, Gary -woke sweating from a nightmare. He was so sure that James Blaine -Hawkins was rummaging through his suit case, looking for the -information of the mine, that he swung out of bed, kicking viciously -with both feet. When they failed to land upon the man he believed -was there, Gary drew back and kicked again at a different angle. - -Not a sound save Gary’s breathing disturbed the midnight quiet of -the cabin. Gary waited, wondering foolishly if he had been dreaming -after all. He leaned and reached for his trousers, found a match and -lighted it. The tiny blaze flared up and showed him an empty cabin. -It was a dream, then--but a disagreeably vivid one, that impressed -upon Gary’s mind the thought that James Blaine Hawkins, returning -while he was at work up the bluff, would be very likely to go -prowling. If he found and read Gary’s explicit description of the -mine and the way to find it, together with his opinion of its -richness, James Blaine Hawkins might be tempted to slip up there and -roll a rock down on Gary. - -Wherefore, Gary dragged his suit case from under the bed, found the -papers, lighted another match and burned them. When that was done to -his satisfaction, he lay down again and went to sleep. Books might -be written--and possibly have been--about hunches, their origin and -value, if any. Gary’s nightmare and the strong impulse afterward to -guard against danger, took a wrong turning somewhere. He provided -against a danger which did not exist in reality and felt an instant -relief. And soon after sunrise he shouldered a full canteen, stuffed -a five-pound lard bucket as full of lunch as he could cram it, got a -handful of fresh candles and went blithely up the bluff to meet the -greatest danger that had ever threatened him in his life. - -He had driven the crosscut in a good twelve feet by now, and he was -proud of his work. The vein seemed to be widening a bit, and the -values still held. Already he had an ore dump which he estimated -should bring Patricia almost as much money as she had paid for -Johnnywater. He hoped there was more than that in the dump, but he -was clinging to the side of conservatism. If the claim yielded no -more than that, he could still feel that he had done Patricia a real -service. To-day he carried his gold dust knotted in a handkerchief -in his pocket, lest his nightmare should come true and James Blaine -Hawkins should return to rob him. He even carried the mortar and -pestle to the shed and threw them down in a corner with the gold pan -tucked under some steel traps, so that no one could possibly suspect -that they had been used lately. - -He was thinking of James Blaine Hawkins while he drilled the four -holes in the face of the crosscut. He stopped to listen and looked -down the cañon and out as far as he could see into the desert when -he went up into the hot sunlight to get the powder, fuse and caps -from the cave to load the holes. As he sat in the shade crimping the -caps on the four lengths of fuse, a vague uneasiness grew upon him. - -“I got a hunch he’ll turn up to-day--and maybe bring some strong-arm -guy with him,” Gary said to himself. “Just so he doesn’t happen -along in time to hear the shots up here, I don’t know what harm he -could do. He never could find this place, even if he got some hint -there was a mine somewhere. Anyway, I could hear him drive up the -cañon, all right.” - -Still he was charging his mental disturbance to James Blaine -Hawkins--which proves how inaccurate a “hunch” may be. He carried his -four loads to the incline shaft and let himself carefully down, the -explosive cuddled in one arm while he steadied himself with the -other. At the bottom he noticed his second canteen lying in the full -glare of the sun and moved it inside the crosscut with the other -canteen and his lunch. It was an absent-minded act, since he would -presently move everything outside clear of flung rocks from the -blasting. - -Still fighting the vague depression that seemed the aftermath of his -nightmare, Gary loaded the holes with more care than usual, -remembering that he was playing with death whenever he handled that -old powder. He flung shovel and pick toward the opening, split the -fuse ends with his knife and turned to hurry out of the shaft. - -He faced the opening just in time to see it close as a great bowlder -dropped into the shaft, followed by the clatter of smaller rocks. - -Instinctively Gary recoiled and got the smell of the burning fuse in -his nostrils. Without conscious thought of what he must do, he -whipped out his knife, tore open a blade and cut the fuses, one by -one, close to the rock. He stamped upon them--though they were -harmless, writhing there on the floor of the crosscut until the -powder was exhausted. - -Not until the last fuse stopped burning did Gary approach the -blocked opening to see how badly he was trapped. A little rift of -sunlight showed at the upper right-hand corner. The rest was black, -solid rock. Gary felt the rock all over with his hands, then stooped -and lifted his lunch and the two canteens and set them farther back -in the crosscut, as if he feared they might yet be destroyed. - -He moved the candle here and there above the floor, looking -desperately for his pick and shovel. But the heave he had given them -had sent them out into the shaft directly in the path of the falling -bowlder. He searched the crosscut for other tools, and found his -single-jack leaning against the wall where he had dropped it; beside -it were two of the shorter drills, the bits nicked and dull. - -He returned to the closed mouth of the crosscut and attempted to pry -away the bowlder, using the longer of the two drills thrust into the -opening as a lever. He could as easily have tilted the rim rock -itself. Sunlight streamed in through a crack possibly eighteen -inches long and the width of his hand, but except for the -ventilation it gave, the opening merely served to emphasize the -hopelessness of his prison. - -He looked at his watch mechanically, and saw that it was just -fifteen minutes past twelve. He had timed his work, like all good -miners, so that he could “shoot” at noon and let the smoke clear -away from the workings while he rested and ate his lunch. He did not -feel like eating now. He did not feel like much of anything. His -brain refused to react immediately to the full horror of his -position. - -That he, Gary Marshall, should actually be entombed alive in -Patricia’s gold mine--“The Pat Connolly” mine--was a thing too -incredible for his mind to grasp. He simply could not take the thing -seriously. - -The unreasoning belief that Mills would presently shout, “Cut!” and -Gary would walk out into the sunlight, persisted for a time. The -dramatic element loomed high above the grim reality of it. The thing -was too ghastly to be true. To believe in the horrible truth of it -would drive a man crazy, he told himself impatiently. - -He put his face to the widest part of the opening between the -bowlder and the wall, and shouted again and again frenziedly. - -“_Monty! Oh-h, Monty!_” he called. - -The pity of it was that Monty Girard was at that moment jogging into -the mouth of Johnnywater Cañon, swinging his feet boyishly in the -stirrups and humming a little song as he rode, his thoughts with -Gary, wondering how he was “making it” these days. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - - “GARY MARSHALL MYSTERIOUSLY MISSING” - - -By riding as late as he dared that night, and letting the horses -rest until daylight the next morning, and then pushing them forward -at top desert speed--which was a steady trail trot--Monty reached the -first ranch house a little after noon the next day. In all that time -he had not seen a human being, though he had hoped to be overtaken -or to meet some car on the road. - -Nerve-racking delay met him at the ranch. The woman and two small -children were there, but the man (Ben Thompson was his name) had -left that morning for Las Vegas in the car. Monty was too late by -about four hours. - -He ate dinner there, fed his horses hay and grain, watered them the -last minute and started out again, still hoping that some car would -be traveling that way. But luck was against him and he was forced to -camp that night thirty miles out from Las Vegas. - -Long before daylight he was up and on his way again, to take -advantage of the few hours before the intense heat of the day began. -Jazz was going lame, traveling barefooted at the forced pace Monty -required of him. It was nearly five o’clock when he limped into town -with the dusty pack roped upon his sweat-encrusted back. - -Monty went directly to the depot and climbed the steep stairs to the -telegraph office, his spur rowels burring along the boards. He -leaned heavily upon the shelf outside the grated window while he -wrote two messages with a hand that shook from exhaustion. - -The first was addressed to the sheriff of Nye County, notifying him -that a man had disappeared in Johnnywater Cañon and that it looked -like murder. The other read as follows: - - “P. Connolly, - Cons. Grain & Milling Co., - Los Angeles, Calif. - - “Gary Marshall mysteriously missing from - Johnnywater evidence points to foul play suspect - Hawkins wire instructions. - - “M. Girard.” - -Monty regretted the probable shock that message would give to -Patricia, but he reasoned desperately that she would have to know -the worst anyway, and that a telegram never permits much softening -of a blow. She might know something about Hawkins that would be -helpful. At any rate, he knew of no one so intimately concerned as -Patricia. - -He waited for his change, asked the operator to rush both messages -straight through, and clumped heavily down the stairs. He remounted -and made straight for the nearest stable and turned the horses over -to the proprietor himself, who he knew would give them the best care -possible. After that he went to a hotel, got a room with bath, took -a cold plunge and crawled between the hot sheets with the window as -wide open as it would go, and dropped immediately into the heavy -slumber of complete mental and physical exhaustion. - -While Monty was refreshing himself with the cold bath, Gary, -squatted on his heels against the wall of his dungeon, was fingering -half of a hoarded biscuit and trying to decide whether he had better -eat it now and turn a bold face toward starvation, or put it back in -the lard bucket and let the thought of it torture him for a few more -hours. - -The telegram to the sheriff at Tonopah arrived while the sheriff was -hunting down a murderer elsewhere. His deputy read the wire and -speared it face down upon a bill-hook already half filled with a -conglomerate mass of other communications. The deputy was not -inclined to attach much significance to the message. He frequently -remarked that if the sheriff’s office got all fussed up over every -yarn that came in, the county would be broke inside a month paying -mileage and salary to a dozen deputies. Monty had not said that a -man had been murdered. He merely suspected something of the sort. -The deputy slid down deeper into the armchair he liked best, cocked -his feet higher on the desk and filled his pipe. Johnnywater Cañon -and the possible fate of the man who had disappeared from there -entered not at all into his somnolent meditations. - -The telegram to Patricia reached the main office in Los Angeles -after five o’clock. The clerk who telephones the messages called up -the office of the Consolidated Grain & Milling Company and got no -reply after repeated ringing. Patricia’s telegram was therefore held -until office hours the next morning. A messenger boy delivered it -last, on his first trip out that way with half-a-dozen messages. The -new stenographer was not at first inclined to take it, thinking -there must be some mistake. The new manager was in conference with -an important customer and she was afraid to disturb him with a -matter so unimportant. And since she had quarreled furiously with -the bookkeeper just the day before, she would not have spoken to him -for anything on earth. So Patricia’s telegram lay on the desk until -nearly noon. - -At last the manager happened to stroll into the outer office and -picked up the yellow envelope which had not been opened. Being half -in love with Patricia--in spite of a wife--he knew at once who “P. -Connolly” was. He was a conscientious man though his affections did -now and then stray from his own hearthside. He immediately called a -messenger and sent the telegram back to the main office with -forwarding instructions. - -At that time, Gary was standing before the sunny slit at the end of -the crosscut, pounding doggedly with the single-jack at the corner -of the rock wall. He had given up attempting to use the dulled drill -as a gadget. He could no longer strike with sufficient force to make -the steel bite into the rock, nor could he land the blow accurately -on the head of the drill. - -The day before he had managed to crack off a piece of rock twice the -width of his hand; and though it had broken too far inside the -crosscut to accomplish much in the way of enlarging the opening, -Gary was nevertheless vastly encouraged. He could now thrust out his -hand to the elbow. He could feel the sun shine hot upon it at -midday. He could feel the warm wind in his face when he held it -pressed close against the open space. He could even smooth Faith’s -sleek head when she scrambled upon the bowlder and peered in at him -round-eyed and anxious. The world that day had seemed very close. - -But to-day, while the telegram to Patricia was loitering in Los -Angeles, the sky over Johnnywater was filled thick with clouds. -Daylight came gray into the deep gloom of the crosscut. And Gary -could not swing a steady blow, but pounded doggedly at the rock with -quick, short-arm strokes like a woodpecker hammering at the bole of -a dead tree. - -He was obliged to stop often and rest, leaning against the wall with -his hunger-sharpened profile like a cameo where the light shone in -upon him. He would stand there and pant for a while and then lift -the four-pound hammer--grown terribly heavy, lately--and go on -pounding unavailingly at the rock. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - - “NOBODY KNOWS BUT A PINTO CAT” - - -Patricia liked Kansas City even less than she had anticipated. She -dragged herself through the heat to the office each morning, worried -somehow through her work and returned to her room too utterly -depressed and weary to seek what enjoyment lay close at hand. A -little park was just across the street, but Patricia could not even -summon sufficient interest to enter it. Every cloud that rose over -the horizon was to her imagination a potential cyclone, which she -rather hoped would sweep her away. She thought she would like to be -swept into a new world; and if she could leave her memory behind her -she thought that life might be almost bearable. - -No mail had been forwarded to her from Los Angeles, and the utter -silence served to deepen her general pessimism. And then, an hour -before closing time on the hottest day she had ever experienced in -her life, here came the telegram for P. Connolly. - -“Gary Marshall mysteriously missing from Johnnywater----” Patricia -blinked and read again incredulously. The remainder of the message, -“evidence points to foul play suspect Hawkins wire instructions” -sounded to her suspiciously like one of Gary’s jokes. She was -obliged to read the signature, “M. Girard,” over several times, and -to make sure that it was sent from Las Vegas, Nevada, before she -could even begin to accept the message as authentic. - -How in the world could Gary be mysteriously missing from Johnnywater -when he had flatly refused to go there? How could Hawkins be -suspected? P. Connolly went suddenly into a white, wilted heap in -her chair. - -When she opened her eyes the assistant bookkeeper was standing over -her with a glass of water, and her boss was hurrying in from his -office. Some one had evidently called him. Her boss was not the kind -of man who wastes time on nonessentials. He did not ask Patricia if -she were ill or what was the matter. He picked up the open telegram -and read it with one long, comprehensive glance. Then he placed his -hand under Patricia’s arm, told her that she was all right, that the -heat did those things in Kansas City, and added the information that -there was a breeze blowing in the corner window of his office. -Patricia suffered him to lead her away from the gaping office force. - -“Sit right there until you feel better,” her boss commanded, pushing -her rather gently into a chair in the coolest corner of the room. - -“I feel better now,” Patricia told him gamely. “I received a -telegram that knocked me over for a minute. I didn’t know what it -meant. If you don’t mind, Mr. Wilson, I should like to go and attend -to the matter.” - -Mr. Wilson handed her the telegram with a dry smile. “It sounds -rather ominous, I admit,” he observed, omitting an apology for -having read it. “Naturally I cannot advise you, since I do not -understand what it is all about. But if you wish to wire any -instructions, just write your message here while I call the -messenger. There was a delay, remember. The message was forwarded -from Los Angeles.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia answered in her prim office tone. -“I should like to reply at once, if you don’t mind. And, Mr. Wilson, -if you will be so good as to O. K. a check for me, I shall take the -next train to Las Vegas, Nevada.” - -“I’ll ’phone for a ticket and reservations,” her boss announced -without hesitation. “You will want to be sure of having enough money -to see you through, of course. I can arrange an advance on your -salary, if you wish.” - -Patricia told him, in not quite so prim a tone, that it would not be -necessary. She wrote her message asking Monty Girard to wait until -she arrived, as she was taking the next train. The messenger, warned -by a certain look in the eye of the boss, ducked his head and -departed almost running. Patricia wrote her check and the boss sent -it to the cashier by the office boy; and telephoned the ticket -office. Patricia read the telegram again very slowly. - -“Johnnywater is the name of a cattle ranch which I happen to own in -Nevada, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia said in the steadiest voice she could -command. “Hawkins is a man I sent over to take charge of the ranch -and run it on shares. You’ll see why I must go and look into this -matter.” You will observe that Patricia, having come up gasping for -breath, was still saying, “Scissors!” with secret relish. - -Even in her confused state of apprehension, there was a certain -gratification to Patricia in seeing that the boss was impressed by -the fact that she owned a cattle ranch in Nevada. She was also glad -that it had not been necessary to explain the identity of Gary -Marshall. But immediately it became necessary. - -“This Gary Marshall who disappeared; do you know him?” - -“I’m engaged to marry him,” Patricia replied in as neutral a tone as -she could manage. “I didn’t know he was at Johnnywater,” she added -truthfully. “That’s why I thought it was a joke when I first read -it. I still don’t understand how he could be there at all. He was -playing the lead in a picture when I left Los Angeles.” - -“You don’t mean Gary Marshall, the Western star?” The boss’s tone -was distinctly exclamatory. Patricia saw that her engagement to Gary -Marshall impressed the boss much more deeply than did her ownership -of Johnnywater ranch. “That young man is going right to the top in -pictures. He acts with his brains and forgets his good looks. Most -of ’em do it the other way round. Why, I’d rather go and see Gary -Marshall in a picture than any star I know! And you’re engaged to -him! Well, well! I didn’t know, Miss Connolly, that I was so closely -related to my favorite movie star. May I see that telegram again? -Lord, I’d hate to think anything’d happened to that boy--but don’t -you worry! If I’m not mistaken, he’s a lad that can take care of -himself where most men would go under. By all means, go and see -what’s wrong. And I wish, Miss Connolly, you’d wire me as soon as -you find that everything is all right. You _will_ find it all -right--I’m absolutely positive on that point.” - -Patricia cherished a deep respect for her boss. She felt suddenly -convicted of a great wrong. She had never dreamed that a man with -the keen, analytical mind of John S. Wilson could actually respect a -fellow who worked in the movies. She left the office humbled and -anxious to make amends. - -That evening the boss himself took her to the train and saw that she -was comfortable, and spoke encouragingly of Gary’s ability to take -care of himself, no matter what danger threatened. His -encouragement, however, only served to alarm Patricia the more. She -was a shrewd young woman, and she read deep concern in the mind of -her boss, from the very fact that he had taken the pains to reassure -her. - -That night Gary dreamed that Steve Carson stood suddenly before him -and spoke to him. He dreamed that Steve Carson told him he would not -starve to death in there, for his sweetheart was coming with men who -would dig him out. - -Gary woke with the dream so vivid in his mind that he could scarcely -reason himself out of the belief that Steve Carson had actually -talked with him. Gary lay thinking of Sir Ernest Shackleton, of -whose voyages to the Antarctic he had read again and again. He -recalled how close Shackleton and his companions had shaved -starvation, not from necessity, but from choice, in the interests of -science. He tried to guess what Shackleton would do, were he in -Gary’s predicament, with four candles and the stub of a fifth in his -possession, and approximately two gallons of water. - -“I bet he’d go strong for several days yet,” Gary whispered. “He’d -cut the candles into little bits and eat one piece and call it a -meal. And he’d figure out just how many wallops he could give that -damned rock on the strength of his gorgeous feed of one inch of -candle. And then, when he’d dined on the last wick and hit the rock -a last wallop, he’d grin and say it had been a great game.” He -turned painfully over upon the other side and laid his face upon his -bent arm. - -“Shackleton never was shut up in a hole a hundred miles from -nowhere,” he murmured, “with nobody knowing a word about it but a -pinto cat that’s crazy over spiritualism. If Shackleton was here, I -bet he’d say, ‘Eat the candles, boy, and take your indigestion all -at one time and finish the game.’ No use dragging out the suspense -till the audience gets the gapes. First time I ever starred in a -story that had an unhappy ending. I didn’t think the Big Director -would do it!” - -He lay for a time dozing and trying to forget the terrible gnawing -in his stomach. Then his thoughts wandered on and he mumbled, - -“I’m not kicking--if this is the way it’s supposed to be. But I did -want Pat to have her gold mine. And now the location work is all -covered up--so maybe it won’t count. And some other gink will maybe -come along and jump the claim, and my Pat won’t get her gold mine. I -guess it’s all right. But I didn’t think the Big Director would do -this!” - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - - MONTY MEETS PATRICIA - - -Monty had made up his mind to go on to Los Angeles and see for -himself why Patricia would not answer his telegram, when he received -the word that she was coming from Kansas City. He swore a good deal -over the delay that would hold him inactive in town. To fill in the -time he wrote a long letter to the sheriff in Tonopah, stating all -the facts in the case so far as he knew them. He hoped that the -sheriff was already on his way to Johnnywater, though Monty could -not have told just what he expected the sheriff to accomplish when -he arrived there. - -He tried to trace James Blaine Hawkins, but only succeeded in -learning from a garage man that Hawkins had come in off the desert -at least three weeks before, cursed the roads and the country in -general and had left for Los Angeles. Or at least that was the -destination he had named. - -Even Monty could find no evidence in that of Hawkins’ guilt. His -restless pacing up and down the three short blocks that comprised -the main business street of the town got on the nerves of the men -who knew him. His concern over Gary Marshall gradually infected the -minds of others; so that news of a murder committed in Johnnywater -Cañon was wired to the city papers, and the Chief of Police in Los -Angeles was advised also by wire to trace James Blaine Hawkins if -possible. - -Old cuts of Gary Marshall were hastily dug up in newspaper offices -and his picture run on the first page. A reporter who knew him well -wrote a particularly dramatic special article, which was copied more -or less badly by many of the papers. Cohen got to hear of it, and -his publicity agents played up the story magnificently, not because -Cohen wished to immortalize one of his younger leading men who was -out of the game, but because it made splendid indirect advertising -for Cohen. - -Monty, of course, never dreamed that he had done all this. He was -sincerely grieving over Gary, whose grave he thought he had -discovered by the bushy juniper. The mere fact that James Blaine -Hawkins had appeared in Las Vegas approximately three weeks before -did not convince him that Gary had not been murdered. He believed -that Hawkins had lain in wait for Gary and had killed him on his -return from Kawich. The grave might easily be that old. - -Of course there was a weak point in that argument. In fact, Monty’s -state of mind was such that he failed to see the fatally weak point -until the day of Patricia’s arrival. When he did see it he abandoned -the theory in disgust, threw out his hands expressively, and -declared that he didn’t give a damn just how the crime had been -committed, or when. Without a doubt his friend, Gary Marshall, had -been killed, and Monty swore he would never rest until the murderer -had paid the price. The weak point, which was the well-fed comfort -of the pigs and Jazz, he did not attempt to explain away. Perhaps -James Blaine Hawkins had not gone to Los Angeles at all. Perhaps he -was still out there at Johnnywater, and Monty had failed to discover -him. - -He was in that frame of mind when he met the six o’clock train that -brought Patricia. Naturally, he had no means of identifying her. But -he followed a tired-looking girl with a small black handbag to one -of the hotels and inspected the register just as she turned away -from the desk. Then he took off his hat, extended his hand and told -her who he was. - -Patricia was all for starting for Johnnywater that night. Monty gave -her one long look and told her bluntly that it simply couldn’t be -done; that no one could travel the road at night. His eyes were very -blue and convincing, and his southern drawl branded the lie as -truth. Wherefore, Patricia rested that night in a bed that remained -stationary, and by morning Monty was better satisfied with her -appearance and believed that she would stand the trip all right. - -“I reckon maybe yuh-all better find some woman to go on out, Miss -Connolly,” Monty suggested while they breakfasted. - -“I can’t see why that should be necessary, Mr. Girard,” Patricia -replied in her primmest office tone. “I am perfectly able to take -care of myself, I should think.” - -“You’ll be the only woman in the country for about sixty-five or -seventy miles,” Monty warned her diffidently. “Uh course there -couldn’t anything happen to yuh-all--but I expect the sheriff and -maybe one or two more will be down from Tonopah when we get there, -and I thought maybe yuh-all might like to have some other woman -along for company.” - -He dipped three spoons of sugar into his coffee and looked at -Patricia with a sympathetic look in his eyes. - -“I was thinkin’ last night, Miss Connolly, that I dunno as there’s -much use of your going out there at all. Yuh-all couldn’t do a -thing, and it’s liable to be mighty unpleasant. When I sent that -wire to yuh-all, I never thought a word about yuh-all comin’ to -Johnnywater. What I wanted was to get a line on this man, Hawkins. I -thought maybe yuh-all could tell me something about him.” - -Patricia glanced unseeingly around the insufferably hot little café. -She was not conscious of the room at all. She was thinking of Gary -and trying to force herself to a calmness that could speak of him -without betraying her feelings. - -“I don’t know anything about Mr. Hawkins, other than that I arranged -with him to run the ranch on shares,” she said, and the effort she -was making made her voice sound very cold and impersonal. “I -certainly did not know that Mr. Marshall was at Johnnywater, or I -should not have sent Mr. Hawkins over. I had asked Mr. Marshall -first to take charge of the ranch, and Mr. Marshall had refused, on -the ground that he did not wish to give up his work in motion -pictures. Are you sure that he came over here and was at Johnnywater -when Mr. Hawkins arrived?” Patricia did not know it, but her voice -sounded as coldly accusing as if she were a prosecuting attorney -trying to make a prisoner give damaging testimony against himself. -Her manner bred a slight resentment in Monty, so that he forgot his -diffidence. - -“I hauled Gary Marshall out to Johnnywater myself, over six weeks -ago,” he told her bluntly. “He hunted me up and acted like he wanted -to scrap with me because he thought I’d helped to cheat yuh-all. He -was going to sell the place for yuh-all if he could--and I sure -approved of the idea. It ain’t any place for a lady to own. A man -could go there and live like a hermit and make a bare living, but -yuh-all couldn’t divide the profits and break even. I dunno as -there’d _be_ any profits to divide, after a feller’d paid for his -grub and clothes. - -“Gary saw it right away, and I was to bring him back to town in a -couple of days; but I had an accident to my car so I couldn’t come -in. I reckon Gary meant to write anyway and tell yuh-all where he -was. But he never had a chance to send out a letter.” - -Patricia dipped a spoon into her cereal and left it there. “Even so, -I don’t believe Gary disappeared very mysteriously,” she said, her -chin squaring itself. “He probably got tired of staying there and -went back to Los Angeles by way of Tonopah. However, I shall drive -out and see the ranch, now that I’m here. I’m very sorry you have -been put to so much trouble, Mr. Girard. I really think Mr. Marshall -should have left some word for you before he left. But then,” she -added with some bitterness, “he didn’t seem to think it necessary to -let _me_ know he was coming over here. And we have telephones in Los -Angeles, Mr. Girard.” - -Monty’s eyes were very blue and steady when he looked at her across -the table. He set down his cup and leaned forward a little. - -“If yuh spoke to Gary in that tone of voice, Miss Connolly,” he -drawled, “I reckon he wouldn’t feel much like usin’ the telephone -before he left town. Gary’s as nice a boy as I ever met in my life.” - -Patricia bit her under lip, and a tinge of red crept up over her -cheek bones to the dark circles beneath her eyes, that told a tale -of sleepless nights which Patricia herself would have denied. - -The remainder of the breakfast was a silent meal, with only such -speech as was necessary and pertained to the trip before them. Monty -advised the taking out of certain supplies and assisted Patricia in -making up a list of common comforts which could be carried in a -touring car. - -He left her at the hotel while he attended to the details of getting -under way, and when he returned it was with a Ford and driver, and -many parcels stacked in the tonneau. Patricia’s suit case was wedged -between the front fender and the tucked-up hood of the motor, and a -bundle of new bedding was jammed down upon the other side in like -manner. Patricia herself was wedged into the rear seat beside the -parcels and packages of food. Her black traveling bag Monty -deposited between his feet in front with the driver. - -At the last moment, while the driver was cranking the motor, Monty -reached backward with a small package in his hand. - -“Put on these sun goggles,” he said. “Your eyes will be a fright if -you ride all day against this wind without any protection.” - -“Thank you very much, Mr. Girard,” said Patricia with a surprising -meekness--for her. What is more, she put on the hideous amber -glasses; though she hated the jaundiced look they gave to the world. - -Patricia had a good deal to think about during that interminable, -jolting ride. She was given ample opportunity for the thinking, -since Monty Girard never spoke to her except to inquire now and then -if she were comfortable. - - - - - CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - - GARY ROBS THE PINTO CAT OF HER DINNER - - -That same morning Gary finished his third candle and tried his best -to make one swallow of water, held long in his parched mouth, -suffice for two hours. - -He could no longer lift the single-jack to the height of his -shoulder, much less strike a blow upon the rock. He leaned against -the bowlder and struck a few feeble blows with the head of the -longer of the two drills; but the steel bounced back futilely, and -the exertion tired him so that he was forced to desist after a few -minutes of heart-breaking effort. - -He sat down with his back against the wall where the sunlight could -find him and give a little cheer to his prison, and fingered his -fourth candle longingly. He licked his cracked lips and lifted the -canteen, his emaciated fingers fumbling the screw-top thirstily. He -tried to reason sensibly with himself that only a cowardly -reluctance to meet death--which was the inevitable goal of life--held -him fighting there in that narrow dungeon, scheming to add a few -more tortured hours to his life. - -He told himself angrily that he was merely holding up the action of -the story, and that the scene should be cut right there. In other -words, there was absolutely no hope of his ever getting out of -there, alive or dead. Steve Carson, he mumbled, had been lucky. He -had at least taken his exit quickly. - -“But I ain’t licked yet,” he croaked, with a cracked laugh. “There’s -a lot of fight in me yet. Never had any use for a quitter. Steve -Carson wouldn’t have quit--only he got beaned with the first rock and -couldn’t fight. I’m not hurt--yet. Trained down pretty fine, is all. -When I’m a ghost, maybe I’ll come back and tell fat ladies with -Ouija boards in their laps how to reduce. Great scheme. I’ll do that -little thing. But I ain’t whipped yet--not until I’ve tried out my -jackknife on that damned rock. Have a drink, old son. And then get -to work! What the hell are you loafing for?” - -He lifted the lightened canteen, his arms shaking with weakness, and -took another drink of water. Then, carefully screwing on the top of -the canteen, he set it down gently against the wall and reached -wearily into his pocket. The blade of his knife had never been so -hard to open; but he accomplished it and pulled himself laboriously -to his feet. Steadying himself with one hand against the malapi -bowlder that shut him in, he went to the opening--widened now so that -he could thrust forth his arm to the shoulder--and began carefully -chipping at a seam in the rock with the largest blade of his -jackknife. - -He really did not expect to free himself by that means; nor by any -other. Since he began to weaken he had come to accept his fate with -such calmness as his pride in playing the game could muster. But he -could not sit idle and wait for death to creep upon him. Nor could -he hurry it, which he held to be a coward’s trick. He still believed -that the “Big Director” should be obeyed. It was too late now to ask -for another part in the picture. He had been cast for this rôle and -he would play it to the final scene. - -So he stood hacking and prying with his knife blade, stopping now -and then to stare out into the hot sunshine. He could even see a -wisp of cloud drift across the bit of blue sky revealed to him -through the narrow rock window of his prison. The sight made him -grit his teeth. He was so close to that free, sun-drenched world, -and he was yet so utterly helpless! - -He was standing so, resting from his unavailing task, when the -spotted cat hopped upon the bowlder where every day she sat to be -stroked by Gary’s hand. Gary’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips -avidly. Faith was carrying a wild dove that she had caught and -brought to the bowlder where she might feast in pleasant company. - -“Thanks, old girl,” he said grimly; and stretching out his arm, -snatched the bird greedily from Faith’s mouth. “Some service! Now -beat it and go catch a rabbit; a big one. Catch two rabbits!” - -He slid down to a sitting position and began plucking the limp body -of the dove, his fingers trembling with eagerness. The “third -hunger” was upon him--that torment of craving which men who have been -entombed in mines speak of with lowered voices--if they live to tell -about it. Gary longed to tear the bird with his teeth, just as it -was. - -But he would not yield an inch from his idea of the proper way to -play the game. He therefore plucked the dove almost clean of -feathers, and lighting his one precious remaining candle, he turned -the small, plump body over the candle flame, singeing it before he -held the flame to its breast. - -The instant that portion was seared and partially broiled, Gary set -his handsome white teeth into it and chewed the morsel slowly while -he broiled another bite. His impulse--rather, the agonized craving of -his whole famished body--was to tear the body asunder with his teeth -and devour it like an animal. But he steeled himself to -self-control; just as he had held himself sternly in hand down in -the cabin when loneliness and that weird, felt presence plucked at -his courage. - -He would have grudged the melting of even the half-inch of tallow it -required to broil the bird so that he could eat it and retain his -self-respect; but the succulent flesh was too delicious. He could -not think of anything but the ecstasy of eating. - -He crunched the bones in his teeth, pulping them slowly, extracting -the last particle of flavor and nourishment. When he had finished -there remained but the head and the feet--and he flung them through -the opening lest he should be tempted to devour them also. After -that he indulged himself in a sip of water, stretched himself full -length upon the rock floor, and descended blissfully into the -oblivion of deep slumber. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTY - - “SOMEBODY HOLLERED UP ON THE BLUFF” - - -The left front tire of the town Ford persisted in going flat with a -slow valve leak. The driver, a heedless young fellow, had neglected -to bring extra valves; so that the tire needed pumping every ten -miles or such a matter. Then the Ford began heating on the long, -uphill pull between the Pintwater Mountains and the Spotted Range, -and some time was lost during the heat of the day because of the -necessity for cooling the motor. Delays such as these eat away the -hours on a long trip; wherefore it was nearly dusk when Patricia got -her first glimpse of Johnnywater Cañon. - -Up in the crosscut, Gary heard the rumbling throb of the motor, and -shouted until he was exhausted. Which did not take long, even with -the nourishment of the broiled dove to refresh his failing strength. - -He consoled himself afterward with the thought that it was James -Blaine Hawkins come sneaking back, and that he would like nothing -better than to find Gary hopelessly caged in the crosscut. Gary was -rather glad that James Blaine Hawkins had failed to hear him shout. -At any rate, the secret of Patricia’s mine was safe from him, and -Gary would be spared the misery of being taunted by Hawkins. It was -a crazy notion, for it was not at all likely that even James Blaine -Hawkins would have let him die so grisly a death. But Gary was -harboring strange notions at times during the last forty-eight -hours. And the body of one wild dove was pitifully inadequate for -the needs of a starving man. - -Monty had not meant to be cruel. Now that he was on the spot, he -tried his best to soften the shock of what he knew Patricia must -discover. That morning he had purposely avoided speaking of his -reasons for fearing the worst. Then Patricia’s manner--assumed merely -to hide her real emotion--had chilled Monty to silence on the whole -subject. With the driver present they had not discussed the matter -at all during the trip, so that Patricia was still ignorant of what -Monty believed to be the real, tragic state of affairs. - -Monty looked up from lighting a fire in the stove and saw Patricia -go over to Gary’s coat and smooth it caressingly with her hand. Then -and there he forgave Patricia for her tone at breakfast. She took -Gary’s hat from the cupboard and held it in her hands, her eyes -questioning Monty. - -“Gary was saving that hat till he went to town again,” Monty -informed her in his gentle drawl. “He was wearing an old hat of -Waddell’s, and some old clothes Waddell left here when he pulled -out. You see now, Miss Connolly, one reason why I don’t believe Gary -went to Tonopah. His suit case is there, too, under the bunk. But -don’t yuh-all worry--we’ll find him.” - -He turned back to his fire-building, and Patricia sat down on the -edge of the bunk and stared wide-eyed around the cabin. - -So this was why she had failed to hear from Gary in all these weeks! -He had come over here to Johnnywater after all, because she wished -it. She had never dreamed the place would be so lonely. And Gary had -lived here all alone! - -“Is this all there is to the house--just this one room?” she asked -Monty abruptly, in her prim, colorless tone. - -“Yes, ma’am, this is the size of it,” Monty replied cheerfully. -“Folks don’t generally waste much time on buildin’ fancy houses, out -here. Most generally they’re mighty thankful if the walls keep out -the wind and the roof don’t leak. If it’s dry and warm, they don’t -care if it ain’t stylish.” - -“Is this the way Gary left it?” she asked next, glancing down at the -rough board floor that gave evidence of having been lately scrubbed. - -“Yes, ma’am, except for the dust on things. Gary Marshall was a -right neat housekeeper, Miss Connolly.” - -“_Was?_” Patricia stood up and came toward him. “Do you think -he’s--what makes you say _was_?” - -Monty hedged. “Well, he ain’t been keepin’ house here for a week, -anyway. It’s a week ago yesterday I rode over here from my camp. -Things are just as they was then.” - -“You have something else on your mind, Mr. Girard. What was it that -made you wire about foul play? I’ll have to know anyway, and I wish -you’d tell me now, before that boy comes in from fussing with the -car.” - -Monty was filling the coffeepot. He set it on the hottest part of -the stove and turned toward her commiseratingly. - -“I reckon I had better tell yuh-all,” he said gently. “The thing -that scared me was that this man, Hawkins, come here and made his -brags about how he got the best of yuh-all in that agreement. Him -and Gary had some words over it, the way I got it, and they like to -have had a fight--only Hawkins didn’t have the nerve. He beat it out -of here and Gary rode over to my place that same day and was tellin’ -me about it. - -“I told him then to look out for Hawkins. He sounded to me like a -bad man to have trouble with; or dealin’s of any kind. That was -three weeks ago, Miss Connolly--four weeks now, it is. I was away for -three weeks, and when I got back I rode over here and found the -place deserted. Gary’s hawse was in the corral and the two pigs was -shut up in the pen, so it looked like he ought to be around -somewheres close. Only he wasn’t. I hunts the place over, from one -end to the other. But there wasn’t no sign of him, except----” - -“Except what? I want to know all that you know about it, Mr. -Girard.” - -Monty hesitated, and when he spoke his reluctance was perfectly -apparent to Patricia. - -“Well, there’s something else I didn’t like the looks of. Up the -creek here a piece, there’s a grave that wasn’t there the last time -I was over here. I’m pretty sure about that, because I recollect I -led my hawse down to the creek right about there, to water him. It’s -about straight down from the corral, and I’d have noticed it.” - -“I don’t believe a word of it--that it has anything to do with Gary!” -cried Patricia vehemently, and she went over and pressed her face -against Gary’s coat. - -Monty took a step toward her but reconsidered and went on with his -preparations for supper. Instinctively he felt that he would do -Patricia the greatest possible service if he made her physically -comfortable and refrained from intruding upon the sacred ground of -her thoughts concerning Gary. - -The boy who had driven the car out came in, and Monty sent him to -the creek for a bucket of fresh water. The boy came back with the -water and a look of concern on his face. - -“I thought I heard somebody holler, up on the bluff,” he said to -Monty. “Do you think we’d better go see----?” - -Monty shook his head at him, checking the sentence. But Patricia had -turned quickly and caught him at it. She came forward anxiously. - -“Certainly we ought to go and see!” she said with characteristic -decision. “It’s probably Mr. Marshall. He may be hurt, up there.” -She started for the door, but Monty took one long step and laid a -detaining hand upon her arm. - -“That Voice has been hollerin’ off and on for five years,” he told -her gravely. “I’ve heard it myself more than once. Gary used to hear -it--often. Yuh can’t get an Injun past the mouth of the cañon on -account of it. It was that Voice hollerin’ that made Waddell sell -out and quit the country.” - -Patricia looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What _is_ it?” she -demanded. “I don’t understand what you mean.” - -“Neither can anybody else understand it--that I ever heard of,” Monty -retorted dryly, and gently urged her toward the one homemade chair. -“Supper’s about ready, Miss Connolly. I guess you’re pretty hungry, -after that long ride.” Then he added in his convincing drawl--which -this time was absolutely sincere--“I love Gary Marshall like I would -my own brother, Miss Connolly. Yuh-all needn’t think I’d leave a -stone unturned to find him. But that Voice--it ain’t anything human. -It--it scares folks, but nobody has ever been able to locate it. You -can’t pay any attention to it. You set up here to the table and let -me pour yuh-all a cup of coffee. And here’s some bacon and some -fresh eggs I fried for yuh-all. And that bread was warm when I -bought it off the baker this morning.” - -Patricia’s lips quivered, but she did her best to steady them. And -because she appreciated Monty’s kindness and his chivalrous attempts -to serve her in the best way he knew, she ate as much of the supper -as she could possibly swallow, and discovered that she was hungry -enough to relish the fried eggs and bacon, though she was not in the -habit of eating either. - -The boy--Monty called him Joe--gave Patricia the creeps with his -wide-eyed uneasiness; staring from one to the other and suspending -mastication now and then while he listened frankly for the Voice. -Patricia tried not to notice him and was grateful to Monty for his -continuous stream of inconsequential talk on any subject that came -into his mind, except the one subject that filled the minds of both. - -The boy, Joe, helped Monty afterward with the dishes, Patricia -having been commanded to rest; a command impossible for her to obey, -though she sat quiet with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Too -tightly, Monty thought, whenever he looked her way. - -Monty was a painstaking young man, and he had learned from long -experience in the wilderness to provide for possible emergencies as -well as present needs. He wiped out the dishpan, hung it on its nail -and spread the dishcloth over it, and then took a small, round box -from his pocket. He opened it and took out a tablet with his thumb -and finger. He dropped the tablet into a jelly glass--the same which -Gary had used to hold his gold dust--and added a little water. He -stood watching it, shaking it gently until the tablet was dissolved. - -“We-all are going to spread our bed out in the grove, Miss -Connolly,” he drawled easily, approaching Patricia with the glass. -“I reckoned likely yuh-all would be mighty tired to-night, and maybe -kinda nervous and upset. So I asked the doctor what I could bring -along that would give yuh-all a night’s rest without doin’ any harm. -He sent this out and said it would quiet your nerves so yuh-all -could sleep. Don’t be afraid of it--I made sure it wasn’t anything -harmful.” - -Patricia looked at him for a minute, then put out her hand for the -glass and drank the contents to the last dregs. - -“Thank you very much, Mr. Girard,” she said simply. “I was wondering -how I’d get through this night.” - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - - “GOD WOULDN’T LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO GARY!” - - -Having slept well during the night--thanks to Monty’s forethought in -bringing a sedative--Patricia woke while the sun was just gilding the -top of the butte. The cañon and the grove were still in shadow, and -a mocking bird was singing in the top of the piñon beside the cabin. -Patricia dressed hurriedly, and tidied the blankets in the bunk. She -pulled open the door, gazing upon her possessions with none of that -pleasurable thrill she had always pictured as accompanying her first -fair sight of Johnnywater. - -She did not believe that harm had befallen Gary. Things _couldn’t_ -happen to Gary Marshall. Not for one moment, she told herself -resolutely, had she believed it. Yet the mystery of his absence -nagged at her like a gadfly. - -Fifty feet or so away, partially hidden by a young juniper, Patricia -could discern the white tarp that covered the bed where Monty Girard -and Joe were still asleep. She stepped down off the doorsill and -made her way quietly to the creek, and knelt on a stone and laved -her face and hands in the cool water. - -Standing again and gazing up through the fringe of tree tops at the -towering, sun-washed butte, Patricia told herself that now she knew -what people meant when they spoke of air like wine. She could feel -the sparkle, the heady stimulation of this rare atmosphere untainted -by the grime, the noise, the million conflicting vibrations created -by the world of men. After her sleep she simply _could not_ believe -that any misfortune could have befallen her Gary, whose ring she -wore on her third finger, whose kisses were the last that had -touched her lips, whose face, whose voice, whose thousand endearing -little ways she carried deep in her heart. - -“The God that made all this _wouldn’t_ let anything happen to Gary!” -she whispered fiercely, and drew fresh courage from the utterance. - -The mottled cat appeared, coming from the bushes across the tiny -stream. It halted and looked at her surprisedly and gave an -inquiring meow. Patricia stooped and held out her hands, calling -softly. She liked cats. - -“Come, kitty, kitty--you pretty thing!” - -Faith regarded her measuringly, then hopped across the creek on two -stones and rubbed against Patricia’s knees, purring and mewing -amiably by turns. Patricia took the cat in her arms and stroked its -sleek fur caressingly, and Faith radiated friendliness. - -Patricia made her way through the grove, glimpsed the corral and -went toward it, her big eyes taking in everything which Gary may -have touched or handled. Standing by the corral, she looked out -toward the creek, seeking the bushy juniper of which Monty had -spoken. Carrying the cat still in her arms she started forward -through the tall weeds and bushes, burrs sticking to her skirt and -clinging to her silken stockings. - -Abruptly Faith gave a wriggle and a jump, landed on all four feet -two yards in advance of Patricia, and started off at an angle up the -creek, looking back frequently and giving a sharp, insistent meow. -Patricia hesitated, watching the cat curiously. She had heard often -enough of dogs who led people to a certain spot when some one the -dog loved was in trouble. She had never, so far as she could -remember, heard of a cat doing the same thing; but Patricia owned a -brain that refused to think in grooves fixed by the opinions of -others. - -“I can’t see any reason why cats can’t lead people the same as -dogs,” she told herself after a moment’s consideration, and -forthwith turned and followed Faith. - -Just at first she was inclined to believe that the cat was walking -at random; but later she decided that Monty Girard had been slightly -inaccurate in his statement regarding the exact location of the -juniper beside the creek. The mottled cat led her straight to the -grave and stopped there, sniffing at the dirt and patting it -daintily with her paws. - -Monty was frying bacon with a great sizzling and sputtering on a hot -stove when Patricia entered the cabin. Her cheeks showed more color -than had been seen in them for weeks. Her eyes were clear and met -Monty’s inquiring look with their old, characteristic directness. - -“Have a good sleep?” he asked with that excessive cheerfulness which -is seldom genuine. Monty himself had not slept until dawn was -breaking. - -“Fine, thank you,” Patricia answered more cordially than she had yet -spoken to Monty. “Mr. Girard, this may not be a pleasant subject -before breakfast, but it’s on my mind.” She paused, looking at Monty -inquiringly. - -“Shoot,” Monty invited calmly. “My mind’s plumb full of unpleasant -things, and talking about them can’t make it any worse, Miss -Connolly.” - -“Well, then, I’ve been up to that grave. And it wasn’t made by any -murderer. I somehow know it wasn’t. A murderer would have been in a -hurry, and I should think he’d try to hide it--and he wouldn’t pick -the prettiest spot he could find. And I know perfectly well, Mr. -Girard, that if _I_ had killed a man, I wouldn’t spat the dirt down -over his grave and make it as nice and even as that grave is up -there. And somebody picked some flowers and laid them at the head, -Mr. Girard. They had wilted--and I don’t suppose you noticed them. - -“Besides,” she finished, after an unconscious pause that seemed to -sum up her reasoning and lend weight to the argument, “the cat knows -all about it. She tried as hard as ever she could to tell me. I--this -may sound foolish, but I can’t help believing it--I think the cat was -there looking on, and I’m pretty sure it was some one the cat knew -and liked.” - -Monty poured coffee all over Patricia’s plate, his hand shook so. -“Gary kinda made a pal uh that cat,” he blurted, before he realized -what meaning Patricia must read into the sentence. - -“The cat was here when Gary arrived, I suppose,” Patricia retorted -sharply, squaring her chin. “I can’t imagine him bringing a cat with -him.” - -A look of relief flashed into Monty’s face. “That cat’s been here on -the place for about eight years, as close as I can figure. Steve -Carson got it from a woman in Vegas when it was a kitten, and packed -it out here in a nose bag hung on his burro’s pack. Him and the cat -wasn’t ever more than three feet apart. There’s been something queer -about that cat, ever since Steve came up missing.” - -Monty started for the door, having it in his mind to call the boy to -breakfast. But a look in Patricia’s eyes stopped him, and he turned -back and sat down opposite her at the table. - -“I’d let that boy sleep--all day if he wants to,” Patricia remarked. -“He’ll do enough talking about us and our affairs, as it is. I wish -you’d tell me about this Steve Carson. I never heard of him before.” - -Whereupon Monty related the mysteriously gruesome story to Patricia, -who listened so absorbedly that she neglected a very good breakfast. -Afterward she announced that she would wash the dishes and keep -breakfast warm for Joe, who appeared to be afflicted with a mild -form of sleeping sickness, since Monty yelled at him three times at -a distance of no more than ten feet, and elicited no response save a -grunt and a hitch of the shoulders under the blankets. Monty left -him alone, after that, and started off on another exhaustive search -of the cañon, tactfully leaving Patricia to herself. - -Patricia was grateful for the temporary solitude. Never in her life -had she been so full of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Her -forced resentment against Gary had suffered a complete collapse; the -revulsion of feeling was overwhelming. It seemed to Patricia that -her very longing for him should bring him back. - -She pulled his suit case from under the bunk, touching lock and -clasps and the smooth leather caressingly with her fingers. Its -substantial elegance spoke intimately to her of Gary’s unfailing -good taste in choosing his personal belongings. The square-blocked -initials, “G. E. M.” (Gary Elbert Marshall, at which Patricia had -often laughed teasingly), brought a lump into her throat. But -Patricia boasted that she was not the weepy type of female. She -would not yield now to tears. - -She almost believed it was accident that raised the lid. For a -moment she hesitated, not liking to pry into the little intimacies -of Gary’s possessions. But she saw her picture looking up from under -a silk shirt still folded as it had come from the laundry, and the -sight of her own pictured eyes and smiling lips gave her a -reassuring sense of belonging there. - -It was inevitable that she should find the “Dear Pat:” letters; -unfolded, the pages stacked like a manuscript, and tucked flat on -the bottom under the clothing. - -Patricia caught her breath. Here, perhaps, was the key to the whole -mystery. She lifted out the pages with trembling eagerness and set -her lips upon the bold scribbling she knew so well. She closed the -suit case hastily, pushed it out of sight beneath the bunk and -hurried out of the cabin, clasping the letters passionately to her -breast. She wanted to be alone, to read them slowly, gloatingly, -where no human eye could look upon her face. - -She went down to the creek, crossed it and climbed a short distance -up the bluff, to where a huge bowlder shaded a smaller one beside -it. There, with the butte staring down inscrutably upon her, she -began to read. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - - “IT’S THE VOICE! IT AIN’T HUMAN!” - - -Gary had been imprisoned in the crosscut eight days, counting the -time until noon. He had stretched his lunch to the third day; human -endurance could not compass a longer abstinence than that, so long -as the smallest crumb remained. He had drunk perhaps a quart of -water from the canteen he had carried up the bluff the day before -the catastrophe, and had left the canteen there, expecting to use it -for drilling. With a fresh canteen filled that morning at the creek, -he had something over three gallons to begin with. Wherefore the -tortures of thirst had not yet assailed him, though he had from the -first hour held himself rigidly to the smallest ration he thought he -could endure and keep his reason. - -Through all the dragging hours, fighting indomitably against despair -when hope seemed but a form of madness, he had never once yielded to -temptation and taken more during any one day than he had fixed as -the amount that must suffice. - -He had almost resigned himself to death. And then Faith, unwittingly -playing providence, had roused a fighting demon within him. The wild -dove had won back a little of his failing strength just when a -matter of hours would have pushed him over the edge into lassitude, -that lethargy which is nature’s anesthetic when the end approaches, -and the final coma which eases a soul across the border. - -While Patricia slept exhaustedly in the cabin below, Gary babbled of -many things in the crosscut. He awoke, believing he had dreamed that -an automobile drove into the cañon the evening before. Nevertheless -he decided that, since there was no hope of cutting away the granite -wall with his knife, or of lifting the bowlder, Atlas-like, on his -shoulders and heaving it out of the incline shaft, he might as well -use what strength and breath he had in shouting. - -“About one chance in ten thousand that anybody would hear me,” he -told himself. “But getting out alone is a darned sight longer shot. -Trick camera work--and the best to be had--it would take, to make me -even _look_ like getting out. My best bet is a correct imitation of -the Johnnywater Voice. But I wouldn’t advise anybody to bet any -money on me.” - -He was shouting all the while Monty was explaining to Patricia how -the Voice had come to give Johnnywater Cañon so sinister a -reputation. But his voice came muffled to the outer surface of the -bowlder-strewn bluff, and diminished rapidly down the slope. Joe -might have heard it had he been awake, since his ears were -sufficiently keen to hear Gary when he shouted the night before. But -Joe was asleep with his head under the tarp. And Patricia and Monty -were talking inside the cabin. So Gary shouted until he could shout -no more, and gave up and rested awhile. - -After that he stood leaning heavily against the wall and scraped -doggedly at the seams in the granite with his knife-blade. - -“----and I love you, Pat. I wouldn’t have you different if I could. -Gary.” - -Patricia was obliged to wipe the tears away from her eyes before she -could read the last two lines of Gary’s last letter. As it was she -splotched the penciled words with a great drop or two, before she -hid her face in her arms folded upon a high shoulder of the rock on -which she sat, and cried until no more tears would come. - -After a while she heard Monty calling her name, but at first she did -not care. The contents of that last letter proved that it had been -written three weeks ago, evidently a day or so before Gary had -ridden over to Monty’s camp. She was afraid to think what might have -befallen since. - -It was the Voice of the rim rock that roused her finally. She stood -up and listened, sure that it was Gary. To-day the beseeching note -was in the Voice, and all Monty’s talk of its elusiveness went for -naught. It was Gary up there, she was sure of that. And she knew -that he was in trouble. So she rolled his letters to her for easier -carrying, cupped her palms around her mouth, shouted that she was -coming, and started up the bluff. - -At the cabin Monty heard her and came running down to the creek. - -“That ain’t Gary!” he shouted to her. “That’s the Voice I was -tellin’ about. Yuh-all better keep down off that bluff, Miss -Connolly!” - -Patricia poised on a rock and looked back. - -“Oh, come and help find him! That’s Gary--I _know_ it’s Gary!” Then -she turned and went on climbing recklessly over the treacherous, -piled rocks. - -“Come on back!” Monty shouted again peremptorily. “It’s the Voice! -It ain’t human!” - -But Patricia would not listen, would not stop. She went on climbing, -bareheaded, her breath coming in gasps from the altitude and the -pace she was trying to keep. - -Monty looked after her, shouted again. And when he saw that nothing -would stop her, he turned back, running to the cabin. There he -searched frantically for a canteen, found none and filled an empty -beer bottle with water, sliding it into his pocket. Then, with -Patricia’s sailor hat in one hand, he started after her. - -When Patricia was forced to stop and get her breath, the spotted cat -appeared suddenly from somewhere among the rocks. She looked up into -Patricia’s face and meowed wistfully. - -“Oh, cat, you led me once to-day--and Gary likes you. He called you -Faith. Oh, Faith, where’s Gary? He _is_ up on the bluff, isn’t he? I -believe you know! Come on, Faith--help me find Gary!” - -“Meow-w?” Faith inquired in her own way and hopped upon the bowlder -a few feet above Patricia. Patricia, with a hysterical little laugh, -followed her. - -From farther down the bluff Monty shouted, climbing with long steps. -Patricia looked back, climbed another rock and stopped to call down -to him. - -“I’m following the cat!” she cried. “Faith is leading me to Gary!” -Then she went on. - -Fifty yards below her Monty swore to himself. Insanity was leading -her, in Monty’s opinion; he wished fervently that he had left her in -town. But since she was here, and crazily climbing the bluff at the -mocking behest of that phantom Voice, Monty would have to follow and -look after her. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - - “HE’S NEARLY STARVED,” SAID PATRICIA - - -“Damn you, Faith, where’s my breakfast?” Gary stopped scraping the -granite and peered balefully out at the cat, that had just hopped -down mewing upon the bowlder in front of him. “I hate to crab--but I -saved nearly a whole candle just on the strength of my belief in -you. You might have brought me another bird, anyway. As it is, I’ve -a darned good mind to eat _you_! You’re nice and fat--I sure as heck -ought to know, the way I fed you and pampered you. Come here, darn -you--I could eat you raw!” - -He reached out a long arm, his hand spread like a claw and made a -grab at Faith. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, in a grin -that may or may not have been as malevolent as it looked. - -“_Gary!_ Oh, _Gary!_” Patricia’s voice had a sobbing gasp in it, and -it sounded faint and far away. - -The hand and arm hung motionless in the crevice. Gary’s nostrils -quivered, his eyebrows drew together. Then he reached again for the -cat. - -“I’m hearing things again--and this time I can’t kid myself I’m -asleep and dreaming. Faith, it’s up to you. Either you go rustle me -some grub like you did yesterday--only, for heck’s sake, make it a -rabbit this time--or I’ll just have to eat you! A man’s got to live -as long as he can make one breath pull the next one after it. That’s -the game, Faith----” - -“_Gary!_ Oh, _Gary_!” Patricia’s voice was closer now; at least it -sounded so. - -“Hello, Pat!” Gary called hoarsely, before caution warned him that -it must be his fancy and no human voice. - -“Gary! Where are you? Oh, _Gary!_” She was gasping for breath. Gary -could hear her plainly now. - -“Literally and figuratively, I’m in a hole!” he cried recklessly, -mocking the intensity of his desire that the voice should be real. - -“_What_ hole?” Patricia’s voice panted. “I lost--the cat! Where are -you, Gary?” - -Gary found himself clutching the rock with both hands. His knife had -slid to the floor of the crosscut. His knees were weak, so weak that -they kept buckling under him, letting him down so that he must pull -himself up again to the opening with his hands. It was cruel, he -thought, to keep thinking he heard Patricia coming to him. - -“_Gary!_--Oh, Monty Girard! Gary _is_ up here somewhere! I heard him! -He say’s he’s in a hole! Oh, hurry up, why can’t you?” - -Gary swallowed hard. That must be Pat, he thought dizzily. Bossing -Monty Girard around--it _must_ be Pat! - -“This way, Pat! Be careful of the slide--I’m down underground--in a -hole. If Monty’s coming, better wait for him. I’m afraid you’ll -fall. That slide’s darn treacherous.” Gary’s eyes were blazing, his -whole body was shaking as if he had a chill. But he was trying his -best to hold himself steady, to be sensible and to play the game. -The thought flashed into his mind of men lost on the desert, who -rushed crazily toward demon-painted mirages, babbling rapturously at -the false vision. If this were a trick of his tortured -imagination--well, let it be so. He would meet realization when it -came. But now---- - -He could hear Patricia panting and slipping in the loose rocks no -more than a few yards away. He shouted to her, imploring her to be -careful--to wait for Monty--to come to him--he did not know what it was -he was saying. He caught himself babbling and stopped abruptly. - -After all, it was Monty who first peered down past the bowlder and -into the opening, where Gary’s face showed white and staring-eyed, -but with the unquenchable grin. Monty gasped the name of his Maker -and turned as white as a living man may become. Then he turned; Gary -saw him put up his arms. Saw two summer-shod feet with silk-clad -ankles above the low shoes; saw the flicker of a skirt--and then -Patricia was sitting on the bowlder where Faith had so often kept -him company. Patricia cried out at sight of him and looked as if she -were going to faint. - -“Count of Monte Cristo--in his dungeon in the Bastille--before he did -the high dive and made his get-away,” Gary cackled flippantly. “Say, -folks, how about a few eats?” Then his white, smiling face with the -terrible, brilliant eyes, slid down and down. They heard a -slithering kind of fall. - -Patricia screamed and screamed again. Monty himself gave a great, -man sob before he pulled himself together. He put his arm around -Patricia’s shoulder, patting her as he would soothe a child. - -“He’s just fainted,” he said, his voice breaking uncertainly. “It’s -the shock of seeing us. Can yuh-all stay here while I beat it down -to the shack and get some grub? Have yuh-all got the nerve?” - -Patricia held her palms tightly to her face and fought down her -panic and the horror that chilled her heart. When she looked up at -Monty she was Patricia-on-the-job again; efficient, thinking clearly -just what must be done. - -“He’s evidently nearly starved,” she said, and if her voice was not -calm, it was at least as steady as Monty’s. “Bring a can of milk and -plenty of water and a cup. And bread and a couple of eggs and a -spoon,” she said. “Some soft-boiled eggs, after awhile, should be -all right for him. But the milk is what he should have first. Oh, if -you look in my grip, you’ll find a bottle of malted milk. I brought -it in case the food was too bad at country hotels. That’s just what -I want. And hurry!” - -“Yuh-all needn’t be afraid I’ll loaf on the job,” Monty told her -reproachfully; and gave her the bottle of water, and was gone before -she could apologize. - -Patricia crawled down to where she could look in through the -opening. She could not see much of anything; just the rough wall of -the crosscut where the light struck, and beyond that gloom that -deepened to the darkness of night. Gary, lying directly beneath her, -she could not see at all. Yet she called him again and again. -Wistfully, endearingly, as women call frantically after the new-fled -souls of their dearest. - -She was still calling heart-brokenly upon Gary when Monty returned, -puffing up the slope under a capacity load of what he thought might -be needed. Slung upon his back, like a fantastic cross, was an old, -rusted pick, the handle cracked and weather-checked and well-nigh -useless. - -“Joe’s coming along behind with a shovel,” Monty informed her, when -he could summon sufficient breath for speaking. “Don’t yuh-all take -on thataway, Miss Connolly. Gary, he’s plumb fainted for joy and -weakness, I reckon. But he’s in the shade where it’s cool, and he’ll -come to himself in a little bit. I reckon we better have the malted -milk beat up and ready to hand in. I don’t reckon Gary’ll feel much -like waitin’ for meals--when he wakes up.” - -Once more Patricia steadied herself by sheer will power, so that she -might do calmly and efficiently the things that must be done. For an -hour longer she did full penance for all her sins; sitting there on -the bowlder with a cup of malted milk in her hands, waiting for Gary -to regain consciousness, and fighting a terrible fear that he was -dead--that they had come too late. - -Joe arrived with an old shovel that was absolutely useless for their -purpose. Such rocks as they could lift were quicker thrown out of -the half-filled shaft with their hands, using the pick now and then -to pry loose rocks that were wedged together. As for the bowlder -that blocked the opening to the crosscut, they needed dynamite for -that and would not have dared to use it if they had it; not with -Gary prisoned in the small space behind it. - -Monty worked the small rocks away from the bowlder first and studied -the problem worriedly. A malapi bowlder, nearly the height of a man, -fitted into the bottom of a ten-foot incline shaft with granite -walls, is a matter difficult to handle without giant powder. - -“Joe, yuh-all will have to beat it and get help. Three or four men -with strong backs we’ve got to have, and block and tackle and -chain--and some pinch bars. Yuh-all may have to go clear in to Vegas, -I reckon--but git the help!” - -Joe goggled wide-eyed at the narrow opening, stared curiously at -Patricia, wiping tears from her cheeks with one hand and holding -carefully the cup of malted milk in the other. - -“Gosh! Kin he last that long in there?” he blurted, and was -propelled several feet down the bluff by Monty’s hand fixed viselike -on the back of his neck. - -“Uh course he’ll last--a heap sight longer than yuh-all will, if -yuh-all don’t get a move on,” Monty gritted savagely. “Fill up with -water and take a lunch, and don’t light this side of Vegas. Not much -use stopping at the ranches this side, they ain’t liable to have -what we need.” - -He stood with his legs spread apart on two rocks and watched Joe -down the bluff. Whenever Joe looked back and saw Monty standing -there, his speed was accelerated appreciably. Whereat Monty grinned. -When Joe disappeared into the grove, Monty turned back to the shaft, -the weight of Gary’s misfortune heavy upon his soul. - -The first thing he saw was Patricia caressing a grimy hand and thin, -bared forearm. She had just kissed it twice when she looked up and -saw Monty. Patricia did not even blush. - -“He drank every drop of the milk, and now he’s called me a wretch -and a harpy because I won’t give him more,” she announced -triumphantly. “Do you think I’d better?” - -“I reckon I better talk to him by hand,” Monty grinned relievedly. -“He knows mighty well he kain’t bully _me_, Miss Connolly.” - -“I merely asked for fried chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes and -asparagus with drawn butter, and ripe olives and a fruit salad with -a cherry on top, and strawberry shortcake with oodles of butter -under the berries and double cream poured all over,” Gary explained, -grinning like a cheerful death’s-head through the opening. “That -isn’t much to ask--when a fellow’s been dieting the way I have for -God knows how long.” - -Monty blinked very fast, and his laugh was shaky. “Well, now, if -yuh-all can compromise on boiled hen,” he drawled, “I’ll beat it -back down the bluff and shoot the head off the first one I see.” - -“Oh, all right--all right, if it’ll be any accommodation,” Gary -yielded, “only for heck’s sake, make it snappy!” - -Whereupon he forgot Monty and pulled Patricia’s hand in through the -opening and began to kiss it passionately. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - - LET’S LEAVE THEM THERE - - -Love adapts itself to strange conditions when it must, and men and -maids never find it less alluring. Eight days Gary had been -imprisoned in the crosscut, and thought it a lifetime of misery. Yet -the four days which he remained still a prisoner, but with Patricia -perched upon the bowlder practically all of the time, the entombment -became an adventure, something to tell about afterward as a bit of -red-blooded pioneering that seldom falls to the lot of men nowadays. - -It is true that Monty was there, pecking away at the bowlder with -single-jack and gadget much of the time; but Patricia during those -hours moved just far enough away to escape the swing of Monty’s -hammer, and the dialogue went on--mostly of things altogether strange -to Monty Girard. Gossip of the city, plans for “The Pat Connolly” -mine--in which Monty was of course included. - -“I shall put three names on that location,” Patricia announced, in -the tone that went with the squared chin. “Whatever possessed you, -Gary Marshall, to leave your name out of it--or Monty’s? Do you think -I’m a--a pig?” - -Monty dissented to the plan, and so did Gary--but precious little -good that did them. Patricia left the bowlder then, while the matter -was fresh in her mind, and made the trip down to the cabin after her -fountain pen so that she could have the mine as she wanted it. - -“There! If the thing is worth anything--half as much as you think, -Gary--two thirds of it is as much as we could ever spend and keep -decently sane on the subject. And I’m sure, Gary Marshall, you’d -think Monty was earning a share, if you knew how hot it is out here -in the sun. The perspiration is just _rolling_ off him!” - -“Let up a while, old son,” Gary generously implored. “I’m doing all -right in here--it’s a cinch, with the eats passed in to me regularly, -and not a thing in the world to do. You can send out for a preacher, -Monty, and I can offer my good right hand to Pat any time. Great -scene, that would make! Handsome Gary entombed----” - -“For pity’s sake, Gary, don’t j-_joke_ about it!” wailed Patricia. -When Monty sent a warning frown and a “sh-sh” through to the -irrepressible, Gary subsided. - -“Car’s coming,” Monty announced, glad to have the distraction for -Patricia, who was crying silently with her face hidden. “If that’s -Joe, he’s had better luck than is possible, or he’s laid down on the -job. I better go down and make shore. I’ll bring up whatever yuh-all -want to eat, when I come. If it’s in the cañon,” he added -cautiously, remembering some of the things Gary had perversely -insisted upon. - -“I’m sorry, Pat,” Gary murmured, when Monty’s steps could no longer -be heard on the rocks. “Can’t you put your face right up to the -opening now? Monty knocked quite a chunk of rock off a few minutes -ago. And, Pat, if you knew how I wanted to kiss my girl on the -lips!” - -So Patricia wiped her eyes and put her face to the opening. - - * * * * * - -It happened to be the sheriff’s car from Tonopah, with three other -men deputized to come along and see what was taking place away over -here in Johnnywater. In a little while they came puffing up the -bluff to look in upon the man who had been trapped underground for -considerably more than a week. They were mighty sympathetic and they -were deeply concerned and anxious to do something, poor men. But -they were not welcome, and it was difficult for the leading man and -his lady to register gratitude for their presence. - -Gary finally thought of a way out. He told the sheriff that, since -there was nothing to be done at present to release him, he would -suggest that they investigate the grave under the juniper. He said -he thought they might be able to identify the remains of a man which -he had buried there. - -They took the bait and went trooping down the bluff again to do -their full duty. And the last hat-crown had no more than disappeared -when Patricia again leaned forward and put her face to the opening, -this time without being asked. - -There is nothing in the world like love, is there? When it can -brighten a situation such as this and turn tragedy into romance--why, -then, there’s mighty little more to be said. - - THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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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M. Bower</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - h2 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; page-break-before: always; - font-size:1.0em; margin-top:3em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } - h2.nobreak { page-break-before: avoid; } - .ce { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } - table.toc {} - table { page-break-inside: avoid; width:100%; } - table.tcenter { border-collapse:collapse; padding:3px; - margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; - margin-left:2em; } - td { vertical-align:top; } - td.c1 { text-align:right; padding-right:0.7em; } - td.c2 { font-variant:small-caps; } - div.cbline { margin-left:1.4em; text-indent:-1.4em; } - .wifpc { margin-left:15%; width:70% } - .x-ebookmaker .wifpc { margin-left:5%; width:90% } - .caption { text-indent:0; padding:0.5em 0; text-align:center; } - .mt01 { margin-top:1em; } - .mb01 { margin-bottom:1em; } - h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; margin-top:3em; margin-bottom:1em; } - div.section { margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:4em; } - div.chapter { margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The voice at Johnnywater, by B. M. Bower</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 voice at Johnnywater</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: B. M. Bower</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Remington Schuyler</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 9, 2022 [eBook #68488]</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: Roger Frank 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 VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER ***</div> -<div class='section'> -<div class='ce'> -<h1> The Voice at Johnnywater</h1> -</div> -</div> -<div class='section'> -<div class='ce'> -<div>By B. M. Bower</div> -</div> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>Good Indian</div> -<div class='cbline'>Lonesome Land</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Ranch at the Wolverine</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Flying U’s Last Stand</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Phantom Herd</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Heritage of the Sioux</div> -<div class='cbline'>Starr, of the Desert</div> -<div class='cbline'>Cabin Fever</div> -<div class='cbline'>Skyrider</div> -<div class='cbline'>Rim o’ the World</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Quirt</div> -<div class='cbline'>Cow-Country</div> -<div class='cbline'>Casey Ryan</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Trail of the White Mule</div> -<div class='cbline'>The Voice at Johnnywater</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='section'> -<div id='ifpc' class='mt01 mb01 wifpc'> - <img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%' /> - <p class='caption'>“Oh, Monty Girard! Gary <i>is</i> up here somewhere! I heard him!”</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class='section'> -<div class='ce'> -<div style='font-size:1.2em;'>THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER </div> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;margin-top:0.5em;'>BY</div> -<div style='font-size:1.1em;margin-bottom:1.6em;'>B. M. BOWER </div> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;margin-bottom:1.6em;'>WITH FRONTISPIECE BY REMINGTON SCHUYLER </div> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;'>TORONTO </div> -<div>McCLELLAND AND STEWART</div> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;'>1923 </div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='section'> -<div class='ce'> -<div>Copyright, 1923,</div> -<div>By Little, Brown, and Company.</div> -<div><i>All rights reserved</i></div> -<div style='margin-bottom:0.6em;'>Published February, 1923 </div> -<div>Printed in the United States of America</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='section'> -<div style='text-align:center'>CONTENTS</div> -<table class='toc tcenter' style='margin-bottom:3em'> -<tbody> - <tr><td class='c1'>I.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chI'>Patricia Entertains</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>II.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chII'>Patricia Explains</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>III.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chIII'>Patricia Takes Her Stand</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>IV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chIV'>Gary Goes on the Warpath</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>V.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chV'>Gary Does a Little Sleuthing</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>VI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chVI'>Johnnywater</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>VII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chVII'>The Voice</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>VIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chVIII'>“The Cat’s Got ’Em Too!”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>IX.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chIX'>Gary Writes a Letter</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>X.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chX'>Gary Has Speech with Human Beings</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXI'>“How Will You Take Your Millions?”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXII'>Monty Appears</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXIII'>“I Don’t Believe in Spooks”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XIV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXIV'>Patricia Registers Fury</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXV'>“What’s the Matter with This Place?”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XVI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXVI'>“There’s Mystery Here——”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XVII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXVII'>James Blaine Hawkins Finds His Courage—and Loses It</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XVIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXVIII'>Gary Rides to Kawich</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XIX.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXIX'>“Have Yuh-All Got a Gun?”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XX.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXX'>“That Cat Ain’t Human!”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXI'>Gary Follows the Pinto Cat</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXII'>The Pat Connolly Mine</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXIII'>Gary Finds the Voice—and Something Else</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXIV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXIV'>“Steve Carson—Poor Devil!”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXV'>The Value of a Hunch</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXVI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXVI'>“Gary Marshall Mysteriously Missing”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXVII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXVII'>“Nobody Knows but a Pinto Cat”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXVIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXVIII'>Monty Meets Patricia</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXIX.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXIX'>Gary Robs the Pinto Cat of Her Dinner</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXX.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXX'>“Somebody Hollered up on the Bluff”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXXI.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXXI'>“God Wouldn’t Let Anything Happen to Gary!”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXXII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXXII'>“It’s the Voice! It Ain’t Human!”</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXXIII.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXXIII'>“He’s Nearly Starved,” Said Patricia</a></td></tr> - <tr><td class='c1'>XXXIV.</td><td class='c2'><a href='#chXXXIV'>Let’s Leave Them There</a></td></tr> -</tbody> -</table> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chI' title='Patricia Entertains'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER ONE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>PATRICIA ENTERTAINS</span> -</h2> - -<p>The telephone bell was shrilling insistent summons in his apartment -when Gary pushed open the hall door thirty feet away. Even though he -took long steps, he hoped the nagging jingle would cease before he -could reach the ’phone. But the bell kept ringing, being an -automatic telephone, dependent upon no perfunctory Central for the -persistency of its call. Gary was tired, and from his neck to his -waist his skin was painted a coppery bronze which, having been -applied at six-thirty that morning, was now itching horribly as the -grease paint dried. He did not feel like talking to any one; but he -unlocked his door, jerked down the receiver and barked a surly -greeting into the mouthpiece of the ’phone. Almost immediately the -wrinkles on his forehead slid down into smoothness.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>how</i>-do, Gary! I was just wondering if you had changed your -apartments or something,” called the girl whom he hoped some day to -marry. “Did you just get in?”</p> - -<p>“No-o—certainly not! <i>I</i>’ve been having a fit on the floor! Say, I -heard you ringing the ’phone a block away. Every tenant in the joint -is lined up on the sidewalk, watching for the Black Maria or the -ambulance; they don’t know which. But I recognized your ring. What’s -on your mind, Girlie?”</p> - -<p>“Not a thing in the world but a new shell comb. If I’d known you -were so terrifically cross this evening, I wouldn’t have a lovely -dinner all waiting and a great big surprise for you afterwards. Now -I won’t tell you what it is. And, furthermore, I shall not give you -even a hint of what you’re going to eat when you get here. But I -should think a man who could recognize a certain telephone ring a -block away might smell fried chicken and strawberry shortcake clear -across the city—with oodles of butter under the strawberries, and -double cream——”</p> - -<p>“Oh-h, <i>boy</i>!” Gary brightened and smacked his lips into the -mouthpiece, just as any normal young man would do. Then, recalling -his physical discomfort, he hedged a little.</p> - -<p>“Will it keep? I’m in a starving condition as usual—but listen, Pat; -I’m a savage under my shirt. Just got in from location away up in -Topanga Cañon, and I never stopped to get off anything but the -rainbow on my cheeks and my feathered war bonnet. Had a heck of a -day—I’ll tell the world! You know, honey; painted warriors hurtling -down the cliff shooting poisoned arrows at the hapless -emigrants—<i>that</i> kind of hokum. Big Chief Eagle Eye has been -hurtling and whooping war whoops since ten o’clock this morning. -Dinner’ll have to wait while I take a bath and clean up a little. I -look like a bum and that’s a fact. Say, listen, honey——”</p> - -<p>“Aw, take that mush off the line. Ha-ang up!” Some impatient -neighboring tenant with a bad temper was evidently cutting in.</p> - -<p>“Aw, go lead yourself out by the ear!” Gary retorted sharply. “Say, -Pat!” His voice softened to the wooing note of the young male human. -“Best I can do, honey, it’ll be forty minutes. That’s giving me ten -minutes to look like a white man again. You know it’ll take me -thirty minutes to ride out there——”</p> - -<p>“You could walk, you bum, whilst you’re tellin’ her about it. Get -off the line! There ought to be a law against billy-cooin’ over the -’phone——”</p> - -<p>“Seddown! You’re rockin’ the boat!” Gary flung back spiritedly. -“Better make it forty-five, Girlie. It may take me five minutes to -lick this cheap heavy on the third floor that’s tryin’ to put on a -comedy act.”</p> - -<p>“Say, one more crack like that an’ I’ll be down to your place an’ -save yuh some valuable time. It’ll take me about two seconds to -knock yuh cold!” The harsh male voice interrupted eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Are you there, Pat?”</p> - -<p>“Right here, Gary. How did <i>that</i> get into a respectable house, -dear? You ought to call the janitor.” The girl he hoped to marry had -spirit and could assuredly hold her own in a wicked city. “Take your -time, Gary boy. But remember, I’ve the biggest surprise in your life -waiting for you out here. Something <i>wonderful</i>!”</p> - -<p>It is astonishing how a woman can pronounce a few simple words so -that they sound like a hallelujah chorus of angels. Gary thrilled to -her voice, in spite of an intensely practical nature. Patricia went -on, after an impressive pause.</p> - -<p>“Never mind that noise in the ’phone, Gary. It’s just some -mechanical deficiency caused by using cheap material. Never mind the -grease paint, either. You—you won’t always have to smear around in -it—partner!”</p> - -<p>While he hurried to make himself presentable, Gary’s thoughts dwelt -upon that word “partner” and the lingering sweetness of Patricia’s -tone. Patricia Connolly was not a feather-brained creature who would -repeat parrotlike whatever phrase she happened to have heard and -fancied. She did not run to second-hand superlatives. When she told -Gary that she had a wonderful surprise for him, she would not, for -instance, mean that she had done her hair in a new fashion or had -bought a new record for the phonograph. And she had never before -called him partner in any tone whatever. Gary would have remembered -it if she had.</p> - -<p>“What the heck is she going to spring on me <i>now</i>?” he kept -wondering during the hour that intervened between the ’phone call -and his entrance into the scrap of bungalow in a bepalmed court -where Patricia had her milk and her mail delivered to the tiny front -porch.</p> - -<p>The extra fifteen minutes had not been spent in whipping the -harsh-voiced tenant on the third floor; indeed, Gary had forgotten -all about him the moment he hung up the receiver. One simply cannot -annihilate all the men one abuses in the course of a day’s strained -living in Los Angeles or any other over-full city. Gary had been -delayed first by the tenacity of the grease paint on his person, and -after that by the heavy traffic on the street cars. Two cars had -gone whanging past him packed solidly with peevish human beings and -with men and boys clinging to every protuberance on the outside. -When the third car stopped to let a clinging passenger drop -off—shaking down his cuffs and flexing his cramped fingers—Gary had -darted in like a hornet, seized toe-hold and finger-hold and hung -on.</p> - -<p>And so, fifteen minutes late, he arrived at Patricia’s door and was -let into Paradise and delectable odors and the presence of Patricia, -who looked as though Christmas had come unexpectedly and she was -waiting until the candles were lighted on the tree so she could -present Gary with a million dollars. Her honest sweetness and her -adorable little way of mothering Gary—though she was fours years -younger—tingled with an air of holding back with difficulty the news -of some amazing good fortune.</p> - -<p>Patricia shared the bungalow with a trained nurse who was usually -absent on a “case”, so that Patricia was practically independent and -alone. Most girls of twenty couldn’t have done it and kept their -mental balance; but Patricia was herself under any and all -conditions, and it did not seem strange for her to be living alone -the greater part of the time. Freedom, to her, spelled neither -license nor loneliness; she lived as though her mother were always -in the next room. Patricia felt sometimes that her mother was -closer, very close beside her. It made her happier to feel so, but -never had it made her feel ashamed.</p> - -<p>She had evolved the dinner in this manner: while her boss was -keeping her waiting until he had refreshed his memory of a certain -special price on alfalfa molasses and oil cakes, etc., etc., in -carload and half-carload lots, Patricia had jotted down in good -shorthand, “chicken, about two pounds with yellow legs and a limber -wishbone or nothing doing; cost a dollar, I expect—is Gary worth it? -I’ll say he is. God love ums. Strawberries, two boxes—Hood Rivers, -if possible—try the City Market. Celery—if there’s any that looks -decent; if not, then artichokes or asparagus—Gary likes asparagus -best—says he eats artichokes because it’s fun—Dear Sir:—In response -to your favor of the 17th inst.,—” and so on.</p> - -<p>Some girls would have quoted asparagus in carload lots, transcribing -from such notes, and would have put alfalfa molasses on the dinner -menu; but not Patricia.</p> - -<p>On her way home from the office in the dusty, humming barn of a -building that housed the grain milling company which supported her -in return for faithful service rendered, Patricia shopped at the big -City Market where the sales people all had tired eyes and mechanical -smiles, and a general air of hopelessly endeavoring to please every -one so that no harassed marketers would complain to the manager. -Patricia made her purchases as painless to the sales girl as -possible, knowing too well what that strained smile meant. The great -market buzzed like a bee-tree when you strike its trunk with a club.</p> - -<p>She bought a manila paper shopping bag, but her packages overflowed -the bag, so that she carried the two boxes of strawberries in her -hand, and worried all the way home for fear the string would break; -and held the warm tea biscuits under her arm, protecting them as -anxiously as a hen protects her covered chicks. By prodding with her -elbows and bracing her feet against the swaying crush, and giving -now and then a haughty stare, Patricia achieved the miracle of -arriving at Rose Court with her full menu and only one yellow leg of -the chicken protruding stiffly from its wrappings.</p> - -<p>She dumped her armload on the table in the kitchenette and rushed -out again to buy flowers from the vendor who was chanting his wares -half a block away. She was tingling all over with nerve weariness, -yet she could smile brightly at the Greek so that he went on with a -little glow of friendliness toward the world. At the rose-arched -entrance to the Court she tilted her wrist, looked at her watch and -said, “Good Lord! That late?” and dashed up to her door like a -maiden pursued.</p> - -<p>Yet here she was at seven, in a cool little pansy-tinted voile, -dainty and serene as any young hostess in Westmoreland Place half a -mile away. Even the strawberry stain on her finger tips could easily -be mistaken for the new fad in manicuring. Can you wonder that Gary -forgot every disagreeable thing he ever knew—including frowsy, -unhomelike bachelor quarters, crowded street cars, all the petty -aches and ills of movie work—when he unfolded his napkin and looked -across the table at Patricia?</p> - -<p>“Coffee now, or with dessert? Gary, don’t you dare look question -marks at me! I can’t have your mind distracted with food while I’m -telling you the most wonderful thing in the world. Moreover, this -dinner deserves a little appreciation.” Patricia’s lips trembled, -but only because she was tired and excited and happy. Her happiness -would have been quite apparent to a blind man.</p> - -<p>I do not mean to hint that Patricia deliberately fed Gary to -repletion with the things he liked best, before imparting her -<i>won</i>-derful surprise. She had frequently cooked nice little dinners -for him when there was nothing surprising to follow. But it is a -fact that when she had stacked the dishes neatly away for a later -washing, and returned the dining table to its ordinary library-table -guise, Gary looked as if nothing on earth could disturb him. Mental, -emotional and physical content permeated the atmosphere of his -immediate neighborhood. Patricia sat down and laid her arms upon the -table, and studied Gary, biting her lips to hide their quiver.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chII' title='Patricia Explains'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWO</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>PATRICIA EXPLAINS</span> -</h2> - -<p>Womanlike, Patricia began in a somewhat roundabout fashion and in a -tone not far from cajolery.</p> - -<p>“Gary! You do know all about ranch life and raising cattle and hay -and horses and so on, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>Gary was lighting a cigarette. If he had learned the “picture value” -of holding a pose, he was at least unconscious of his deliberation -in waving out the match flame before he replied. His was a profile -very effective in close-ups against the firelight. Holding a pose -comes to be second nature to an actor who has to do those things for -a living.</p> - -<p>“Dad would rather feature the so-on stuff. Subtitle, father saying, -‘You ain’t much on raisin’ cattle but you’re shore an expert at -raisin’ hell!’ Cut back to son on horse at gate, gazing wistfully -toward house. Sighs. Turns away. Iris out, son riding away into -dusk. Why?”</p> - -<p>“Fathers are like that. Of course you know all about those things. -You were raised on a ranch. Have you landed that contract with Mills -yet, to play Western leads?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet—Mills is waiting for his chief to come on from New York. -He’s due here about the First. I was talking with Mills to-day, and -he says he’s morally certain they’ll give me a company of my own and -put on Western Features. You know what that would mean, Pat—a year’s -contract for me. And we could get married——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, never mind that, since you haven’t landed it.” Patricia drew -in her breath. “Well, you know what I think of the movie game; we’ve -thrashed that all out, times enough. I simply can’t see <i>my</i> husband -making movie love to various and sundry females who sob and smile -and smirk at him for so many dollars per. We’ll skip that. Also my -conviction that the movies are lowering—cheapening to any full-sized -man. Smirking and frowning before a camera, and making mushy love -for kids on the front seats to stamp and whistle at—well, never -mind; we won’t go into that at this time.</p> - -<p>“You know, Gary. I just love you to be Western; but I want you to be -<i>real</i> Western—my own range hero. Not cheap, movie make-believe. I -want you to get out and live the West. I can close my eyes and see -you on a cattle ranch, riding out at dawn after your own -cattle—doing your part in increasing the world’s production of -food—being something big and really worth while!”</p> - -<p>“Can you? You’re a good little seer, Pat. Golly, grandma! I wish I’d -saved half of that shortcake to eat after a while. Now I’m so full I -can’t swallow a mouthful of smoke. What’s the surprise, kid? Don’t -hold the suspense till the interest flags—that’s bad business. Makes -the story drag.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I’m telling you, Gary!” Patricia opened her eyes at him in a -way that would have brought any movie queen a raise in salary. “It’s -just that you’re going to have a chance to live up to what’s really -in you. You’re going to manage a cattle ranch, dear. Not a real big -one—yet. But you’ll have the fun of seeing it grow.”</p> - -<p>“Oh-ah-h—I’ll have the fun—er-r—all right, Pat, <i>I</i> give it up.” -Gary settled back again with his head against the cushion “Tell us -the joke. My brain’s leather to-night; had a heck of a day.”</p> - -<p>“The joke? Why, the joke is—well, just that you don’t get it! I knew -you wouldn’t, just at first. Think, Gary! Just close your eyes and -think of miles and miles of open range and no fences, and herds of -cattle roaming free. Picture a home ranch against the mountains, in -a cañon called—let’s play it’s called Johnnywater. Are you doing -it?”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. I’m thinking——” But he sounded drowsy, as if he would be -asleep presently if he continued holding his eyes shut. “Open range -and cattle roaming free—there ain’t no such animal.”</p> - -<p>“That’s where the big surprise comes in, Gary. Listen. This is the -most important thing that ever happened to either of us. I—I can -hardly talk about it, it’s so perfectly <i>wonderful</i>. You’d never -guess in a million years. But I—well, read these papers, Gary -boy—I’ll explain them afterwards.”</p> - -<p>Gary opened his eyes somewhat reluctantly, smiled endearingly at the -flushed Patricia and accepted two legal-looking documents which she -proffered with what might almost have been termed a flourish. He -glanced at them somewhat indifferently, glanced again, gave Patricia -a startled look, and sat up as if some one had prodded him -unexpectedly in the back. He read both papers through frowningly, -unconsciously registering consternation. When he had finished, he -stared blankly at Patricia for a full minute.</p> - -<p>“Pat Connolly, what the heck is this trick deed? I can’t feature it. -I don’t <i>get</i> it! What’s the big idea?”</p> - -<p>“That’s just a deed, Gary. The cattle and the brand and the water -right to Johnnywater Spring, and the squatter’s right to the -pasturage and improvements are all included—as you would have seen -if you had read it carefully. The other paper is the water right, -that he got from the State. Besides that, I have the affidavits of -two men who swear that William Waddell legally owned one hundred -head of cattle and the funny X brand, and that everything is all -straight to the best of their knowledge and belief.</p> - -<p>“I insisted upon the affidavits being furnished, since I couldn’t -afford to make a trip away up there myself. It’s all right, Gary. I -could send them all to jail for perjury and things of that sort if -they have lied about it.”</p> - -<p>Patricia pressed her palms hard upon the table and gave a subdued -little squeal of sheer ecstasy.</p> - -<p>“Just think of it, Gary! After almost despairing of ever being able -to have a ranch of our own, so that you could ride around and really -manage things, instead of pretending it in pictures, Fate gave me -this wonderful chance!</p> - -<p>“I was working up our mailing list, and ran across an ad in the -Tonopah paper, of this place for sale. The ‘Free grazing and water -rights in open range country’ caught my eye first. And the price was -cheap—scandalously cheap for a stock ranch. I answered the ad right -away—that was over a month ago, Gary. I’ve kept it a secret, because -I hate arguments so, and I knew you’d argue against it. Any, -anyway,” she added naïvely, “you’ve been away on location so I -couldn’t tell you.</p> - -<p>“That country is all unsurveyed for miles and miles and <i>miles</i>. Mr. -Waddell writes that there are absolutely no grazing restrictions -whatever, and that even their saddle and work horses run loose the -year around. He says the winters are open——”</p> - -<p>That last bit of information was delivered somewhat doubtfully. -Patricia had lived in Southern California since she was a tiny tot -and did not know exactly what an “open” winter meant.</p> - -<p>“It’s scarcely settled at all, and there are no sheep in the -country. I knew that would be important, so I asked, particularly. -It’s in a part of the country that has been overlooked, Mr. Waddell -says, just because it’s quite a long way from the railroad. I never -dreamed there was any unsurveyed country left in America. Did you, -Gary?”</p> - -<p>Gary had slumped down in the big chair and was smoking his cigarette -with thoughtful deliberation. His eyes veiled themselves before -Patricia’s glowing enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Death Valley is unsurveyed,” he observed grimly.</p> - -<p>“I’m not talking about Death Valley,” Patricia retorted impatiently. -“I mean cattle range. I’ve been corresponding with Mr. Waddell for a -month, so I have all the facts.”</p> - -<p>“<i>All</i> the facts, kid?” Gary was no fool. He was serious enough now, -and the muscles along his jaw were hardening a little. His director -would have been tickled with that expression for a close-up of -slow-growing anger.</p> - -<p>“The only country left unsurveyed to-day is desert that would starve -a horn toad to death in a week. Some one has put one over on you, -Pat. Where does he live? If you’ve paid him any money yet, I’ll have -to go and get it back for you. You’ve bought a gold brick, Pat.”</p> - -<p>“I have not! I investigated, I tell you. I have really bought the -Waddell outfit—cattle, horses, brand, ranch, water rights and -everything. It took all the insurance money dad left me, except just -a few hundred dollars. That Power of Attorney—I pinned it on the -back of the deed to surprise you, and you haven’t looked at it -yet—cost me ten dollars, Gary Marshall! It gives you the right to go -over there and run the outfit and transact business just as if you -were the owner. I—I thought you might need it, and it would be just -as well to have it.”</p> - -<p>Gary leaned forward, his jaw squared, his right hand shut to a -fighting fist on the table.</p> - -<p>“Do you think for a minute I’m crazy enough to go over <i>there</i>? To -quit a good job that’s just opening up into something big, and go -off in the sand somewhere to watch cattle starve to death? It just -happens that I do know a little about the cow business. Cattle have -to eat, my dear girl. They don’t just walk around in front of a -camera to give dolled-up cowboys a chance to ride. They require food -occasionally.</p> - -<p>“Why, Pat, take a look at that deed! That in itself ought to have -been enough to warn you. It’s recorded in Tonopah. <i>Tonopah!</i> I was -there on location once when we made <i>The Gold Boom</i>. It’s a mining -town—not a cow town, Pat.”</p> - -<p>Patricia smiled patiently.</p> - -<p>“I know it, Gary. I didn’t say that Johnnywater lies inside the city -limits of Tonopah. Mines and cattle are not like sheep and cattle; -they don’t clash. There are cattle all around in that country.” -Patricia swept out an arm to indicate vast areas. “We have inquiries -from cattle men all over Nevada about stock food. I’ve billed out -alfalfa molasses and oil cakes to several Nevada towns. And -remember, I was making up a mailing list for our literature when I -ran across the ad. We don’t mail our price lists to milliners, -either. They raise cattle all through that country.”</p> - -<p>“Well, <i>I</i> don’t raise ’em there—that’s flat.” Gary settled back in -his chair with absolute finality in tone, words and manner.</p> - -<p>“Then I’m a ruined woman.” But Patricia said it calmly, even with a -little secret satisfaction. “I shall have to go myself, then, and -run the ranch, and get killed by bronks and bitten to death by Gila -monsters and carried off by the Indians——”</p> - -<p>“Piffle!” from the big chair. “You couldn’t get on a bronk that was -dangerous, and Gila monsters live farther south, and the Injuns are -too lazy to carry anybody off. Besides, I wouldn’t let you go.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m still a ruined woman, except that I’m ruined quicker. My -cows will die and my calves will be rustled and my horses ridden -off—<i>my</i> cows and <i>my</i> calves and <i>my</i> horses!”</p> - -<p>“Sell!” shouted Gary, forgetting other Bungalow Courters in his -sudden fury. “You’re stung, I tell you. Sell the damned thing!”</p> - -<p>Patricia looked at him. She had a pretty little round chin, but -there were times when it squared itself surprisingly. And whenever -it did square itself, you could souse Patricia and hold her head -under water until air bubbles ceased to rise; and if you brought her -up and got her gasping again, Patricia would gasp, “Scissors!” like -the old woman in the story.</p> - -<p>“No. I shall not sell. I shall not do anything more than I have done -already. If you refuse to go to Nevada and take charge of -Johnnywater, I shall go myself or I shall let my cattle starve.”</p> - -<p>She would, too. Gary knew that. He looked steadily at her until he -was sure of the square chin and all, and then he threw out both -hands as if in complete surrender.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well,” he said tolerantly. “We won’t quarrel about it, -Pat.”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chIII' title='Patricia Takes Her Stand'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THREE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>PATRICIA TAKES HER STAND</span> -</h2> - -<p>A young man of intelligence may absorb a great many psychological -truths while helping to build in pictures mock dramas more or less -similar to real, human problems. Gary wore a brain under his mop of -brown hair, and he had that quality of stubbornness which will adopt -strategy—guile, even—for the sake of winning a fight. To-night, he -chose to assume the air of defeat that he might win ultimate -victory.</p> - -<p>Gary had not the slightest intention of ruining his own future as -well as Patricia’s by yielding with an easy, “Oh, very well” -surrender, and going away into the wilds of Nevada to attempt the -raising of cattle in a district so worthless that it had never so -much as seen a surveyor’s transit. Desert it must be; a howling -waste of sand and lizards and snakes. The very fact that Patricia -had been able, with a few thousands of dollars, to buy out a -completely equipped cattle ranch, damned the venture at once as the -mad freak of a romantic girl’s ignorance. He set himself now to the -task of patiently convincing Patricia of her madness.</p> - -<p>Patricia, however, was not to be convinced. For every argument of -Gary’s she found another to combat it. She repeated more than once -the old range slogan that you simply can’t lose money in cattle. She -told Gary that here was an opportunity, sent by a watchful -Providence, for him to make good in a really worth-while business; -and urged upon him the theory that pioneering brings out the best -qualities in a man.</p> - -<p>She attacked furiously Gary’s ambition to become a screen star, -reminding him how cheap and paltry is that success which is based -only upon a man’s good looks; and how easily screen stars fall -meteorically into the hopeless void of forgotten favorites.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t just that I’ve dreamed all my life of owning cattle and -living away out in the wilderness,” she finished, with reddened -cheeks and eyes terribly in earnest. “I know the fine mettle you’re -made of, Gary, and I couldn’t see it spoiled while they fed your -vanity at the studios.</p> - -<p>“I had the money to buy this cattle ranch at Johnnywater—but of -course I knew that I should be perfectly helpless with it alone. I -don’t know the business of raising cattle, except that I know the -most popular kinds of stock food and the prices and freight rates to -various points. But you were born on a cattle ranch, Gary, and I -knew that you could make a success of it. I knew that you could go -and take charge of the ranch, and put the investment on a paying -basis; which is a lot better than just leaving that money in the -bank, drawing four and a half per cent. And I’ll go on with the -milling company until the ranch is on its feet. My salary can go -into what improvements are necessary. It’s an ideal combination, I -think.”</p> - -<p>She must have felt another argument coming to speech behind Gary’s -compressed lips; for she added, with a squared chin to give the -statement force,</p> - -<p>“This isn’t threatening—a threat is always a sign of conscious -weakness. I merely wish to make the statement that unless you go -over and take charge of the Johnnywater ranch, I shall go myself. I -absolutely <i>refuse</i> to sell. I don’t know anything about running a -ranch, and I was never on a horse in my life, so I’d undoubtedly -make a beautiful mess of it. But I should have to tackle it, just -the same; because I really can’t afford to positively throw away -five thousand dollars, you know. I should have to make some attempt -to save it, at least. When I failed—as I probably should—I’d have to -go away somewhere and get a job I hated, and develop into a sour old -maid. Because, Gary, if you flatly refused to take charge over -there, as you <i>threaten</i> to do, we certainly couldn’t marry and -expect to live together happily with Johnnywater ranch as a skeleton -in our closet.</p> - -<p>“So that’s where I stand, Gary. Naturally, the prospect doesn’t -appeal to you at this moment. You’re sitting here in a big, -overstuffed chair, fed on good things, with a comfy cushion behind -your shoulders and a shaded light over your head. You look very -handsome indeed—and you know it just as well as I do. You are -perfectly aware of the fact that this would make a stunning close-up -of you—with the camera set to show your profile and that -heart-disturbing wave over your right temple.</p> - -<p>“Just at this minute you don’t particularly care about sitting on a -wooden chair in a cabin away out in the wilderness, hearing coyotes -howl on a hill and your saddle horses champing hay in a sod-roofed -stable, and you thinking how it’s miles to the nearest neighbor—and -an audience! You’ve reached the point, Gary, where a little mental -surgery is absolutely necessary to your future mental health. I can -see that your soul is beginning to show symptoms of going a tiny bit -flabby. And I simply <i>loathe</i> flabby-souled men with handsome faces -and shoulders as broad as yours!”</p> - -<p>That was like jabbing Gary in the back with a hatpin. He sat up with -a jerk.</p> - -<p>“Flabby-souled! Good Lord, Pat! Why pile up the insults? This is -getting good, I must say!” He leaned back in the chair again, the -first effect of the jab having passed. “I can stand all this -knocking the movie game—I’m used to it, heck knows. I might just -point out, however, that making a living by expressing the emotions -of men in stories is no worse than pounding a typewriter for a -living. What’s the difference whether you sell your profile or your -fingers? And what do you think——”</p> - -<p>“I think it’s ten o’clock, Gary Marshall, and I’ve said what I have -to say and there’s no argument, because I simply won’t argue. I -suppose you’ll need sleep if you still have to be at the studio at -seven o’clock in the morning so that you can get into your painted -eyebrows and painted eyelashes and painted lips for the day’s -smirk.”</p> - -<p>Gary heaved himself out of his chair and reached for his hat, -forgetting to observe subconsciously how effectively he did it. -Patricia’s mental surgery had driven the lance deep into his pride -and self-esteem, which in a handsome young man of twenty-four is -quite as sensitive to pain as an eyeball. Patricia had omitted the -mental anesthetic of a little flattery, and she had twisted the -knife sickeningly. Painted eyelashes and painted lips nauseated Gary -quite suddenly; but scarcely more than did the thought of that ranch -of a hundred cattle in a Nevada desert, which Patricia had beggared -herself to buy.</p> - -<p>“Well, good night, Pat. I must be going. Awfully pleasant -evening—great little dinner and all that. I wish you all kinds of -luck with your cattle ranch. ’Bye.”</p> - -<p>Patricia did not believe that he would go like that. She thought he -was merely bluffing. She did not so much as move a finger until he -had shut the door rather decisively behind him and she heard his -feet striking firmly on the cement walk that led to the street.</p> - -<p>A slight chill of foreboding quivered along her spine as the -footsteps sounded fainter and fainter down the pavement. She had -known Gary Marshall for three years and had worn a half-carat -diamond for six months. She had argued with him for hours; they had -quarreled furiously at times, and he had registered anger, -indignation, arrogance and hurt pride in several effective forms. -But she had never before seen him behave in just this manner.</p> - -<p>Of course he would hate that little slam of hers about the paint and -the profile, she told herself hearteningly. She had struck -deliberately at his pride and his vanity, though in justice she was -compelled to confess to herself that Gary had very little vanity for -a man so good-looking as he was. She had wanted him to hate what she -said, so that he would be forced to give up the movie life which she -hated. Still, his sudden going startled her considerably.</p> - -<p>It occurred to her later that he had absent-mindedly carried off her -papers. She remembered how he had stuffed them into his coat -pocket—just as if they were his and didn’t amount to much -anyway—while the argument was going on. Well, since he had taken -them away with him he would have to return them, no matter how mad -he was; and in the meantime it might do him good to read them over -again. He couldn’t help seeing how she had burned her financial -bridges behind her—for his sake.</p> - -<p>Patricia brushed her eyes impatiently with her fingers and sighed. -In a moment she pinned on an apron and attacked the dinner dishes -savagely, wondering why women are such fools as to fall in love with -a man, and then worry themselves into wrinkles over his -shortcomings. Six months ago, Gary Marshall had not owned a fault to -his name. Now, her whole heart was set upon eradicating faults which -she had discovered.</p> - -<p>“He shall <i>not</i> be spoiled—if I have to quarrel with him every day! -There’s something more to him than that mop of wavy brown hair that -won’t behave, and those straight eyebrows that won’t behave either, -but actually <i>talk</i> at you—and those eyes—— That darned leading girl -can’t make <i>me</i> believe it’s all acting, when she rolls her eyes up -at him and snuggles against his shoulder. That’s <i>my</i> shoulder! And -Gary says selling your profile is like selling your fingers! It -might be—if the boss bought my fingers to <i>kiss</i>! And I don’t care! -It was positively indecent, the way Gary kissed that girl in his -last picture. If he wasn’t such a dear——”</p> - -<p>Patricia snuffled a bit while she scraped chicken gravy off a plate. -Gary’s plate. “Let him sulk. He’ll come back when he cools off. And -he’ll <i>have</i> to give in and go to Nevada. He’ll never see me lose -five thousand dollars. And those nasty little movie queens can find -somebody else to roll up their eyes at. Oh, darn!”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chIV' title='Gary Goes on the Warpath'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER FOUR</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY GOES ON THE WARPATH</span> -</h2> - -<p>One thing which a motion-picture actor may not do and retain the -tolerance of any one who knows him is to stop work in the middle of -a picture. If there is an unforgivable sin in the movie world, that -is it. Nevertheless, even sins called unforgivable may be condoned -in certain circumstances; even the most stringent rules may be -broken now and then, or bent to meet an individual need.</p> - -<p>Gary spent a sleepless night wondering how he might with impunity -commit the unforgivable sin. In spite of his anger at Patricia and -his sense of her injustice, certain words of hers rankled in a way -that would have pleased Patricia immensely, had she known it.</p> - -<p>He rode out to the studio one car earlier than usual, and went -straight to the little cubbyhole of a dressing room to put on his -make-up as Chief Eagle Eye. Such was the force of Patricia’s speech -that Gary swore vaguely, at nothing in particular, while he painted -his eyebrows, lashes and lips, and streaked the vermilion war paint -down his cheeks. He scrubbed the copper-colored powder into the -grease paint on his arms and chest, still swearing softly and -steadily in a monotonous undertone that sounded, ten feet away, like -a monk mumbling over his beads.</p> - -<p>With the help of a fellow actor he became a noble red man from the -scalp lock to his waist, got into fringed buckskin leggings, -lavishly feathered war bonnet, some imitation elk-tooth necklaces -and beaded moccasins. Then, with his quiver full of arrows (poisoned -in the sub-titles) slung over his painted shoulders, and the mighty -bow of Chief Eagle Eye in his hand, Gary stalked out into the lot in -search of the director, Mills.</p> - -<p>When one knows his director personally as a friend, one may, if he -is a coming young star and not too insufferably aware of his -starlike qualities, accomplish much in the way of emergency -revisions of story and stringent rules.</p> - -<p>Wherefore, to the future amazement of the author, Chief Eagle Eye -that day died three different deaths, close up in front of two -grinding cameras; though Chief Eagle Eye had not been expected to -die at all in the picture. The director stood just behind the -camera, his megaphone under his arm, his hands on his hips, his hat -on the back of his head and a grin on his perspiring face.</p> - -<p>“Thattaboy, Gary! Just sag at the knees and go down slowly, as you -try to draw the bow. That’s it—try to get up—well, that’s good -business, trying to shoot from the ground! Now try to heave yourself -up again—just lift your body, like your legs is paralyzed—shot in -the back, maybe. All right—that’s great stuff. Now rouse yourself -with one last effort—lift your head and chant the death song! Gulp, -man!</p> - -<p>“Run in there, Bill—you’re horrified. Try to lift him up and drag -him back out of danger. Say! Wince, man, like you’re shot through -the lungs—no, <i>I meant Gary</i>!—well, damn it, let it go—but -how-the-hell-do-you-expect-to-drag-a-man-off-when-you’ve-got-a-slug-in-your-<i>lungs</i>? -You acted like some one had stuck you with a pin! Git outa the -scene—Gary’s doing the dying, you ain’t!—— <i>Cut</i>—we’ll have to do -that over. A kid four years old would never stand for that damfool -play.</p> - -<p>“Now, Gary, try that again. Keep that business with the bow. And try -and get that same vindictive look—you know, with your lips drawn -back while you’re trying to bend the bow and let fly one last arrow. -This time you die alone. Can’t have a death scene like that gummed -up by a boob like Bill lopin’ in and actin’ like he’d sat on a -bee—all right—come in—<i>camera</i>——</p> - -<p>“That’s fine—now take your time, take your time—now, as the bow -sags—you’re growing weaker—rouse yourself and chant your death song! -That’s the stuff! Lift your head—turn it so your profile shows” -(Gary swore without moving his lips “—hold that, while you raise -your hand palm out—peace greeting to your ancestors you see in the -clouds! <i>Great!</i> H-o-o-l-d -it—one—two—three—now-go-slack-all-at-once——<i>Cut!</i>”</p> - -<p>Gary picked himself up, took off his war bonnet and laid it on a -rock, reached into his wampum belt and produced a sack of Bull -Durham and a book of papers. The director came over and sat down -beside him, accepting the cigarette Gary had just rolled.</p> - -<p>“Great scene, Gary. By gosh, that ought to get over big. When you -get back, call me up right away, will you? I ought to know something -definite next week, at the latest. Try and be here when Cohen gets -here; I want you to meet him. By gosh, it’s a crime not to give you -a feature company. Well, have Mack drive you back in my car. You -haven’t any too much time.”</p> - -<p>That’s what it means to have the director for your friend. He can -draw out your scenes and keep you working many an extra week if you -are hard up, or he can kill you off on short notice and let you go, -if you happen to have urgent business elsewhere; and must travel -from Toponga Cañon to the studio, take off your make-up—an ungodly, -messy make-up in this case—pack a suit case, buy a ticket and catch -the eight o’clock train that evening.</p> - -<p>Gary, having died with much dignity and a magnificent profile in -full view of future weeping audiences, was free from further -responsibility toward the company and could go where he did not -please. Which, of course, was Tonopah.</p> - -<p>He was just boyish enough in his anger, hurt enough in his man’s -pride, to go without another word to Patricia. Flabby-souled, hunh? -Painted eyebrows, painted lashes, painted lips—golly grandma! Pat -surely could take the hide off a man, and smile while she did it!</p> - -<p>He meant to take that Power of Attorney she had so naïvely placed in -his hands, and work it for all there was in it. He meant to sell -that gold brick of a “stock ranch” Waddell had worked off on her, -and lick Waddell and the two men who had signed affidavits for him. -He meant to go back, then, and give Pat her money, and tell her for -the Lord’s sake to have a little sense, and put her five thousand -dollars in a trust fund, where she couldn’t get hold of it for the -first faker that came along and held out his hand. After that—Gary -was not sure what he would do. He was still very angry with -Patricia; but after he had asserted his masculine authority and -proved to her that the female of our species is less intelligent -than the male, it is barely possible that he might forgive the girl.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chV' title='Gary Does a Little Sleuthing'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER FIVE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY DOES A LITTLE SLEUTHING</span> -</h2> - -<p>Tonopah as a mining town appealed strongly to Gary’s love of the -picturesque. Tonopah is a hilly little town, with a mine in its very -middle, and with narrow, crooked streets that slope steeply and take -sharp turnings. Houses perched on knobs of barren, red earth, or -clung precariously to steep hillsides. The courthouse, a modern, -cement building with broad steps flanked by pillars, stood with -aloof dignity upon a hill that made Gary puff a little in the -climbing.</p> - -<p>On the courthouse steps he finished his cigarette before going -inside, and stood gazing at the town below him and at the barren -buttes beyond. As far as he could see, the world was a forbidding, -sterile world; unfriendly, inhospitable—a miserly world guarding -jealously the riches deep-hidden within its hills. When he tried to -visualize range cattle roaming over those hills, Gary’s lips twisted -contemptuously.</p> - -<p>He turned and went in, his footsteps clumping down the empty, -echoing corridor to the office of the County Recorder. A -wholesome-looking girl with hair almost the color of Patricia’s rose -from before a typewriter and came forward to the counter. Her eyes -widened a bit when she looked at Gary, and the color deepened a -little in her cheeks. Perhaps she had seen Gary’s face on the screen -and remembered it pleasantly; certainly a man like Gary Marshall -walks but seldom into the Recorder’s office of any desert county -seat. Gary told her very briefly what he wanted, and the County -Recorder herself came forward to serve him.</p> - -<p>Very obligingly she looked up all the records pertaining to -Johnnywater. Gary himself went in with her to lift the heavy record -books down from their places in the vault behind the office. The -County Recorder was thorough as well as obliging. Gary lifted -approximately a quarter of a ton of books, and came out of the vault -wiping perspiration from inside his collar and smoothing his plumage -generally after the exercise. It was a warm day in Tonopah.</p> - -<p>Gary had not a doubt left to pin his hopes upon. The County Recorder -had looked up water rights to Johnnywater and adjacent springs, and -had made sure that Waddell had made no previous transfers to other -parties, a piece of treachery which Gary had vaguely hoped to -uncover. Patricia’s title appeared to be dishearteningly -unassailable. Gary would have been willing to spend his last dollar -in prosecuting Waddell for fraud; but apparently no such villainy -had brought Waddell within his clutches.</p> - -<p>From the County Recorder, who had a warm, motherly personality and -was chronically homesick for Pasadena and eager to help any one who -knew the place as intimately as did Gary, he learned how great a -stranger Tonopah is to her county corners. Pat was right, he -discovered. Miles and miles of country lay all unsurveyed; a vast -area to be approached in the spirit of the pioneer who sets out to -explore a land unknown.</p> - -<p>Roughly scaling the district on the county map which the Recorder -borrowed from the Clerk (and which Gary promptly bought when he -found that it was for sale) he decided that the water holes in the -Johnnywater district were approximately twenty to forty miles apart.</p> - -<p>“Pat’s cows will have to pack canteens where village bossies wear -bells on their lavallieres,” Gary grinned to the County Recorder. -“Calves are probably taboo in the best bovine circles of -Nevada—unless they learn to ride to water on their mammas’ backs, -like baby toads.”</p> - -<p>The Recorder smiled at him somewhat wistfully. “You remind me of my -son in Pasadena,” she said. “He always joked over the drawbacks. I -wish you were going to be within riding distance of here; I’ve an -extra room that I’d love to have you use sometimes. But—” she -sighed, “—you’ll probably never make the trip over here unless you -come the roundabout way on the train, to record something. And the -mail is much more convenient, of course. What few prospectors record -mining claims in that district nearly always send them by mail, I’ve -noticed. In all the time I’ve been in office, this Mr. Waddell is -the only man from that part of the county who came here personally. -He said he had other business here, I remember, and intended going -on East.”</p> - -<p>“So Waddell went East, did he?” Gary looked up from the map. “He’s -already gone, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. I remember he said he was going to England to visit -his old home. His health was bad, I imagine; I noticed he looked -thin and worried, and his manner was very nervous.”</p> - -<p>“It ought to be,” Gary mumbled over the map. “Isn’t there any road -at all, tapping that country from here?”</p> - -<p>The Recorder didn’t know, but she thought the County Clerk might be -able to tell him. The County Clerk had been much longer in the -country and was in close touch with the work of the commissioners. -So Gary thanked her with his nicest manner, sent a vague smile -toward the girl with hair like Patricia’s, and went away to -interview the County Clerk.</p> - -<p>When he left the court house Gary had a few facts firmly fixed in -his mind. He knew that Patricia’s fake cattle ranch was more -accessible to Las Vegas than to Tonopah. Furthermore, the men who -had signed the affidavits vouching for Waddell did not belong in -Tonopah, but could probably be traced from Las Vegas more easily. -And there seemed no question at all of the legality of the -transaction.</p> - -<p>Gary next day retraced the miles halfway back to Los Angeles, waited -for long, lonesome hours in a tiny desert station for the train from -Barstow, boarded it and made a fresh start, on another railroad, -toward Patricia’s cattle ranch. So far he had no reason whatever for -optimism concerning the investment. The best he could muster was a -faint hope that some other trustful soul might be found with five -thousand dollars, no business sense whatever and a hunger for -story-book wilderness. Should such an improbable combination stray -into Gary’s presence before Patricia’s Walking X cattle all starved -to death, Gary promised himself grimly that he would stop at nothing -short of a blackjack in his efforts to sell Johnnywater. He felt -that Providence had prevailed upon Patricia to place that Power of -Attorney in his hands, and he meant to use it to the limit.</p> - -<p>In Las Vegas, where Gary continued his inquiries, he tramped here -and there before he discovered any one who had ever heard of -Johnnywater. One man knew Waddell slightly, and another was of the -opinion that the two who had made affidavit for Waddell must live -somewhere in the desert. This man suggested that Gary should stick -around town until they came in for supplies or something. Gary -snorted at that advice and continued wandering here and there, -asking questions of garage men and street loiterers who had what he -called the earmarks of the desert. One of these interrupted himself -in the middle of a sentence, spat into the gutter and pointed.</p> - -<p>“There’s one of ’em, now. That’s Monty Girard just turned the corner -by the hotel. When he lights som’eres, you can talk to ’im. Like as -not you can ride out with ’im to camp, if you got the nerve. Ain’t -many that has. I tried ridin’ with ’im once for a mile, down here to -the dairy, and I sure as hell feel the effects of it yet. Give me a -crick in the back I never <i>will</i> git over. I’d ruther board a raw -bronk any day than get in that Ford uh his’n. You go speak to Monty, -mister. He can tell yuh more about what you want to know than any -man in Vegas, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>Gary watched the man in the Ford go rattling past, pull up to the -sidewalk in the next block and stop. He sauntered toward the spot. -It was a day for sauntering and for seeking the shady side of the -street; Monty Girard was leaving the post-office with a canvas bag -in his hand when Gary met him. Gary was not in the mood for much -ceremony. He stopped Girard in the middle of the sidewalk.</p> - -<p>“I believe you signed an affidavit for a man named Waddell, in -regard to the Johnnywater outfit. I’d like to have a few minutes’ -talk with you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, shore!” Monty Girard glanced down at the mail bag, stepped -past Gary and tossed the bag into the back of his car. “Your name’s -Connolly, I guess. Going out to Johnnywater?”</p> - -<p>Gary had not thought of friendliness toward any man connected with -the Johnnywater transaction; yet friendliness was the keynote of -Monty Girard’s personality. The squinty wrinkles around his young -blue eyes were not all caused by facing wind and sun; laughter lines -were there, plenty of them. His voice, that suggested years spent in -the southwest where men speak in easy, drawling tones, caressing in -their softness, was friendliness itself; as was his quick smile, -disclosing teeth as white and even as Gary himself could boast. In -spite of himself, Gary’s hostility lost its edge.</p> - -<p>“If you haven’t got your own car, you’re welcome to ride out with -me, Mr. Connolly. I’m going within fifteen miles of Johnnywater, and -I can take yuh-all over as well as not.”</p> - -<p>Gary grinned relentingly.</p> - -<p>“I came over to see how much of that outfit was faked,” he said. -“I’m not the buyer, but I have full authority to act for Pat -Connolly. The deal was made rather—er—impulsively, and it is -unfortunate that the buyer was unable to get over and see the place -before closing the deal. Waddell has gone East, I hear. But you -swore that things were as represented in the deal.”</p> - -<p>Monty Girard gave him one searching look from under the brim of his -dusty, gray Stetson range hat. He looked down, absently reaching out -a booted foot to shake a front wheel of his Ford.</p> - -<p>“What I swore to was straight goods, all right. I figured that if -Mr. Connolly was satisfied with the deal as it stood, it was no -put-in of mine. I don’t know of a thing that was misrepresented. Not -if a man knows this country and knows what to expect.”</p> - -<p>“Now we’re coming to the point, I think.” Gary felt oddly that here -was a man who would understand his position and perhaps sympathize -with the task he had set himself to accomplish.</p> - -<p>Monty Girard hesitated, looking at him inquiringly before he glanced -up and down the street.</p> - -<p>“Say, mister——”</p> - -<p>“Marshall. Pardon me. Gary Marshall’s my name.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. Marshall, it’s like this. I’m just in off a -hundred-and-forty-mile drive—and it shore is hot from here to -Indian. If you don’t mind helpin’ me hunt a cool spot, we’ll have a -near beer or something and talk this thing over.”</p> - -<p>Over their near beer Gary found the man he had intended to lick even -more disarming. Monty Girard kept looking at him with covert -intentness.</p> - -<p>“Gary Marshall, you said your name was? I reckon yuh-all must be the -fellow that done that whirlwind riding in a picture I saw, last time -I was in town. I forget the name of it—but I shore don’t forget the -way yuh-all handled your hawse. A range rider gets mighty particular -about the riding he sees in the movies. I’ll bet yuh-all never -learned in no riding school, Mr. Marshall; I’ll bet another glass uh -near beer you’ve rode the range some yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I was born on the Pecos,” grinned Gary. “My old man had horses -mostly; some cattle, of course. I left when I was eighteen.”</p> - -<p>“And that shore ain’t been so many years it’d take all day to count -’em. Well, I shore didn’t expect to meet that fellow I saw in the -picture, on my next trip in to town.”</p> - -<p>Gary drank his beer slowly, studying Monty Girard. Somehow he got -the impression that Girard did not welcome the subject of -Johnnywater. Yet he had seemed sincere enough in declaring that he -had told the truth in the affidavit. Gary pushed the glass out of -his way and folded his arms on the table, leaning a little forward.</p> - -<p>“Just where’s the joker in this Johnnywater deal?” he asked -abruptly. “There is one, isn’t there?”</p> - -<p>“Wel-l—you’re going out there, ain’t yuh?” Monty Girard hesitated -oddly. “I don’t know as there’s any joker at all; not in the way -yuh-all mean. It’s a long ways off from the railroad, but Waddy -wrote that in his letter to Mr. Connolly. I know that for a fact, -because I read the letter. And uh course, cattle is down now—a man’s -scarcely got a livin’ chance runnin’ cattle, the way the market is -now. But Mr. Connolly must uh known all that. The price Waddy put on -the outfit could uh told ’im that, if nothin’ else. I dunno as Waddy -overcharged Connolly for the place. All depends on whether a man -wanted to buy. Connolly did—I reckon. Leastways, he bought.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see your point. The deal was all right if a man wanted the -place. But you’re wondering what kind of a man would <i>want</i> the -place. It’s a lemon of some kind. That’s about it—stop me if I’m -wrong.”</p> - -<p>Monty Girard laughed dryly. “I’m mounted on a tired hawse, Mr. -Marshall. I couldn’t stop a run-down clock, and that’s a fact.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think I’ll go out with you if you don’t mind. I suppose -I’ll need blankets and a few supplies.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I reckon Waddy left pretty much everything he had out there. -Soon as he got his money at the bank he fanned it for Merrie -England. He just barely had a suit case when I saw him last. I -reckon maybe yuh-all better take out a few things you’d hate to get -along without. Flour, bacon an’ beans you can pretty well count on. -And, unless yuh-all want to take blankets of your own, you needn’t -be afraid to use Waddy’s. Frank Waddell was shore a nice, clean -housekeeper, and a nice man all around, only—kinda nervous.”</p> - -<p>Gary listened, taking it all in. His eyes, trained to the profession -of putting emotions, thoughts, even things meant to be hidden, into -the human face, so that all might see and read the meaning, watched -Monty’s face as he talked.</p> - -<p>“Just what <i>is</i> it that made Waddell sell the Johnnywater ranch and -clear out of the country?” he asked. “Just what makes you hate the -place?”</p> - -<p>Monty sent him a startled look.</p> - -<p>“I never said I hated it,” he parried. “It ain’t anything to me, one -way or the other.”</p> - -<p>“You <i>do</i> hate it. Why?”</p> - -<p>“Wel-l—I dunno as I can hardly say. A man’s got feelin’s sometimes -he can’t hardly put into words. Lots of places in this country has -got histories, Mr. Marshall. I guess—Johnnywater’s all right. Waddy -was a kind of nervous cuss.”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chVI' title='Johnnywater'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER SIX</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>JOHNNYWATER</span> -</h2> - -<p>Please do not picture a level waste of sand and scant sagebrush when -you think of the Nevada desert. Barren it is, where water is not to -be had; but level it is not, except where the beds of ancient lakes -lie bare and yellow, hard as cement except when the rains soften the -surface to sticky, red mud. Long mesas, with scattering clumps of -greasewood and sage, lie gently tilted between sporadic mountain -ranges streaked and scalloped with the varying rock formations that -tell how long the world was in the making. Here and there larger -mountains lift desolate barriers against the sky. Seen close, any -part of the scene is somber at best. But distance softens the -forbidding bleakness of the uplifted hummocks and crags, and paints -them with magic lights and shadows.</p> - -<p>In the higher altitudes the mountains are less bare; more friendly -in a grim, uncompromising way and grown over scantily sometimes with -piñons and juniper and the flat-leafed cedar whose wood is never too -wet to burn with a great snapping, and is as likely to char -temperamentally and go black. In these great buttes secret stores of -water send little searching streams out through crevices among the -rocks. Each cañon has its spring hidden away somewhere, and the -water is clear and cold, stealing away from the melting snows on -top.</p> - -<p>A rough, little-used trail barely passable to a car, led into -Johnnywater Cañon. To Gary the place was a distinct relief from the -barren land that stretched between this butte and Las Vegas. The -green of the piñon trees was refreshing as cool water on a hot day. -The tiny stream that trickled over water-worn rocks in the little -gully beside the cabin astonished him. For hours he had ridden -through the parched waste land. For hours Monty had talked of scanty -grazing and little water. In spite of himself, Gary’s eyes -brightened with pleasure when he first looked upon Johnnywater.</p> - -<p>The sun still shone into the cañon, though presently it would drop -behind the high shoulder of the butte. The little cabin squatting -secretively between two tall piñons looked an ideal “set” for some -border romance.</p> - -<p>“It’s not a bad-<i>looking</i> place,” he commented with some reluctance. -“Maybe Pat didn’t pull such a boner after all.” He climbed out of -the car and walked toward the tiny stream. “Golly grandma, what’s -that! Chickens?”</p> - -<p>“It shore enough is—but I kinda thought the coyotes and link-cats -would of got all Waddy’s chickens. He’s been gone a week away.”</p> - -<p>“Good heck! I thought chickens liked to partake of a little -nourishment occasionally. All the kinds I’ve met do.”</p> - -<p>Monty laughed lazily.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Waddell he fixed a kind of feed box for ’em that lets down a -few grains at a time. I reckon he filled it up before he went.” -Monty sent seeking glances into the undergrowth along the creek. -“There ought to be a couple of shoats around here, too. And a cat.”</p> - -<p>Gary went into the cabin and stood looking around him curiously. -Some attempt had been made to furnish the place with a few comforts, -but the attempt had evidently perished of inanition. Flowered calico -would have hidden the cubboard decently, had the curtains been -clean. A box tacked against the wall held magazines and a book or -two. The bunk was draped around the edge with the same flowered -calico, with an old shoe protruding from beneath. One square window -with a single sash looked down upon the little creek. Its twin -looked down the cañon. Cast-off garments hung against the wall at -the foot of the bunk.</p> - -<p>“Great interior set for a poverty scene,” Gary decided, rolling -himself a smoke. “I don’t intend to stay out on this location, you -know. I’m here to sell the damned place. What’s the quickest way to -do that—quietly? I mean, without advertising it.”</p> - -<p>Monty Girard turned slowly and stared.</p> - -<p>“There ain’t no quick way,” he said finally. “Waddy, he’s been -tryin’ for three months to sell it—advertisin’ in all the papers. He -was in about as much of a hurry as a man could get in—and he was -just about at the point where he was goin’ to walk off and leave it, -when this Mr. Connolly bit.”</p> - -<p>“Bit?”</p> - -<p>“Bought. Yuh-all must have misunderstood.”</p> - -<p>“Either way, I don’t feature it.” Gary lighted the cigarette -thoughtfully. “It looks a pretty fair place—for a hermit, or a man -that’s hiding out. What did this man Waddell buy it for? And how -long ago?”</p> - -<p>“I reckon he thought he wanted it. A couple of years ago, I reckon -he aimed to settle down here.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why the heck didn’t he do it then?” Gary sat down on the edge -of the table and folded his arms. “Spread ’em out on the table, -Monty. I won’t shoot.”</p> - -<p>“You say yuh-all don’t aim to stay here?” Monty leveled a glance at -him.</p> - -<p>“Not any longer than it takes to sell out. You look like a live -wire. I’m going to appoint you my agent and see if you can’t rustle -a buyer—<i>quick</i>. I’ll go back with you, when you go. That will be in -a couple of days, you said. So tell me the joke, Monty. I asked you -in town, yesterday, and you didn’t do it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t say as I rightly know. I reckon maybe it was Waddy himself -that was wrong, and nothin’ the matter with Johnnywater. He got -along all right here for awhile—but I guess he got kind of edgey, -livin’ alone here so much. He got to kinda imaginin’ he was seein’ -things. And along last spring he got to hearin’ ’em. So then he -wanted to sell out right away quick.”</p> - -<p>“Oh.” Gary sounded rather crestfallen. “A nut, hunh? I thought there -was something faked about the place itself.”</p> - -<p>“Yuh-all read what I swore to,” Monty reminded him with a touch of -dignity. “I wouldn’t help nobody fake a deal; not even a fellow in -the shape Waddy was in. He had his money in here, and he had to git -it out before he could leave. At that, he sold out at a loss. This -is a right nice little place, Mr. Marshall, for anybody that wants a -place like this.”</p> - -<p>“But you don’t, hunh? Couldn’t you buy the cattle?”</p> - -<p>Monty shook his head regretfully.</p> - -<p>“No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t buy out the Walkin’ X brand now at a -dime a head, and that’s a fact. Cattle’s away down. I’m just hangin’ -on, Mr. Marshall, and that’s the case with every cattle owner in the -country. It ain’t my put-in, maybe, but if Johnnywater was mine, I -know what I’d do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s hear it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d fix things up best I could around here, and hang on to it -awhile till times git better. Waddell asked seven thousand at -first—and it’d be worth that if there was any market at all for -cattle. Up the cañon here a piece, Waddy’s got as pretty a patch of -alfalfa as you’d want to look at. And a patch of potatoes that was -doing fine, the last I see of ’em. He was aimin’ to put the whole -cañon bottom into alfalfa; and that’s worth money in this country, -now I’m tellin’ yuh.</p> - -<p>“Yuh see, Johnnywater’s different from most of these cañons. It’s -wider and bigger every way, and it’s got more water. A man could -hang on to his cattle, and by kinda pettin’ ’em along through the -winter, and herdin’ ’em away from the loco patches in the spring, he -could make this a good payin’ investment. That’s what I reckoned -this Mr. Connolly aimed to do.”</p> - -<p>“Pat Connolly bought this place,” said Gary shortly, “because it -sounded nice in the ad. It was a nut idea from the start. I’m here -to try and fish the five thousand up out of the hole.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I reckon maybe that same ad would sound good to somebody -else,” Monty ventured.</p> - -<p>But Gary shook his head. Since Patricia made up her mailing lists -from the newspapers, Gary emphatically did not want to advertise.</p> - -<p>They ended by cooking late dinner together, frying six fresh eggs -which Gary discovered in the little dugout chicken house. After -which Monty Girard unloaded what supplies Gary had brought, smoked a -farewell cigarette and drove away to his own camp twenty miles -farther on.</p> - -<p>“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken,” Gary observed tritely. “I -might get a kick out of this, if Pat hadn’t been so darned fresh -about the movies, and so <i>gol</i>-darned stubborn about me camping here -and doing the long-haired hick act for the rest of my life.”</p> - -<p>He went away then to hunt for the chicken feed; found it in another -dugout cellar, and fed the chickens that came running hysterically -out of the bushes when Gary rattled the pan and called them as he -had seen gingham-gowned ingénues do in rural scenes.</p> - -<p>“Golly grandma! If I could catch a young duck now, and cuddle it up -under my dimpled chin, I’d make a swell Mary Pickford close-up,” he -chuckled to himself. “Down on the farm, by gum! ‘<i>Left the town to -have some fun, and I’m a goin’ to have some, yes, by gum!</i>’ Pat -Connolly’s going to do some plain and fancy knuckling under, to pay -for this stunt. Gosh, and there’s the cat!”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chVII' title='The Voice'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER SEVEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>THE VOICE</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary got up from his chair three separate times to remove the lamp -chimney (using a white cambric handkerchief to protect his manicured -fingers from blisters). In the beginning, the flame had flourished -two sharp points that smoked the chimney. After the third clipping -it had three, and one of them was like a signal smoke in miniature.</p> - -<p>Gary eyed it disgustedly while he filled his pipe. Smoking a pipe -while he dreamed in the fire glow had made so popular a close-up of -Gary Marshall that he had used the pose in his professional -photographs and had, to date, autographed and mailed sixty-seven of -the firelight profiles to sixty-seven eager fans. Nevertheless, he -forgot that he had a profile now.</p> - -<p>“Hunh! Pat ought to get a real kick out of this scene,” he snorted. -“Interior cabin—sitting alone—lifts head, listens. Sub-title: THE -MOURNFUL HOWL OF THE COYOTE COMES TO HIM MINGLED WITH THE SOUND OF -HORSES CHAMPING HAY. Only there ain’t no horses, and if there were -they wouldn’t champ. Only steeds do that—in hifalutin’, gol-darned -poetry. Pat ought to take a whirl at this Johnnywater stuff, -herself. About twenty-four hours of it. It might make a different -girl of her. Give her some sense, maybe.”</p> - -<p>Slowly his pessimistic glance went around the meager rectangle of -the cabin. Think of a man holding up here for two years! “No wonder -he went out of here a nut,” was Gary’s brief summary. “And it’s my -opinion the man’s judgment had begun to skid when he bought the -place. Good Lord! Why, he’d probably <i>seen</i> it before he paid down -the money! He was a tough bird, if you ask me, to hang on for two -years.”</p> - -<p>Gary’s pipe, on its way to his lips that had just blown out a small, -billowy cloud of smoke, stopped halfway and was held there -motionless. His whole face stilled as his mind concentrated upon a -sound.</p> - -<p>“That’s no coyote,” he muttered, and listened again.</p> - -<p>He got up and opened the door, leaning out into the starlight, one -hand pressed against the rough-hewn logs of cedar. He listened -again, turning his head slightly to determine the location of the -sound.</p> - -<p>A wind from the west, flowing over the towering butte, shivered the -tops of the piñons. A gust it was, that died as it had been born, -suddenly. As it lessened Gary heard distinctly a far-off, faint -halloo.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” he called back, stepping down upon the flat rock that -formed the doorstep. “What’s wanted? <i>Hello!</i>”</p> - -<p>“’ll-<i>oo-ooh</i>!” cried the voice, from somewhere beyond the creek.</p> - -<p>“<i>Hello!</i>” shouted Gary, megaphoning with his cupped palms. Some one -was lost, probably, and had seen the light in the cabin.</p> - -<p>Again the voice replied. It seemed to Gary that the man was shouting -some message; but distance blurred the words so that only the -cadence of the voice reached his ears.</p> - -<p>Gary cupped his hands again and replied. He went down to the little -creek and stood there listening, shouting now and then encouragement -to the man on the bluff. He must be on the bluff, or at least far up -its precipitous slope; for beyond the stream the trees gave way to -bowlders, and above the bowlders rough outcroppings in ledge -formation made steep scrambling. The top of the bluff was guarded by -a huge rampart of solid rock; a “rim-rock” formation common -throughout the desert States.</p> - -<p>Gary tried to visualize that sheer wall of rock as he had seen it -before dark. Without giving it much thought at the time, he somehow -took it for granted that the cañon wall on that side was absolutely -impassable. Still, there might be a trail to the top through some -crevice invisible from below.</p> - -<p>“Gosh, if a fellow’s hurt up there, I’ll have a merry heck of a time -getting him down in the dark!” Gary told the mottled cat with one -blue eye, that rubbed against his ankle. “There ought to be a -lantern hanging somewhere. Never saw an interior cabin set in my -life where a tin lantern didn’t register.”</p> - -<p>He found the lantern, but it had no wick. Gary spent a profane -fifteen minutes holding the smoky lamp in one hand and searching a -high, littered shelf with the other, looking for lantern wicks. That -he actually found one at last, tucked into a tomato can among some -bolts and nails, seemed little short of a miracle. He had to rob the -lamp of oil, because he did not know where Waddell kept his supply. -Then the wick was a shade too wide, and Gary was obliged to force it -through the burner with the point of his knife. When he finally got -the lantern burning it was more distressingly horned than the lamp, -and the globe immediately began an eclipse on one side. But Gary -only swore and wiped his smeared fingers down his trousers, -man-fashion.</p> - -<p>Almost constantly the voice had called to him from the bluff. Gary -went out and shouted that he was coming, and crossed the creek, the -mottled cat at his heels. Gary had never been friendly toward cats, -by the way; but isolation makes strange companions sometimes between -animals and men, and Gary had already made friends with this one. He -even waited, holding the lantern while the cat jumped the creek, -forgetting it could see in the dark.</p> - -<p>He made his way through the bushy growth beyond the stream, and -scrambled upon a huge bowlder, from where he could see the face of -the bluff. He stood there listening, straining his eyes into the -dark.</p> - -<p>The voice called to him twice. A wailing, anxious tone that carried -a weight of trouble.</p> - -<p>Gary once more megaphoned that he was coming, and began to climb the -bluff, the smoking lantern swinging in his hands (a mere pin-prick -of light in the surrounding darkness), the mottled cat following him -in a series of leaps and quick rushes.</p> - -<p>The lamp had gone out when Gary returned to the cabin. The lantern -was still smoking vilely, with fumes of gas. Gary put the lantern on -the table and sat down, wiping his face and neck with his -handkerchief. The mottled cat crouched and sprang to his knee, where -it dug claws to hang on and began purring immediately.</p> - -<p>For an hour Gary had not heard the voice, and he was worried. Some -one must be hurt, up there in the rocks. But until daylight came to -his assistance Gary was absolutely helpless. He looked at his watch -and saw that he had been stumbling over rocks and climbing between -bowlders until nearly midnight. He had shouted, too, until his -throat ached.</p> - -<p>The man had answered, but Gary had never been able to distinguish -any words. Always there had been that wailing note of pain, with now -and then a muffled shriek at the end of the call. High up somewhere -on the bluff he was, but Gary had never seemed able to come very -close. There were too many ledges intervening. And at last the voice -had grown fainter, until finally it ceased altogether.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to get out at daylight and hunt him up,” he said to the -cat. “I can’t feature this mountain goat stuff in the dark. But -nobody could sit still and listen to that guy hollering for help. -It’ll be a heck of a note if he’s broken a leg or something. That’s -about what happened—simplest thing in the world to break legs in -that rock pile.”</p> - -<p>He stroked the cat absent-mindedly, holding himself motionless now -and then while he listened. After awhile he put the cat down and -went to bed, his thoughts clinging to the man who had called down -from the bluff.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chVIII' title='“The Cat’s Got ’em Too!”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER EIGHT</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“THE CAT’S GOT ’EM TOO!”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Monty Girard did not return on the second day. A full week dragged -itself minute by minute across Johnnywater; days began suddenly with -a spurt of color over the eastern rim of the cañon, snailed it -across the blue space above and after an interminable period ended -in a red riot beyond the western rim, letting night flow into the -cañon.</p> - -<p>The first day went quickly enough. At sunrise Gary and the spotted -cat searched the bluff where the voice had called beseechingly in -the night. Gary carried a two-quart canteen filled with water, -knowing that a man who has lain injured all night will have a -maddening thirst by morning.</p> - -<p>At noon he sat on a bowlder just under the rim rock, helped himself -to a long drink from the canteen and stared disheartened down into -the cañon. He was hoarse from shouting, but not so much as a whisper -had he got in reply. The spotted cat had given up in disgust long -ago and gone off on business of her own. He was willing to swear -that he had covered every foot of that hillside, and probably he -had, very nearly. And he had found no trace of any man, living or -dead.</p> - -<p>He slid off the bowlder and went picking his way down the steep -bluff to the cabin. A humane impulse had sent him out as soon as he -opened his eyes that morning. He was half-starved and more nearly -exhausted than he had ever been after a hard day’s work doing -“stunts” for the movies.</p> - -<p>Now and then he looked up the cañon to where Pat’s alfalfa field -lay, a sumptuous patch of deep green, like an emerald set deep in -some dull metal. Nearer the cabin were the rows of potato plants -which Monty had mentioned. There was a corral, too, just beyond a -clump of trees behind the cabin. And from the head of the cañon to -the mouth he could glimpse here and there the twisted thread of -Johnnywater Creek.</p> - -<p>By the time he had cooked and eaten breakfast and lunch together, -and had fed the chickens, and located the whereabouts of two pigs -whose grunting came to him from the bushes, the afternoon was well -gone. And, on the whole, it had not gone so badly; except that he -rather resented his fruitless search for a man who had shouted in -the night and then disappeared.</p> - -<p>“Drunk, maybe,” Gary finally dismissed the subject from his mind. -“He sure as heck couldn’t be hurt so bad, if he was able to get out -of the cañon in the dark. It’ll be something to tell about when I -get back. I’ll ask Monty what he thinks about it, to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>But he didn’t ask Monty. He rather expected that Monty would be -along rather early in the forenoon, and he was ready by nine -o’clock. He had filled the feed box for the chickens, had given the -cat a farewell talk, and locked his pyjamas into his suit case. The -rest of the day he spent in waiting.</p> - -<p>One bit of movie training helped him now. By the time an actor has -reached stardom, he knows how to sit and wait; doing nothing, -thinking nothing in particular, gossiping a little, perhaps, but -waiting always. Gary had many a time sat around killing time for -hours at a stretch, that he might work for fifteen minutes on a -scene. Waiting for Monty, then, was not such a hardship that second -day.</p> - -<p>But when the third day and the fourth and the fifth had gone, Gary -began to register impatience and concern. He walked down the cañon -and out upon the trail as far as was practical, half hoping that he -might see some chance traveler. But the whole world seemed to be -empty and waiting, with a still patience that placed no limit upon -its quiescent expectancy.</p> - -<p>Steeped in that desert magic which makes beautiful all distances, -the big land shamed him somehow and sent him back into the cañon in -a better frame of mind. Any trivial thing could have delayed Monty -Girard. It was slightly comforting to know that the big world out -there was smiling under the sky.</p> - -<p>He was sitting at supper just after sundown that evening when a -strange thing happened. The spotted cat—Gary by this time was -calling her Faith because of her trustful disposition—was squatted -on all fours beside the table, industriously lapping a saucer of -condensed milk. For the want of more human companionship, Gary was -joking with the cat, which responded now and then with a slight wave -of her tail.</p> - -<p>“You’re the only thing I like about the whole darn outfit,” Gary was -saying. “I don’t remember your being mentioned in the deed, so I -think I’ll just swipe you when I go. As a souvenir. Only I don’t -know what the heck I’ll do with you—give you to Pat, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>Faith looked up with an amiable mew, but she did not look at Gary. -Had a person been standing near the foot of the bunk six feet or so -away, she would have been looking up into his face. She went back to -lapping her milk, but Gary eyed her curiously. There was something -odd about that look and that friendly little remark of hers, but for -the life of him he could not explain just what was wrong.</p> - -<p>Once again, while Gary watched her, the cat looked up at that -invisible point the height of a man from the floor. She finished her -milk, licked her lips satisfiedly and got up. She glanced at Gary, -glanced again toward the bunk, arched her back, walked deliberately -over and curved her body against nothing at all, purring her -contented best.</p> - -<p>Gary watched her with a contraction of the scalp on the back of his -head. Faith stood there for a moment rubbing her side against empty -air, looked up inquiringly, came over and jumped upon Gary’s knee. -There she tucked her feet under her, folded her tail close to her -curiously mottled fur and settled herself for a good, purry little -nap. Now and then she opened her eyes to look toward the bunk, her -manner indifferent.</p> - -<p>“The cat’s got ’em, too,” Gary told himself—but it is significant -that he did not speak the words aloud as he had been doing those -five days, just to combat the awful stillness of the cañon.</p> - -<p>He stared intently toward the place where the cat had stood arching -her body and purring. There was nothing there, so far as Gary could -see. But slowly, as he stared toward the place, a mental picture -formed in his mind.</p> - -<p>He pictured to himself a man whom he had never seen; a tall, lean -man with shoulders slightly stooped and a face seamed by rough -weather and hard living more than with the years he had lived. The -man was, Gary guessed, in his late forties. His eyes were a keen -blue, his mouth thin-lipped and firm. Gary felt that if he removed -the stained gray hat he wore, he would reveal a small bald spot on -the crown of his head. Over one eye was a jagged scar. Another -puckered the skin on his left cheek bone. He was dressed in gray -flannel shirt and khaki overalls tucked into high, laced boots.</p> - -<p>Gary visualized him as being the man who had built this cabin. He -thought that he was picturing Waddell, and it occurred to him that -Waddell might have been mining a little in Johnnywater Cañon. The -man he was mentally visualizing seemed to be of the type of miner -who goes prospecting through the desert. And Johnnywater Cañon -certainly held mineral possibilities, if one were to judge by the -rock formation and the general look of the cañon walls.</p> - -<p>Gary himself had once known something about minerals, his dad having -sent him to take a course in mineralogy at Denver with a view to -making of his son a respectable mining engineer. Gary had spent two -years in the school and almost two years doing field work for -practice, and had shown a certain aptitude for the profession. But -Mills, the motion-picture director, had taken a company into Arizona -where Gary was making a report on the minerals of a certain -district, and Gary had been weaned away from mines. Now, he was so -saturated in studio ideals and atmosphere that he had almost -forgotten he had ever owned another ambition than to become a star -with a company of his own.</p> - -<p>Well, this man then—the man about whom he found himself thinking so -intently—must have found something here in the cañon. He did not -know why he believed it, but he began to think that Waddell had -found gold; though it was not, properly speaking, a gold country. -But Gary remembered to have noticed a few pieces of porphyry float -on the bluff the morning that he had spent in looking for the man -who shouted in the night. The float might easily be gold-bearing. -Gary had not examined it, since he had been absorbed in another -matter. It is only the novice who becomes excited and builds air -castles over a piece of float.</p> - -<p>Gary turned his head abruptly and looked back, exactly as he would -have done had a man approached and stood at his shoulder. He was -conscious of a slight feeling of surprise that the man of whom he -was thinking did not stand there beside him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be getting ’em too, if I don’t look out,” he snorted, and -dumped the mottled cat unceremoniously on the floor.</p> - -<p>It has been said by many that thoughts are things. Certainly Gary’s -thoughts that evening seemed live things. While he was washing the -dishes and sweeping the cabin floor, he more than once glanced up, -expecting to see the man who looked like a miner. The picture he had -conjured seemed a living personality, unseen, unheard, but -nevertheless present there in the cabin.</p> - -<p>Gary was an essentially practical young man, not much given to -fanciful imaginings. He did not believe in anything to which one may -permissibly attach the word psychic. Imagination of a sort he had -possessed since he was a youngster, and stories he could weave with -more or less originality. He did not, therefore, run amuck in a maze -of futile conjecturing. He believed in hunches, and there his belief -stopped short, satisfied to omit explanations.</p> - -<p>That night fell pitch black, with inky clouds pushing out over the -rim rock and a wind from the west that bellowed across the cañon and -whipped the branches of the pines near the cabin. Above the clouds -played the lightning, the glare of it seeping through between the -folds and darting across small open spaces.</p> - -<p>Gary sat in the doorway watching the clouds with the lightning -darting through. True to his type and later training, he was -thinking what a wonderful storm scene it would make in a picture. -And then, without warning, he heard a voice shouting a loud halloo -from the bluff. Again it called, and ended with a wail of pain.</p> - -<p>Gary started. He turned his face to the cañon side and listened, -deep lines between his eyebrows. It was almost a week since he had -heard the call, and it did not seem natural that the man should be -shouting again from the same point on the bluff. He had been so sure -that the fellow, whoever he was, had left the cañon that first -night. It was absolutely illogical that he should return without -coming near the cabin.</p> - -<p>Gary got up and stood irresolute in the doorway. The voice was -insistent, calling again and again a summons difficult to resist.</p> - -<p>“Hel<i>lo-oo-ooh</i>! Hel<i>lo-oo-ooh</i>!” called the voice.</p> - -<p>Gary cupped his hands around his mouth to reply, then hesitated and -dropped them to his side. He turned to go in for the lantern and -abandoned that idea also. On that first night he had answered -repeatedly the call and had searched gropingly amongst the bowlders -and ledges. His trouble had gone for nothing, and Gary could think -of but one reason why he had failed to find the man: he believed the -man had not wanted to be found, although there was no sense in that -either. The stubborn streak in Gary dominated his actions now. He -meant to find the fellow and have it out with him. He remembered -Monty’s remark about Waddell imagining he heard things, and selling -out in a hurry, his nerves gone to pieces. Probably the man up on -the bluff could explain why Waddell left Johnnywater!</p> - -<p>Gary crossed the creek during spurts of lightning, and made his way -cautiously up the bluff. After spending a long forenoon there he -knew his way fairly well and could negotiate ledges that had stopped -him that first night. He went carefully, making himself as -inconspicuous as possible. The voice kept shouting, with now and -then a high note that almost amounted to a shriek.</p> - -<p>The storm broke, and Gary was drenched to the skin within five -minutes. Flashes of lightning blinded him. He stumbled back down the -bluff and reached the cabin, the storm beating upon him furiously. -As he closed the door, the voice on the bluff shrieked at him, and -Gary thought there was a mocking note in the call.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chIX' title='Gary Writes A Letter'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER NINE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY WRITES A LETTER</span> -</h2> - -<p style='text-indent:0'>“Johnnywater Cañon.</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0'>“Dear Pat:</p> - -<p>“I take it all back. There’s a new model of cow called Walking X, -that don’t need grass. It has a special food-saving device somewhere -in its anatomy, which enables it to subsist on mountain scenery, -sagebrush and hopes. I haven’t discovered yet whether the late model -of Walking X chews a cud or merely rolls a rock under its tongue to -prevent thirst. I’m guessing it’s the rock. There’s darned little -material for cuds in the country. If I were going to stay here and -make you a cattle queen, I should ask you to get prices on gum in -carload lots.</p> - -<p>“Yesterday I was hiking out on the desert—for exercise, my dear -girl. Can’t afford to grow flabby muscled as well as flabby souled. -Souls don’t register on the screen anyway—but it takes muscle to -throw the big heavy around in the blood-curdling scrap which occurs -usually in the fourth reel. Besides, I’m going to throw a fellow -down the bluff—when I get him located. Don’t know how big he is, as -I haven’t met the gentleman yet. It’s a cinch he hasn’t got lung -trouble though; he’s the longest-winded cuss I ever heard holler.</p> - -<p>“He’s been trying to get fresh with me ever since I came. Picks -wild, stormy nights when a man wants to stay indoors and then gets -up on the bluff and hollers for help. First couple of nights I heard -him, I bit. But I don’t fall for that hokum any more. A man that can -holler the way he does and come back strong the next night don’t -need any assistance from me.</p> - -<p>“I hoed your spuds to-day, Pat. Did a perfect imitation of Charlie -Ray—except that I wasn’t costumed for the part. Didn’t have no -gallus to hitch up and thereby register disgust with my job. But I -featured the sweat—a close-up of me would have looked like Gary out -in a rain. It was accidental. I was chasing Pat Connolly’s pigs, -trying to round them up and get acquainted. They headed for Pat -Connolly’s alfalfa and they went through the potato patch. There -ought to be a fence around those spuds, Pat; or else the pigs ought -to be shut up. You’re a darn shiftless ranch lady to let pigs run -loose to root up your spuds. They’re in full blossom—and don’t ask -me which I mean, pigs or potatoes. They needed a little strong-arm -work, bad. The pigs ducked out of the scene into the alfalfa—and -that sure needs cutting, too. There’s a scythe in the shed, and a -fork or two and a hay rake. If Waddell’s got horses he couldn’t have -used them much. Maybe he couldn’t afford a mowing machine, and cut -his hay with a scythe. There’s a wagon here, and a comedy hayrack. -But I can’t feature handsome Gary scything hay.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, every darned spud blossom in the patch peeked up at me -through a jungle of weeds. That wouldn’t look good to a buyer (you -won’t get a chance to read this letter, old girl, so I don’t mind -telling you you’ve played right into my hands with that Power of -Attorney, and I’m going to sell out, if Monty Girard ever comes and -hauls me back to town). They’re not finished yet, but I can do the -rest in the morning if Monty don’t come.</p> - -<p>“Monty Girard has plumb forgotten me, I guess. He was a friendly -cuss, too. He’s seven days overdue, and I’d get out and hunt him up, -only he forgot to leave me his address and I can’t get his ’phone -number from Information. Can’t get Information. There ain’t no -telephone. He said his camp was about twenty miles off. But I’m wise -to these desert miles. More likely it’s thirty. I tried to trail him -yesterday, but he took our back track for five miles or so, and for -all I know he may have beat it back to town. That’s not walking -distance, I’ll tell a heartless world.</p> - -<p>“I’m stuck here until somebody comes and hauls me away. The last -house I saw was back down the road a nice little jaunt of about -sixty-five miles. Monty Girard drives his Ford like he was working -in one of those comedy chases. And it’s four hours by the watch from -that last shack to this shack—Monty Girard driving. Figure it -yourself, Pat, and guess how many afternoon calls I’ve made on my -neighbors. I’m afraid the pinto cat couldn’t walk that far, and it -would hurt her feelings if I didn’t ask her to join the party.</p> - -<p>“Said pinto cat is a psychic. Waddell was a nut of some kind, and -the cat caught it. Seems Waddell got the habit of seeing -things—though I haven’t located any still yet—and now the cat looks -up and meows at the air, and rubs her fur against her imagination. -Got my goat the first time she did it—I admit it. I can’t say I -feature it yet, her talking and playing up to some gink I can’t see. -But I named her Faith and I’ve no kick coming, I reckon, if the eyes -of Faith looks up to things of which I kennest not.</p> - -<p>“I’m wondering if Waddell wasn’t a tall, round-shouldered gink with -a bald spot on top of his head the size of a dollar and a half, and -a puckered scar on his cheek; a Bret Harte type, before he puts on -the mustache. I keep thinking about a guy like that, as if he -belonged here. When Faith takes one of her psychic fits, I get a -funny idea she’s trying to rub up against that kind of a man. Sounds -nutty, but heck knows I never did feature the spook stuff, and I -don’t mean I’m goofy now about it. I just keep thinking about that -fellow, and there’s times when I get a funny notion he’s standing -behind me and I’ll see him if I look around. But get this—it’s good. -<i>I don’t look around!</i> It’s over the hills to the bug-house when a -fellow starts that boob play.</p> - -<p>“There’s something wrong about this trick cañon, anyway. I can’t -seem to feature it. You can’t make me believe that boob up on the -bluff thinks he’s a cuckoo clock and just pops out and hollers -because he’s made that way. He’s trying to get my goat and make me -iris out of the scene. There’s going to be a real punch in the next -reel, and that guy with the big voice will be in front of it. His -head is swelled now since he’s scared Waddell out. But he’s going to -get a close-up of yours truly—and the big punch of the story.</p> - -<p>“The other night just after dark I sneaked up the bluff as high as I -could get without making a noise so he’d hear me, and laid for him. -I was all set to cut loose with that blood-curdling Apache yell -dad’s riders used to practice when I was a kid. But he never opened -his mouth all night. Made a fool out of me, all right, losing my -sleep like that for nothing. Then the next night he started in at -sundown and hollered half the night.</p> - -<p>“I’m overdue at the studio now, by several days. If Mills could get -that contract for me, it’s gone blooey by this time. And he can’t -get word to me or hear from me—I’m not even famous enough yet to -make good publicity out of my disappearance. Soon as Monty comes, I -intend to beat it in to Las Vegas and wire Mills. Then if there’s -nothing doing for me in pictures right now, I’ll get out and see how -good I am as a salesman.</p> - -<p>“But I hate to let that four-flusher up here in the rocks think he’s -got the laugh on me. And that alfalfa ought to be put up, and no -mistake. The spuds need water, too. After the trusty hoe has got in -its deadly work on the weeds, a good soaking would make them look -like a million dollars. And I suppose the pigs ought to be shut up -before they root up all the spuds on the place—but then some one -would have to be here to look after them. That’s the heck of it, -Pat. When you get a place on your hands, you simply let yourself in -for a dog’s life, looking after it.</p> - -<p>“You had a picture of me riding out at dawn after the cattle! That -shows how much you don’t know. All told there’s about fifteen head -of stock that water here at the mouth of the creek. I mean, at the -end of the creek where it flows into a big hole and forgets to flow -out again. It acts kind of tired, anyway, getting that far; no pep -to go farther. As for horses, Monty and I looked for your horses as -we came across the desert out here. There wasn’t a hoof in sight, -and Monty says they’re probably watering over at another spring -about fifteen miles from here. It’s too far to walk and drag a loop, -Pat. So your dashing Western hee-ro can’t dash. Nothing to dash on. -That’s a heck of a note, ain’t it?</p> - -<p>“Did you ever try to make three meals fill up a day? Well, don’t. -Can’t be did. I’ve read all the magazines—the whole two. I also have -read Mr. Waddell’s complete library. One is ‘Cattle and Their -Diseases,’ and the other is ‘Tom Brown’s School Days,’ with ten -pages gone just when I was getting a kick out of it. That was one -day when it rained. I knew a man once who could go to bed at sundown -and sleep till noon the next day. I don’t believe he kept a psychic -cat, though, or chased voices all over the hills. Anyway, I forgot -to find out how he did it.</p> - -<p>“This looks a good cañon for mineral. Something tells me some rich -stuff has been taken out of here. If I were going to stay any length -of time, I might look around some. I keep thinking about gold—but I -guess it’s just a notion. Monty Girard ought to be here to-morrow, -sure. I’ve packed my pyjamas every morning and unpacked them every -night. I’ve got as much faith as the pinto cat—but it don’t get me a -darn bit more than it gets her. Packing my pyjamas and waiting for -Monty Girard is just about as satisfactory as the cat’s rubbing up -against nothing. You’d think she’d get fed up on that sort of thing, -but she don’t. Just before I started to write, she trotted toward -the door looking up and purring like she does when I come in. Only -nobody came in. You wouldn’t notice it if there was anybody else -around. Being alone makes it creepy.</p> - -<p>“I started this because I wanted to talk to somebody. Being alone -gets a fellow’s goat in time. And seeing I don’t intend to send this -to you, Pat, I’ll say I’m crazy about you. There’s not another girl -in the world I’d want. I love the way you stand by your own ideas, -Pat, and use your own brains. If you only knew how high you stack up -alongside most of the girls, you wouldn’t worry about who played -opposite me. I was sore when I left you that night—but that was just -because I hate to see you lose your money, and that ‘flabby-soul’ -wallop put me down for the count.</p> - -<p>“I’ll admit now that you didn’t get cheated as much as I thought; -but I’m here to remark also that Johnnywater Cañon is no place for -my Princess Pat to live. And it’s a cinch that Handsome Gary is not -going to waste his splendid youth in this hide-out. There goes that -darned nut on the bluff again, yelling hello at me.</p> - -<p>“If Monty Girard doesn’t show up to-morrow I’m sure as heck going to -figure out some way of getting at that bird. Yesterday he was -hollering in the daytime. He’s crazy, or he’s trying to make a nut -out of me. I believe he wants this cañon to himself for some reason, -and tries to scare everybody out. But I don’t happen to scare quite -as easy as Waddell. Though the joke of it is, I couldn’t get out of -here till Monty Girard comes, no matter how scared I got. I’m sure -glad I never get sick.</p> - -<p>“Golly grandma, how I hate that howling! I’d rather have coyotes -ringed around the cañon four deep than listen to that merry -roundelay of the gink on the bluff. I’d take a shot at him if I had -a gun.</p> - -<p>“Good night, Pat. You’re five hundred miles away, but if every inch -was a mile I wouldn’t feel any farther or any lonesomer. Your -flabby-souled movie man is going to bed.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Gary.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chX' title='Gary Has Speech with Human Beings'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY HAS SPEECH WITH HUMAN BEINGS</span> -</h2> - -<p>Since Gary was not a young man of pronounced literary leanings, he -failed to chronicle all of the moods and the trivial incidents which -borrowed importance from the paucity of larger events. He finished -hoeing the potatoes and spent a mildly interested half-day in -running the water down the long rows, as Waddell’s primitive system -of irrigation permitted.</p> - -<p>That evening there was no voice shouting from the hillside, and Gary -spent a somberly ruminative hour in cleaning the mud off his shoes. -He was worried about his clothes, which were looking the worse for -his activities; until it occurred to him that he had passed and -repassed a very efficient-looking store devoted to men’s clothing -alone. It comforted him considerably to reflect that he could buy -whatever he needed in Las Vegas.</p> - -<p>On the eleventh day he started down the cañon on the chance that he -might see Monty coming across the desert. The tall piñon trees shut -out the view of the open country beyond until he came almost abreast -of the last pool of the creek where the cattle watered. He was -worrying a good deal now over Monty Girard. He could not believe -that he had been deliberately left afoot there in the cañon, as -effectively imprisoned as if four stone walls shut him in, held -within the limit of his own endurance in walking. Should he push -that endurance beyond the limit, he would die very miserably.</p> - -<p>Gary was not particularly alarmed over that phase of his desertion, -however. He knew that he was not going to be foolish enough to start -out afoot in the hope of getting somewhere. Only panic would drive a -man to that extreme, and Gary was not of the panicky type. He had -food enough to last for a long time. The air, as he told himself -sardonically, was good enough for any health resort. He didn’t feel -as if he could get sick there if he tried. His physical well-being, -therefore, was not threatened; but he owned himself willing to tell -a heartless world that he was most ungodly lonesome.</p> - -<p>He was walking down the rough trail with his hands in his pockets, -whistling a doleful ditty, the spotted cat at his heels like a dog. -He was trying to persuade himself that this was about the time of -day when Monty would be most likely to show up, when Faith ran -before him, stopped abruptly, arched her back and ruffled her tail -at something by the water hole.</p> - -<p>Gary stopped also and stared suspiciously at two men who were -filling canteens at the water hole. What roused Gary’s suspicion was -the manner of the two men. While they sunk their canteens beneath -the surface of the water and held them so, they kept looking up the -cañon and at the bluff across the creek; sending furtive, frightened -glances into the piñon grove.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” shouted Gary, going toward them. The cañon wall echoed the -shout. The two dropped their canteens and fled incontinently out -toward the open. Gary walked over to the pool, caught the two -canteen straps, filled the canteens and went after the men, -considerably puzzled. He came upon them at their camp, beside a -ten-foot ledge outcropping, a hundred yards or so below the pool. -They were standing by their horses, evidently debating the question -of moving on.</p> - -<p>“Here’s your canteens,” Gary announced as he walked up to them. -“What’s the big idea—running off like that?”</p> - -<p>“Hello,” one responded guardedly. “We don’t see who hollers. That’s -bad place. Don’t like ’m.”</p> - -<p>They were Indians, though by their look they might almost be -Mexicans. They were dressed much as Monty Girard had been clothed, -in blue overalls and denim jacket, with old gray Stetson hats and -coarse, sand-rusted shoes.</p> - -<p>Gary lowered the canteens to the ground beside their little camp -fire and got out his tobacco and papers, while he looked the two -over.</p> - -<p>“So you think it’s a bad place, do you? Is that why you camp out -here?”</p> - -<p>“Them cañon no good,” stated the other Indian, speaking for the -first time. “Too much holler all time no see ’m. That’s bad luck.”</p> - -<p>“You mean the man up on the bluff, that hollers so much?” Gary eyed -them interestedly. “Who is he? You fellows know anything about it?”</p> - -<p>They looked at one another and muttered some Indian words. The old -man began to unpack the apathetic mule standing with dropped lip -behind the two saddle horses.</p> - -<p>“You know Monty Girard?” Gary asked, lighting his cigarette and -proffering his smoking material to the younger Indian when he saw an -oblique glance go hungrily to the smoke.</p> - -<p>“Yass! Monty Girard. His camp by Kawich,” the old man answered in a -tone of relief that the subject had changed.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know where Kawich is—I’m a stranger in the country. -Seen him lately?” Gary waved his hand for the younger Indian to pass -the tobacco and papers to the older buck. “Seen Monty lately?”</p> - -<p>“Nah. We don’t see him, two months, maybe.” The old buck was trying -to conceal his pleasure over the tobacco.</p> - -<p>Gary thought of something. “You see any Walking X horses—work -horses, or saddle horses?”</p> - -<p>With characteristic Indian deliberation the two waited until their -cigarettes were going before either replied. Then the old man, -taking his time in the telling, informed Gary that the horses were -ranging about ten miles to the east of Johnnywater, and that they -were watering at a small spring called Deer Lick. It occurred to -Gary that he might be able to hire these Indians to run in the -horses so that he could have a saddle horse at least and be less at -the mercy of chance. With a horse he could get out of the country -without Monty and the Ford, if worst came to worst.</p> - -<p>He squatted with the Indians in the shade of the ledge while they -waited for the water to boil in a bent galvanized bucket blackened -with the smoke of many camp fires, and set himself seriously to the -business of winning their confidence. They were out of tobacco, and -Gary had plenty, which helped the business along amazingly. He -caught himself wishing they wore the traditional garb of the redman, -which would have been picturesque and satisfying. But these Piutes -were merely unkempt and not at all interesting, except that their -speech was clipped to absolutely essential words. They were stodgy -and apathetic, except toward the tobacco. He found that they could -dicker harder than a white man.</p> - -<p>They wanted ten dollars for driving in his horses, and even then -they made it plain to Gary that the price did not include getting -them into the corral. For ten dollars they would bring the horses -right there to the mouth of the cañon.</p> - -<p>“Not go in,” the old man stipulated. “Bring ’m here, this place. Not -corral. No. No more. You take my horse, drive ’m to corral. I wait -here.”</p> - -<p>Gary knew a little about Indians, and at the moment he did not ask -for a reason. The corral was not a quarter of a mile farther on; as -a matter of fact it was just beyond the cabin at the edge of the -grove of piñons.</p> - -<p>Faith came out from a clutter of rocks and hopped into Gary’s arms, -purring and rubbing herself against him. The Piutes eyed the cat -askance.</p> - -<p>“B’long ’m Steve Carson, them cat,” the young Indian stated -abruptly. “You ain’t scare them cat bad luck?”</p> - -<p>Gary laughed. “No—I’m not afraid of the cat. Faith and I get along -pretty well. Belongs to a Steve Carson, you say? I thought this was -Waddell’s cat. It was left here when Waddell sold out.”</p> - -<p>They deliberated upon this, as was their way. “Waddell sell this -place?” The old Indian turned his head and looked into the cañon. -“Hunh. You buy ’m?”</p> - -<p>“No. A friend of mine bought it. I came here to see if it’s any -good.” Gary began to feel as if he were making some headway at last.</p> - -<p>They smoked stolidly.</p> - -<p>“No good.” The old man carefully rubbed the ash from his cigarette. -“Bad spirits. You call ’m bad luck.” He looked at Gary searchingly. -“You hear ’m holler?”</p> - -<p>Gary grinned. “Somebody hollers about half the time. Who is it?”</p> - -<p>The two looked at each other queerly. It was the younger one who -spoke.</p> - -<p>“Them’s ghos’. When Steve go, comes holler. Nobody holler when -Steve’s all right. Five year them ghos’ holler. Same time Steve go. -Nobody ketchum Steve. Nobody stop holler.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s a heck of a note!” Gary smoothed the cat’s back -mechanically and tried to laugh. “So the Voice is Steve Carson’s -ghost, you think? And what happened to Steve?”</p> - -<p>“Dunno. Don’ nobody know. Steve, he makes them shack. Got cattle, -got horses, got chickens. Mine a little, mebby. One time my brother -she go there. No ketchum Steve Carson no place. Hears all time -holler up there. My brother holler. Thinks that’s Steve, mebby. My -brother wait damn long time. Steve don’t come. All time them holler -up on hill. My brother thinks Steve’s hurt, mebby. My brother goes. -Hunts damn long time. Looks all over. No ketchum Steve. My brother -scare, you bet!</p> - -<p>“My brother comes my place. Tells Steve Carson, he’s hurt, hollers -all time. Tells no ketchum Steve no place. I go, my father goes. -Other mans go. Hunt damn long time. Nobody hollers. No ketchum Steve -Carson. Saddle in shed, wagon by tree, canteens hang up, beans on -stove—burnt like hell. Them cat holler all time.</p> - -<p>“By ’m by we go. Hunt two days, then go. We get on horses, then -comes holler like hell up on hill. Get off horses. Hunt some more. -All night. No ketchum holler. No ketchum Steve no place. Them cat go -‘Yeouw! Yeouw!’ all time like hell.</p> - -<p>“My brother, she’s damn ’fraid for ghos’. My brother gets on horse -and goes away from that place. Pretty soon my brother dies. That’s -five years we don’t find Steve Carson. All them time holler comes -sometimes. This place bad luck. Injuns don’t come here no more, you -bet. We come here now little while when sun shines. Comes night time -it’s damn bad place. You hear them hollers you don’t get scared?” It -would seem that Gary’s assertion had not quite convinced them. The -young Indian was plainly skeptical. According to the judgment of his -tribe, it was scarcely decent for a man to foregather with ghosts -and feel no fear.</p> - -<p>The mottled cat squirmed out of Gary’s embrace and went bounding -away among the rocks. The eyes of the Indians followed it -inscrutably. The old man got up, clawed in his pack, pulled out a -dirty cloth in which something was tied. He opened the small bundle, -scooped a handful of tea and emptied it into the bucket of boiling -water. The young man opened a savage-looking pocket knife and began -cutting thick slices of salt pork. The old Indian brought a dirty -frying pan to the fire.</p> - -<p>Gary leaned against the rock ledge and watched them interestedly. -After so long an exile from all human intercourse, even two grimy -Piutes meant much to him in the way of companionship. They talked -little while they were preparing the meal. And when they ate, -squatting on their heels and spearing pork from the frying pan with -the points of their big jackknives, and folding the pieces around -fragments of hard, untempting bannock, they said nothing at all. -Gary decided that eating was a serious business with them and was -not to be interrupted by anything so trivial as conversation.</p> - -<p>He wanted to hear more about the Johnnywater ghost and about Steve -Carson. But the Piutes evidently considered the subject closed, and -he could get nothing more out of them. He suspected that he had his -sack of Bull Durham to thank for the unusual loquacity while they -smoked.</p> - -<p>After they had eaten they led their horses up to the pool and let -them drink their fill. After that they mounted and rode away, in -spite of Gary’s urging them to camp where they were until they had -brought in the Walking X horses. They would go back, they said, to -Deer Lick and camp there for the night. In the morning they would -round up his horses and drive them over to Johnnywater.</p> - -<p>Gary was not quite satisfied with the arrangement, but they had -logic on their side so far as getting the horses was concerned. -Their own mounts would be fresh in the morning for the work they had -to do. But the thing Gary hated most was their flat refusal to spend -a night at Johnnywater Cañon.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXI' title='“How Will You Take Your Millions?”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER ELEVEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“HOW WILL YOU TAKE YOUR MILLIONS?”</span> -</h2> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Johnnywater Cañon,</div> -<div class='cbline'>“On a Dark and Gloomy Night.</div> -</div> -</div> -<p style='text-indent:0'>“My Princess Pat:</p> - -<p>“You are the possessor of a possession of which you wittest not. You -have a ghost. Wire Conan Doyle, Sir Oliver Lodge and others of their -ilk. Ask them what is the best recipe for catching a Voice. The gink -up on the bluff that does so much vocal practice is not a gink—he’s -a spook. He’s up there vocaling right now, doing his spookish -heckest to give me the willies.</p> - -<p>“Pat, did you send me out here just from curiosity, to see if I’d go -goofy? Tut, tut! This is no place for a flabby-souled young man; -broad shoulders, my dear girl, don’t amount to a darn in grappling -with a man-size Voice. I believe you did, you little huzzy. I -remember you distinctly mentioned howling on a hill, and my sitting -in the cabin listening to it. Great idea you had. I’m sitting here -listening. What am I supposed to do next?</p> - -<p>“You also indicated business of listening to a horse champing hay in -a stable. Well, I have a horse at last, but the property man -overlooked the sod-roofed stable. Not having the prop in which my -horse should champ, he’s picketed up the cañon, and he’s supposed to -be champing sagebrush or grass or something. He isn’t doing it -though. He absolutely refuses to follow direction. He’s up there -going ‘MMMH-<i>hmmm-Hmmm</i>-hm-hm-hm!!!!’ I’m sorry, Pat, but that’s -exactly what he’s doing—as close as it can be put into human -spelling. He can’t feature this cañon, honey. I suspect he’s flabby -souled, too.</p> - -<p>“He wants to chase off with the rest of the bunch about ten or -fifteen miles. Nobody loves this cañon except the psychic cat and -the two pigs. And the pigs don’t love it any more; not since I made -a rock corral and waylaid the little devils when they went snooping -in there after some stuff I put in a trough. I baited the trap, you -see—oh, this gigantic brain of mine has been hitting on all two -cylinders lately!—and then I hid. Lizards crawled over me, and the -sun blistered the back of my neck while I waited for those two -brutes to walk into the foreground. Animal pictures are hard to get, -as you may have heard while you were enduring a spasm of Handsome -Gary’s shop talk. Cut. Iris in Gary sneaking up with the board gate -he’d artcrafted the day before. So the pigs don’t love Handsome Gary -any more, and they’re spending most of their spare time talking -about me behind my back and hunting for a soft place where they can -run a drift under my perfectly nice rock fence, and then stope up to -the surface and beat it, registering contempt. I’ll call ’em shoats -if they don’t behave.</p> - -<p>“I scythed some alfalfa to-day, Pat. Put on a swell rural comedy, -featuring Handsome Gary making side-swipes at his heels. It was a -scream, I reckon. But I came within an inch of scything Faith, only -she’s a wizard at jumping over rocks and things, and she did as -pretty a side-slip as you ever saw, and made her get-away. I’ve -wondered since—would I have had two pinto cats, or only one psychic -Voice? I mean one more psychic Voice. This one up on the bluff used -to belong to Steve Carson, according to the yarn the Piutes told me. -He’d have made a great director, if the rest of him measured up to -his lung power. The Piutes say he faded out very mysteriously, five -years ago, leaving his holler behind him. I’m afraid folks didn’t -like him very well. At any rate his Voice is darned unpopular. I -can’t say it makes any great hit with me, either. Though it’s not so -bad, at that. The main trouble seems to be not having any man to go -with the Voice. The Piutes couldn’t feature it at all. They wouldn’t -drive the horses into the corral, even. I had to double for them -when they got the bunch down there at the mouth of the cañon. Jazzed -around for two hours on an Injun pony with a gait like a pile -driver, getting your horses into your corral. You seem to have four -or five fair imitations, Pat. The rest are the bunk, if you ask me. -Not broken and not worth breaking. Don’t even look good to eat.</p> - -<p>“There is one work team which I mean to give a try-out when I put on -my character part entitled, Making Hay Whether the Sun Shines or -Not. They have collar marks, and they’re old enough to be my dad’s -wedding team. Lips hang down like a mule, and hollows over their -eyes you could drop an egg in. I hate to flatter you, kid, but your -horse herd, take it by and large, is not what I’d be proud of. -You’re a wonderful girl—you got stung in several places at once.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t seen anything yet of Monty Girard. Can’t think what’s the -matter, unless that savage Ford of his attacked him when he wasn’t -looking. It will be just as well now if he holds off till I get your -alfalfa cut and stacked. I’ll have a merry heck of a time doing it -alone. There’s about four acres, I should judge. To-morrow morning I -start in and do a one-step around the patch with that cussed scythe. -You needn’t think it’s going to be funny—not for Handsome Gary. I -tried to get the youngest Piute to double for me in the part, but -nothing doing. ‘Them holler no good,’ is what he said. Funny—I kinda -feel that way myself. Money wouldn’t tempt ’em. He spoke well of -Steve Carson, too; but he sure as heck don’t like his voice.</p> - -<p>“What would you say, kid, if I found you a mine in here? I’ve had -the strongest hunch—I can’t explain it. I keep thinking there’s a -mine up on the bluff where that Voice is. I suppose I can trace the -idea back to that porphyry float I picked up the day after I landed -here. I found another piece yesterday, lying out here behind the -cabin. It must have been packed in from somewhere else. Pretty -rich-looking rock, kid. If I could find enough of that, you wouldn’t -need to pound out invoices and gol-darned letters about horse feed -and what to wean calves on. You could have a white mansion topping -that hill of ours, where we climb up and sit under the oak while we -build our air castles. Will we ever again? You feel farther away -than the sun, kid. I have to write just to keep my thoughts from -growing numb with the damned chill of this place. You know—I wrote -it down before. It’s hell to be wondering what you’d see if you -looked around....</p> - -<p>“Well, if I find you a mine you can have your mansion on the hill. -Because, if the mine stacked up like the rock I found, you could -carry a million dollars around with you careless-like for spending -money—street-car fare, you know, and a meal at the cafeteria, and -such luxuries. And if your pocket was picked or your purse snatched -or anything, you could wave your hand airily and say, ‘Oh, that’s -all right. I’ve hundreds of millions more at home!’ How’d you like -that, old girl?</p> - -<p>“Because I mortared a piece of that rock and panned it. It was rich, -Pat—so darned rich it scared me for a minute. I thought I had a bad -case of Desert Rat’s Delusion. I wouldn’t tell you this, kid, if I -ever meant to send the letter. I’m just writing to please myself, -not you. No, sir, I wouldn’t tell you a word about it. I’d just go -ahead and open up the mine—after I’d found it—and get about a -million dollars on the dump before I let a yip out of me. Then maybe -I’d send you word through your lawyer saying ‘I begged to inform you -that I had dug you a million dollars, and how would you have it?’ -Golly grandma, if I could only find the ledge that rock came from!</p> - -<p>“You know, Pat, you got me all wrong that night. What made me so -doggoned sore was to think how you’d handed over five thousand -dollars to a gink, just on the strength of his say-so. It showed on -the face of it that it was no investment for you to make. It wasn’t -that I am so stuck on the movies. Heck knows I’m not. But I sure am -stuck on the job that will pay me the money I can get from working -in the movies. I’ll rent my profile any time—for a hundred dollars a -day, and as much more as I can get. That’s what the contract would -have paid me the first year, Pat, and double that the second if I -made good. So I was dead willing to put paint on my eyebrows and -paint on my lips, and let my profile—if you insist that’s all I got -over on the screen—earn a little home for my Princess Pat and me.</p> - -<p>“But if I could find a mine to match that chunk of rock, the studios -would never see Handsome Gary—never no more. I’d kiss my own girl on -the lips—for love. Honest, Pat, those kisses, that looked so real on -the screen and made you so sore, were awfully faked. I never told -you. I guess I’m a mean cuss. But I never touched a girl’s lips, -Lady, after I met you. I had one alibi guaranteed never to slip. I -told ’em, one and all, confidentially before we went into the scene, -that they could trust me. I swore I’d remember and not smear their -lips all over their cheeks. I said I knew girls hated that, and I’d -be careful. Then it was up to me to do some plain and fancy faking. -And when my Lady Patricia put up her chin and registered supreme -indifference, it always tickled me to see how well I’d put it over. -I always meant to tell you some time, girlie.</p> - -<p>“I had a wild idea when I left the city that I’d maybe write down a -story I’d been framing in my mind when I was on location and waiting -between scenes. I told Mills just enough of it to get him curious to -hear the rest. He told me to write it out in scenario form and if it -was good he’d see that the company bought it. That would have been a -couple of hundred more toward our home, kid. The point is, I laid in -a lot of paper. Now that darn story’s gone stale on me and I’m using -up the paper writing letters to you that you’ll never read. As a -little blond jane in our company was always saying, ‘Isn’t life a -perfect <i>scream</i>?’ I’ll say it is.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Your Grouchy Gary.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXII' title='Monty Appears'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWELVE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>MONTY APPEARS</span> -</h2> - -<p>Monty Girard, mounted on a lean-flanked sorrel, came jogging up the -trail into Johnnywater Cañon. His eyes, that managed to see -everything within their range of vision, roved questingly here and -there through the grove, seeking some sign of the fastidiously -tailored young man he had left there two weeks before. His horse -went single-footing up to the cabin and stopped when Monty lifted -his rein hand as a signal.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” Monty shouted buoyantly, for all he had just finished a -twenty-mile ride through desert heat. He waited a minute, got no -reply, and dismounted.</p> - -<p>He pushed open the door and went in, his eyes betraying a shade of -anxiety. The cabin was clean, blankets spread smoothly on the bunk. -He lifted a square of unbleached cloth that had once been a flour -sack which covered sugar, salt, pepper, condensed milk and four tin -teaspoons, lately scoured until they almost shone, leaning bowls up -in an empty milk can. Also a white enameled bowl two thirds full of -dried apples and raisins stewed together. Monty heaved a sigh of -relief. The movie star was evidently keeping house just like a -human.</p> - -<p>Monty went out and stood at the corner of the cabin near the horse. -There was nothing the matter with his lungs, but the rest of him was -tired. He hunted Gary by the simplest means at his command. That is, -he cupped his palms around his mouth, curved his spine inward, -planted his feet rather far apart, and sent a loud “Hello!” echoing -through the cañon.</p> - -<p>The thin-flanked sorrel threw up its head violently and backed, -stepped on the dragging reins and was brought up short. Monty -turned, picked up the reins and drawled a reproof before he called -again. Four times he shouted and proceeded then to unsaddle. If the -movie star were anywhere within Johnnywater Cañon he could not fail -to know that he had a caller come to see him.</p> - -<p>Five minutes later Monty glanced up and stared with his mouth -slightly open. Gary was sneaking around the corner of the cabin with -raised pitchfork in his hands and a glitter in his eyes. When he saw -who it was, Gary lowered the pitchfork and grinned sheepishly.</p> - -<p>“When you holler hello in this cañon, <i>smile</i>!” he paraphrased -whimsically, and drew his shirt sleeve across his forehead. “Thought -I’d landed that trick Voice at last. Well, darn it, how are you?”</p> - -<p>“All right,” Monty grinned slowly, “if you just put down that hay -fork. What’s the matter? You gittin’ like Waddell?”</p> - -<p>Gary leaned the pitchfork against the cabin. He pushed his hair back -from his forehead with a gesture familiar to audiences the country -over.</p> - -<p>“By heck, I hope not,” he exclaimed brusquely. “I’d given up looking -for you, Monty. And that cussed Voice sounded to me like it had -slipped. I’ve got used to it up on the hill, but I sure as heck will -take a fall out of it if it comes hollering around my humble -hang-out. Where’s the Ford?”</p> - -<p>Monty pulled saddle and blanket together from the back of the -sorrel, leaving the wet imprint shining in the sun. The sorrel -twitched its hide as the air struck through the moisture coldly.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, the old Ford’s done been cremated ever since the night I -left here,” Monty informed him pensively. “Yuh-all recollect we had -quite a wind from the west that night. Anyway, it blowed hard over -to my camp. I started a fire and never thought a word about the Ford -being on the lee side of camp, so first I knew the whole top of the -car was afire. I just had time to give her a start down the hill -away from camp before the gas tank blowed up. So that left me afoot, -except for a saddle horse or two. Then I had some ridin’ to do off -over the other way. And I knew yuh had grub enough to last a month -or two, so I didn’t hurry right over like I would have done if -yuh-all needed anything.” His keen eyes dwelt upon Gary’s face with -unobtrusive attention.</p> - -<p>The young movie star, he thought, had changed noticeably. He was a -shade browner, a shade thinner, more than a shade less immaculate. -Monty observed that he was wearing a pair of Waddell’s old trousers, -tucked into a pair of Waddell’s high-laced boots with the heels worn -down to half their height, the result of climbing over rocks. Gary’s -shirt was open with a deep V turned in at the collar, disclosing a -neck which certain sentimental extra girls at the studio had likened -to that of a Greek god. Gary’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. -He looked, in short, exactly as any upstanding city chap looks when -he is having the time of his life in the country, wearing old -clothes—the older, the better suited to his mood—and roughing it -exuberantly.</p> - -<p>Yet there was a difference. Exuberant young fellows from the city -seldom have just that look in the eyes, or those lines at the -corners of the mouth. Monty unconsciously adopted a faintly -solicitous tone.</p> - -<p>“How yuh-all been making it, anyway?” he asked, watching Gary roll a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Finest ever!” Gary declared cheerfully, lighting a match with his -thumb nail, a trick he had learned from an old range man because it -lent an effective touch sometimes to his acting.</p> - -<p>“A couple of Piutes happened along the other day, and I had them run -in the horses for me. Thought I’d keep up a saddle horse so I could -round up a team of work horses when I get ready to haul the hay.” He -blew a mouthful of smoke and gave a short laugh. “I’m a heck of a -stock hand for a gink that was born on a horse ranch.” He blew -another mouthful of smoke deliberately, not at all conscious that he -was making what is termed a dramatic pause, nor that he was making -it with good effect. “I owe Pat Connolly,” he said slowly, “a cheap -saddle horse. I’m glad Pat hadn’t learned to love that scrawny bay. -Where can I get a horse for about a dollar and six bits?”</p> - -<p>Monty eyed him dubiously. “Yuh-all mean yuh lost a hawse?”</p> - -<p>“No-o, I didn’t exactly <i>lose</i> a horse. It died.” Gary sat down in -the doorway and folded his arms upon his knees.</p> - -<p>“I ought to have had more sense,” he sighed, “than to stake him out -so close to the shed where the sack of grain was. I sort of knew -that rolled barley is not good as an exclusive diet for horses. I -had a heck of a job,” he added complainingly, “digging a hole big -enough to plant him in.”</p> - -<p>Monty swore sympathetically; and after the manner of men the world -over, related sundry misfortunes of his own by way of giving -comfort. Gary listened, made profane ejaculations in the proper -places, and otherwise deported himself agreeably. But when Monty -ceased speaking while he attended to the serious business of -searching his most inaccessible pockets for a match, Gary broached a -subject altogether foreign to Monty’s plaintive reminiscences.</p> - -<p>“Say, Monty! Was Waddell tall and kind of stoop-shouldered and bald -under his hat? And did he have blue eyes and a kind of sandy -complexion and lips rather thin—but pleasant, you know; and did he -always wear an old gray Stetson and khaki pants tucked into boots -like these?”</p> - -<p>Monty found the match, in his shirt pocket after all. A shadow -flicked across his face. Perhaps even Monty Girard had an instinct -for dramatic pauses and hated to see one fall flat.</p> - -<p>“Naw. Waddell wasn’t a very tall man and he was dark complected; the -sallow kind of dark. His eyes was dark, too.” He examined the match -rather carefully, as if he were in some doubt as to its proper use. -He decided to light it and lifted a foot deliberately, so that he -might draw the match sharply across the sole.</p> - -<p>“That description of yours,” he said, flipping the match stub away -from him and watching to see just where it landed, “tallies up with -Steve Carson. Yuh ain’t——” He turned his head and regarded curiously -the Gary Marshall profile, which at that moment was absolutely -impassive. “It was Steve cut the logs and built this cabin,” he -finished lamely.</p> - -<p>Gary unfolded his arms and stretched his legs out straight before -him. “What happened to this Steve Carson?” he asked innocently. “Did -he sell out to Waddell?”</p> - -<p>Monty smoked absent-mindedly, one spurred heel digging a little -trench in the dirt.</p> - -<p>“That’s Steve’s cat,” he observed irrelevantly, glancing up as Faith -came out of the bushes, picking her way carefully amongst the small -rocks that littered the dooryard.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh.” Gary drew up his legs and clasped his hands around his -knees. “If this Steve Carson didn’t sell out to Waddell, then where -does Waddell come into the scene? Did Steve Carson give the darned -thing away?”</p> - -<p>Monty leaned forward, inspecting the small trench his spur had dug. -Very carefully he began to rake the dirt back into it.</p> - -<p>“It ain’t gettin’ yuh, is it?” He did not look up when he asked the -question. He was painstakingly patting the dirt smooth with the toe -of his boot.</p> - -<p>“<i>Getting</i> me! Hell!” said Gary.</p> - -<p>“It got Waddell—bad,” drawled Monty, biting a corner of his lip. -“That’s why he sold out. It was gettin’ him. Bad.” Having filled the -trench and patted the dirt smooth, Monty straightway began to dig -another trench beside it.</p> - -<p>“What is there to get a fellow?” Gary looked challengingly at Monty. -“I’ve stayed with it two weeks, and I haven’t been got yet.” He -laughed a little. “The Piutes told me a man disappeared here and -left his Voice behind him. Of course that’s Injun talk. What’s the -straight of it, Monty?”</p> - -<p>“Well—nobody ever called me superstitious yet,” Monty grinned, “but -that’s about the size of it. Steve Carson came up missing. Since -then, there’s that Voice. I know it started in right away. I was -over here helping hunt for him, and I heard it. Some says Steve went -loco and tried to walk out. If he did, he left mighty onexpected, -and he didn’t take anything at all with him. Not even a canteen, far -as I could see. He had two, I know—and they was both hangin’ on the -same nail beside the door. Uh course, he might a had another one—I -hadn’t been over to Johnnywater for a coupla months, till I come -over to see what was wrong. I was scoutin’ around the country for a -week or more, tryin’ to get some trace of him.”</p> - -<p>Having completed the second trench, Monty filled that one as -carefully as he had filled the first. Abruptly he looked at Gary. -“Yuh-all ain’t—<i>seen</i> anything, have yuh?”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXIII' title='“I Don’t Believe in Spooks”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“I DON’T BELIEVE IN SPOOKS”</span> -</h2> - -<p>A silence significant, almost sinister, fell. Gary rose from the -doorsill, took a restless step or two and turned, so that he faced -Monty, and the open doorway. He looked past Monty, into the cabin. A -quick glance, almost a furtive one. Then he laughed, meeting Monty’s -inquiring eyes mockingly.</p> - -<p>“Seen anything? No. Nothing I shouldn’t see, at least. Why?” He -laughed again, a mirthless kind of laugh. “Did Waddell throw in a -spook along with the Voice?”</p> - -<p>“Waddy got powerful oneasy,” Monty observed, choosing his words with -some care. “Waddy claimed he seen Steve Carson frequent. I didn’t -know——Say! Did the Piutes tell yuh-all how Steve Carson looked?”</p> - -<p>Gary’s eyes slid away from Monty’s searching look.</p> - -<p>“No. I didn’t ask. I just got a notion that Waddell maybe looked -like that.” He lifted his chin, his glance once more passing Monty -by to go questing within the cabin.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe in spooks,” he stated clearly, a defiant note -creeping into his voice in spite of him. “That’s the bunk. When -people start seeing spooks, it’s time they saw a doctor and had -their heads X-rayed. I’ll tell you what I think, Monty. I think that -when we check out, we stay <i>out</i>. Get me? I can’t feature giving -death all these encores—when, damn it, the audience is sitting -hunched down into its chairs with its hands over its faces, afraid -to look. If we clapped and stamped and whistled to get ’em out -before the curtain, then I’d say they had some excuse.</p> - -<p>“I tell you, Monty, I’ve got a lot of respect for the way this Life -picture is being directed. And it don’t stand to reason that a -director who’s on to his job is going to let a character that was -killed off in the first reel come slipping back into the film in the -fourth reel. I know what <i>that</i> would mean at Cohen’s. It would mean -that some one in the cutting room would get the gate. No, sir, -that’s bad technique—and the Big Director up there won’t stand for -any cut-backs that don’t help the story along.” His eyes left -Monty’s face to send another involuntary glance through the open -door. “So all this hokum about ghosts is pure rot to me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I ain’t superstitious none myself,” Monty repeated somewhat -defensively. “I never seen anything—but one time I was here when -Waddy thought <i>he</i> seen something. He tried to point it out to me. -But I couldn’t see nothin’. I reckon you’re right. And I’m shore -glad yuh-all feel that way.”</p> - -<p>The spotted cat, having dined well upon a kangaroo rat caught down -by the creek, was sitting near them calmly washing her face. She got -up, looked up into the open doorway, and mewed a greeting. Then she -trotted to meet—a memory, perhaps. She stopped three feet from the -doorstep and stood there purring, her body arched with a rubbing -movement.</p> - -<p>Monty Girard turned his head and stared at the cat over his -shoulder. Three deep creases formed between Gary’s eyebrows while he -also watched the pantomime. The cat turned, looked up ingratiatingly -(still, perhaps, clinging to a memory) and trotted away toward the -creek exactly as if she were following some one. Monty got up and -the eyes of the two men met unsmilingly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, heck,” said Gary, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on and see the -hay I’ve put up!”</p> - -<p>They walked in a constrained silence to the alfalfa field. Monty -cast a critical eye over the raggedy edge of the cutting. He grinned -slowly, tilting his head sidewise.</p> - -<p>“Whereabouts did yuh-all learn to swing a scythe?” he asked -banteringly. “I reckon yuh could do it a heap better on a hawse.”</p> - -<p>“But the darned horse idea blew up on me. Did the balloon stunt. You -get me, don’t you?” Gary’s laugh hinted at overstrained nerves. “I -wish you’d been here then, Monty. Why, I didn’t dig any grave. I had -to excavate a cellar to plant him in.” He waved a hand toward the -haycocks. “How do you like the decorations? You will observe that -they are somewhat larger than were being worn by meadows last year. -These are the new 1921 models, specially designed with the -stream-line effect, with a view to shedding rain. Also hail, snow -and any other form of moisture. They are particularly good where -horses are unavailable for hauling hay to a stack.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll run in the horses to-morrow,” Monty volunteered casually. “The -two of us together ought to get that hay hauled in a day, all right. -Spuds is lookin’ good. I reckon this ain’t your first attempt at -farming.”</p> - -<p>“The first and the last—I’ll tell a waiting world. Say, I forgot you -might be hungry. If this new hay won’t give your horse acute -gastritis, why not tie him down by the cabin and carry him a forkful -or two? I can’t feature this corral stuck off here by itself where -we can’t keep an eye on it. Still, if you say it’s all right, we’ll -put him in.”</p> - -<p>Monty said it was all right, and Gary did not argue. His spirits had -reacted to the stimulus of Monty’s presence, and he was conscious -now and then of a heady feeling, as if he had been drinking -champagne. His laughter was a bit too frequent, a shade too loud to -be perfectly normal. The mental pendulum, having been tilted too far -in one direction, was swinging quite as far the other way in an -effort to adjust itself to normalcy.</p> - -<p>Monty Girard was not of an analytical temperament, though -circumstance had forced him to observe keenly as a matter of -self-protection. He apprehended Gary’s mood sufficiently to let him -set the tempo of their talk. Gary, he remembered, had been two weeks -alone in Johnnywater Cañon. By his own account he was wholly -unaccustomed to isolation of any degree. Monty, therefore, accepted -Gary’s talkative mood as a perfectly natural desire to make up for -lost time.</p> - -<p>But there was a reserve in Gary’s talk, nevertheless, an invisible -boundary which he would not pass and which held Monty Girard within -certain well-defined conversational limits. It seemed to pass -directly through Gary’s life at Johnnywater, and to shut off -completely the things which Monty wanted most to know. Of all the -trivial, surface incidents of those two weeks, Gary talked -profusely. His amusing efforts to corral the pigs and keep them -there; his corraling of the horses on the old Piute’s hard-gaited -pony; his rural activities with hoe and irrigating shovel; all these -things he described in great detail. But of his mental life in the -cañon he would not speak.</p> - -<p>But Monty Girard was observing, and he watched Gary rather closely -during the three days which he spent at Johnnywater. He saw Gary’s -lips tighten when, on the second evening just after supper, the -Voice shouted unexpectedly from high up on the bluff. He saw a -certain look creep into Gary’s eyes, and the three little creases -show themselves suddenly between his eyebrows. But the next moment -Gary was looking at Monty and laughing as though he had not heard -the Voice.</p> - -<p>Monty Girard, having eyes that saw nearly everything that came -within their range of vision, saw also this: He saw Gary frequently -rise, walk across the cabin and stand with his back leaning against -the wall, facing the place where he had been sitting. He would -continue his laughing monologue, perhaps—but his eyes would glance -now and then with reluctance toward that place, as if he were -testing an impression. After a bit of that, Gary would return and -sit down again, resuming his old careless manner. The strange, -combative look would leave his eyes and his forehead would smooth -itself.</p> - -<p>Gary never spoke of these things, and Monty Girard respected his -silence. But he felt that, although he knew just what the pigs had -done and how long it took to corral the horses and how many blisters -it took to “scythe” the hay, he would remain in ignorance of Gary’s -real life in Johnnywater Cañon, the life that was changing him -imperceptibly but nevertheless as surely as old age creeps upon a -man who has passed the peak of his activities.</p> - -<p>“Yuh-all better ride on over with me to my camp and stop there till -you get a chance to ride in to town,” Monty said, when they were -unhooking the team from the hay wagon after hauling in the last load -of alfalfa. “Yuh can turn the pigs loose again and let ’em take -their chances on the coyotes, same as they was doin’ when yuh come. -Some one’s liable to come drivin’ in to my camp any day. But,” he -added significantly, “yuh’ll set a long time before anybody comes to -Johnnywater.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” Gary said easily, pulling the harness off the -horse he was attending to, and beginning to unbuckle the collar -strap, stiff and unruly from disuse. “I’ll just stick here for -awhile, anyway. Er—the potatoes need a lot of man-with-the-hoe -business.” His fingers tugged at the collar strap. He would not look -up from his work, though he knew that Monty was eyeing him steadily -over the sweaty backs of the horses.</p> - -<p>“I’d kill that damned cat if I was you,” Monty exploded with a venom -altogether foreign to his natural manner. “Waddy’d never let it near -the house. He never did and I never knowed why till the other day.”</p> - -<p>Gary had one expression which usually silenced all argument. -Patricia called it his stubborn smile. Dead men who have gone out -fighting sometimes wear that same little smile frozen immutably upon -their features. It was that smile which answered Monty Girard.</p> - -<p>Monty looked at him again, puzzled and more than slightly uneasy.</p> - -<p>“Yuh better come along with me,” he said again, persuasively, as one -urges the sick to follow the doctor’s orders.</p> - -<p>“No—I think I’ll just stick around for awhile.” Having removed the -collar, Gary gave the horse a slap on the shoulder that sent it off -seeking a soft spot on which to roll.</p> - -<p>“Well, for God’s sake, kill that cat! By gosh, it’s enough to drive -a fellow crazy. It’s wrong in the head and—and yuh know it might -have hydrophoby.”</p> - -<p>Gary laughed. “Why, I couldn’t keep house without the pinto cat! -That’s great business. Furnishes atmosphere and—er—entertainment.”</p> - -<p>It was perfectly apparent that Gary had some secret reason for -staying. Something which he would not tell Monty Girard, although -the two had become rather good friends. Monty’s face clouded; but -Gary slapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Tell you what you do, old fellow. You draw me a map so I can find -my way over to your place later on. And if one of these horses is -any good under the saddle, I’ll keep him in the corral so I’ll have -something to ride. Now I’ve got hay, the beggar ought to make out -all right.”</p> - -<p>Monty had to be content with that and rode away to his own camp -somewhat reluctantly, leaving Gary standing in the doorway of the -cabin, his hands braced against the frame on either side, smoking -and staring after him a bit wistfully.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXIV' title='Patricia Registers Fury'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER FOURTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>PATRICIA REGISTERS FURY</span> -</h2> - -<p>Patricia waited a week. One day at the office when she happened to -be alone for half an hour, she jerked the telephone hook off its -shelf and looked up Cohen’s studio number. Inwardly she was furious. -She would be a long time forgiving Gary for forcing her to speak the -first word. She could see no possible excuse for such behavior, and -her voice, when she spoke into the mouthpiece, was coldly -impersonal.</p> - -<p>“Will you please tell me where I can get into touch with Mr. Mills’ -company?” Patricia might have been calling up the freight office to -put a tracer on a lost shipment of ground barley.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mills’ company is out on location,” replied a voice which -Patricia mentally dubbed snippy.</p> - -<p>“I asked you where I could get in touch with Mr. Mills’ company. -This is important.” Patricia spoke into a dead telephone. The snippy -one in Cohen’s office had hung up.</p> - -<p>While Patricia was still furious, she wrote a note to Gary. And, -since her chin had squared itself and her head ached and she hated -her job and the laundry had lost the collar to her favorite vestee, -Patricia’s note read like this:</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Los Angeles, Calif.</div> -<div class='cbline'>“June 17, 1921.</div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='margin-bottom:1em'> -“Gary Herbert Marshall,<br/> -“Cohen’s Studio,<br/> -“Hollywood, Calif.</div> -<p style='text-indent:0'>“Dear Sir:</p> - -<p>“Kindly return the papers which you carried off with you a week ago -last night.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Very truly,</div> -<div class='cbline'>“P. Connolly.”</div> -</div> -</div> -<p>Patricia mailed this letter along with a dozen invoices, fourteen -“please remits” and a letter to the main office in Kansas City. She -felt better after she had poked it into the mail box. She could even -contemplate buying a new vestee set without calling the laundry -names.</p> - -<p>Patricia waited a week and then called Cohen’s studio again. She was -quite prepared for another snub, and perhaps that is the reason why -she got it. Mr. Mills’ company was on location; and Patricia could -believe that or not, just as she chose. Patricia did not believe it. -She barked a request for Mr. Gary Marshall.</p> - -<p>“We do not deliver telephone messages to actors,” the snippy one -informed Patricia superciliously, and hung up before Patricia could -enunciate the scathing retort she had ready.</p> - -<p>That night at seven o’clock Patricia called Gary’s apartment. Her -mood was such, when she dialed the number, that a repair man had to -come the next day and replace a broken spring in the instrument. She -held the receiver to her ear a full five minutes and listened to the -steady drone of the bell calling Gary. Had Gary been there to -answer, he would have had a broken engagement within five minutes to -hold him awake nights.</p> - -<p>After awhile little Pat Connolly wiped the tears of rage from her -eyes and called the landlady of Gary’s apartment.</p> - -<p>The landlady assured her that Mr. Marshall hadn’t been near the -place for two weeks. At least, she had not seen him. He might have -come in late and gone out early—a good many of her tenants did—and -in that case she wouldn’t be so apt to see him. But she hadn’t -noticed him around last Sunday, and most generally she did see him -Sundays because he slept late and if she didn’t see him she was -pretty sure to hear his voice in the hall speaking to some one. She -could always tell Mr. Marshall’s voice as far as she could hear it, -it was so pleasant——</p> - -<p>“Oh, my good heavens!” gritted Patricia and followed the example of -the snippy office girl at Cohen’s. She hung up while the landlady -was still talking. Which was not polite of Patricia, but excusable.</p> - -<p>Well, perhaps Gary was out on location. But that seemed strange, -because even after quarrels Gary had never failed to call Patricia -up and let her know that he was leaving town. After quarrels his -voice would be very cool and dignified, it is true; but nevertheless -he had never before failed to let her know that he was leaving town.</p> - -<p>Patricia spent another week in mentally reviewing that last evening -with Gary and in justifying herself for everything she had said to -him. Gary really did need to be told the plain truth, and she had -told him. If he wanted to go away and nurse his injured vanity and -sulk, that merely proved how much he had needed the plain truth told -him.</p> - -<p>She waited until Friday morning. On Friday, because she had not -heard from Gary, and because she had lain awake Thursday night -telling herself that she was thankful she had found him out in time, -and that it didn’t make a particle of difference to her whether she -ever heard from him or not, Patricia manufactured an errand down -town for her employers. Because she was a conscientious young woman -she attended to the manufactured errand first. Immediately -thereafter she marched into the branch office of the <i>Examiner</i>.</p> - -<p>In years Patricia’s chin had never looked so square. She was not in -the habit of wetting her pencil, but now she stood at the ad -counter, licked an indelible pencil defiantly, and wrote this, so -emphatically that the pad was marked with the imprint of the letters -seven pages deep:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>WANTED: Man to take charge of small cattle ranch in Nevada. Open -range, living springs, imp. Completely furnished on shares. Phone -11270 Sun.</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>Patricia read this over twice with her lips buttoned in tightly. -Then she licked the pencil again—indelibly marking her pink tongue -for an inch down the middle—and inserted just before the ’phone -number, the word “<i>permanent</i>” and drew two lines underneath for -emphasis. This was meant as a trenchant warning to Gary Marshall -that he need not trouble himself any further concerning Patricia’s -investment nor about Patricia herself, for that matter.</p> - -<p>Patricia paid the display ad rate and marched out, feeling as -irrevocably committed to cynical maidenhood as if she had taken the -veil. Men as such were weak, vain creatures who thought to hold the -heart of a woman in the curve of an eyelash. Meaning, needless to -say, Gary Marshall’s eyelash which should <i>not</i> longer hold the -heart of Patricia Connolly.</p> - -<p>Patricia’s telephone began ringing at six o’clock on Sunday morning -and continued ringing spasmodically until ten minutes past twelve, -when Patricia dropped the receiver off the hook and let it dangle, -thereby giving the busy signal whenever 11270 was dialed.</p> - -<p>For six hours and ten minutes Patricia had felt a definite sinking -sensation in her chest when a strange voice came to her over the -’phone. She would have wanted to murder any one who so much as -hinted that she hoped to hear Gary say expostulatingly, “For heck’s -sake, Pat, what’s the big idea of this ad? I can’t <i>feature</i> it!”</p> - -<p>Had she heard that, Patricia would have gloried in telling him, with -the voice that went with the square chin, that she was sorry, but -the place was already taken. Then she would have hung up and waited -until he recovered from that wallop and called again. Then—well, -Patricia had not decided definitely just what she would do, except -that she was still firmly resolved upon being an old maid.</p> - -<p>At seven o’clock in the morning the first man called to see her. -Patricia was ready for him, clothed in her office tailored suit and -her office manner. The man’s name was Hawkins, and he seemed much -surprised to find that a young woman owned the “small cattle ranch -in Nevada.”</p> - -<p>Hawkins informed Patricia, in the very beginning of their -conversation, that he was a fair man who never yet had cheated any -one out of a nickel. He said that if anything he was too honest, and -that this was the reason why he hadn’t a ranch of his own and was -not independent. He said that he invariably let the other fellow -have the big end of a bargain, rather than have the load on his -conscience that he had possibly not been perfectly square. As to -cheating a woman, well, he hinted darkly that killing was too good -for any man who would take advantage of a woman in a business deal. -Hawkins was so homely that Patricia knew he must be honest as he -said he was. She believed practically everything he said, and by -eight o’clock on a calm Sunday morning, P. Connolly and James Blaine -Hawkins were partners in the ranch at Johnnywater.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins was so anxious that Patricia should have -practically all the profits in the deal, that he dictated terms -which he facetiously urged her never to tell on him; they were so -one-sided (Patricia’s side). Hawkins, in his altruistic -extravagance, had volunteered to devote his time, labor and long -experience in cattle raising, to almost the sole benefit of -Patricia. He was to receive merely two thirds of the increase in -stock, plus his living expenses. For good measure he proposed to -donate the use of his car, charging Patricia only for the gas and -oil.</p> - -<p>Patricia typed the agreement on her machine, using all the business -phrases she had learned from taking dictation in the office. The -document when finished was a beautiful piece of work, absolutely -letter perfect and profusely decorated with whereases, be it -therefore agreeds and—of course—hereofs, party of the first parts -and party of the second parts. Any lawyer would have gasped over the -reading. But James Blaine Hawkins considered it a marvelous piece of -work and said so. And Patricia was mightily pleased with herself and -drew a sigh of relief when James Blaine Hawkins had departed with a -signed copy of the Patricia-made AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT in his -pocket. Patricia held the original; held it literally for the next -two hours. She read it over and over and couldn’t see where one word -could be changed for the betterment of the document.</p> - -<p>“And what’s the use of haggling and talking and whittling sticks -over a simple thing like this?” Patricia asked a critical world. -“Mr. Hawkins knew what he wanted to do, and I knew what I wanted to -do—and talking for a week wouldn’t have accomplished anything at -all. And anyway, that’s settled, and I’ve got Johnnywater off my -mind for the next five years, thank Heaven. Gary Marshall can go on -smirking the rest of his life if he wants to. I’m sure it’s -absolutely immaterial to me.”</p> - -<p>Gary Marshall was so absolutely immaterial to Patricia that she -couldn’t sleep nights, but lay awake telling herself about his -absolute immateriality. She was so pleased over her agreement with -James Blaine Hawkins that her boss twice stopped his dictation to -ask her if she were sick or in trouble. On both occasions Patricia’s -glance turned him red in the face. And her “Certainly not” gave the -poor man a guilty feeling that he must have insulted her somehow.</p> - -<p>Patricia formed a habit of walking very fast from the car line to -Rose Court and of having the key to her mail box in her fingers when -she turned in from the street. But she absolutely did not want or -expect to receive a letter from Gary Marshall.</p> - -<p>Curiously, Cohen’s telephone number kept running through her mind -when her mind had every reason to be fully occupied with her work. -She even wrote “Hollywood 741” when she meant to write “Hollister, -Calif.” on a letter she was transcribing. The curious feature of -this freak of her memory is that Patricia could not remember firm -telephones that she used nearly every day, but was obliged to keep a -private list at her elbow for reference.</p> - -<p>Patricia did not call Hollywood 741. She did, however, write a -second stern request for her papers which Gary had taken away.</p> - -<p>On the heels of that, Patricia’s boss—a kindly man in gold-bowed -spectacles and close-cropped whiskers—gave Patricia a terrific shock -when she had taken the last letter of the morning’s correspondence -and was slipping the rubber band over her notebook.</p> - -<p>“Oh, by the way, Miss Connolly, day after to-morrow I leave for -Kansas City. I’m to have charge of the purchasing department there, -and I should like to have you with me if you care to make the -change. The salary will be twenty-five a month more—to start; if the -work justifies it, I think you could safely look forward to another -advance. And of course your traveling expenses will be met by the -firm.”</p> - -<p>Patricia twisted her pencil in the rubber band. “My laundry won’t be -back till Friday,” she informed him primly. “But I suppose I can go -out there and pay for it and have it sent on by mail. What train are -you taking, Mr. Wilson?”</p> - -<p>In this manner did the dauntless Patricia meet the shock of -opportunity’s door slamming open unexpectedly in her face. Patricia -did not know that she would like Kansas City. She had a vague -impression of heat and cyclones whenever she thought of the place. -But it seemed to her a Heaven-sent chance to show Gary Marshall just -how immaterial he was in her life.</p> - -<p>She debated the wisdom of sending back Gary’s ring. But the debate -did not seem to get much of anywhere. She left for Kansas City with -the ring still on her finger and the hope in her heart that Gary -would be worried when he found she was gone, and would try to find -her, and would fail.</p> - -<p>And Providence, she told herself confidently, had surely been -looking after her all along and had sent James Blaine Hawkins to -take that darned Johnnywater white elephant off her hands just -nicely in time for the boss to offer her this change. And she didn’t -care how much she hated Kansas City. She couldn’t hate it half as -much as she hated Los Angeles.</p> - -<p>It merely illustrates Patricia’s firmness with herself that she did -not add her reason for hating Los Angeles. In May she had loved it -better than any other place on earth.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXV' title='“What’s the Matter With This Place?”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER FIFTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH THIS PLACE?”</span> -</h2> - -<p>With his beautifully typed AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT in his inner coat -pocket, and two hundred dollars of Patricia’s money in his purse, -James Blaine Hawkins set out from Los Angeles to drive overland to -Johnnywater, Nevada. He knew no more of Johnnywater than Patricia -had told him, but he had worked through three haying seasons on a -big cattle ranch in King County, California, and he felt qualified -to fulfill his share of the agreement, especially that clause -concerning two thirds of the increase of the stock and other profits -from the ranch.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins belonged to that class of men which is tired of -working for wages. A certain percentage of that class is apparently -tired of working for anything; James Blaine Hawkins formed a part of -that percentage. His idea of raising range cattle was the popular -one of sitting in the shade and watching the cattle grow. In all -sincerity he agreed with Patricia that one simply <i>cannot</i> lose -money in cattle.</p> - -<p>I am going to say right here that James Blaine Hawkins owned many of -the instincts for villainy. He actually sat in Patricia’s trustful -presence and wondered just how far the law protected an absent owner -of squatter’s rights on a piece of unsurveyed land. He thought he -would look it up. He believed that the man who lives on the place is -the real squatter, and that Waddell, in leaving Johnnywater, had -legally abandoned the place and had no right to sell his claim on it -to Patricia or any one else.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins did not look Patricia in the eyes and actually -plan to rob her of Johnnywater, but he did sit there and wonder who -would have the best title to the place, if he went and lived there -for a year or two, and Patricia failed to live there at all. To -James Blaine Hawkins it seemed but common justice that the man who -lived on a ranch so isolated, and braved the hardships of the -wilderness, should acquire unqualified title to the land. He did not -discuss this point, however, with Patricia.</p> - -<p>Patricia’s two hundred dollars had been easily obtained as an -advance for supplies, which, under the terms of the contract, -Patricia was to furnish. So James Blaine Hawkins was almost -enthusiastic over the proposition and couldn’t see why three or four -years at the most shouldn’t put him on Easy Street, which is -rainbow’s end for all men of his type.</p> - -<p>He made the trip without mishap to Las Vegas, and was fortunate -enough to find there a man who could—and did—give him explicit -directions for reaching Johnnywater. And along about four o’clock on -the afternoon of the fourth day, Patricia’s new partner let down a -new wire gate in the mended fence across the cañon just above the -water hole, and gazed about him with an air of possession before he -got into the car and drove on to the cabin. He did not know, of -course, that the gate was very new indeed, or that the fence had -been mended less than a week before. He was therefore considerably -astonished when a young man with his sleeves rolled to his elbows -and the wind blowing through his hair came walking out of the grove -to meet him.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins frowned. He felt so much the master of -Johnnywater that he resented the sight of a trespasser who looked so -much at home as did Gary Marshall. He grunted a gruff hello in -response to Gary’s greeting, drove on into the dooryard and killed -his engine.</p> - -<p>Gary turned back and came close to the car. He was rather quick at -reading a man’s mood from little, indefinable signs which would have -been overlooked by another man. Something in the general attitude of -James Blaine Hawkins spelled insolence which Gary instinctively -challenged.</p> - -<p>“Are you lost?” Gary asked rather noncommittally. “You’re pretty -well off the beaten track, you know. This trail ends right here.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that suits me. Right here is where I headed for. Might I ask -what you’re doing here?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I suppose you might.” Now that Gary had taken a good look at -James Blaine Hawkins, he did not like him at all.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins waited a reasonable time for Gary to say what -he was doing in Johnnywater Cañon. But Gary did not say. He was -rolling a cigarette with maddening precision and a nonchalant manner -that was in itself an affront; or so James Blaine Hawkins chose to -consider it.</p> - -<p>“Well, damn it, what <i>are</i> you doing here?” he blurted arrogantly. -James Blaine Hawkins was of the physical type which is frequently -called beefy. His red face darkened and seemed to swell.</p> - -<p>“I? Why, I’m stopping here,” drawled Gary. “What are <i>you</i> doing -here?”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins leaned against the side of the car, folded his -arms and spat into the dust. Then he laughed.</p> - -<p>“I’m here to stay!” he announced somewhat pompously. “I don’t reckon -it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a half interest in this -place—better ’n a half interest. I got what you might call a -straight two thirds interest in everything. Two thirds and <i>found</i>.” -He laughed again. “So, I guess mebby I got a right to know why -you’re stopping here.”</p> - -<p>Not for nothing was Gary Marshall an actor. When he learned to -portray emotion before the camera, he also learned to conceal -emotion. Not even Patricia in her most suspicious mood could have -discovered how astonished, how utterly taken aback Gary was at that -moment.</p> - -<p>He lighted his cigarette, blew out the match and flipped it from -him. He took three long, luxurious inhalations and studied James -Blaine Hawkins more carefully from under the deep-fringed eyelashes -that had helped to earn him a living. Patricia, he perceived, had -been attacked by another “wonderful” idea. Though it seemed rather -incredible that even the impulsive Patricia should have failed to -read aright a man so true to type as was James Blaine Hawkins.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve saved you a few tons of alfalfa hay,” Gary observed -carelessly. “Fellow I was with left me here while he went on to -another camp. I found Waddell gone, and my friend hasn’t come after -me yet. So I’m stuck here for the present, you see. And Waddy’s hay -needed cutting, so I cut it for him. Had to kill time somehow till -he gets back.” Gary blew a leisurely mouthful of smoke. “Isn’t -Waddell coming back?” he asked with exactly the right degree of -concern in voice and manner.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins studied that question for a minute. But he -could see nothing to doubt or criticize in the elucidation, so he -decided to accept it at face value. He failed to see that Gary’s -explanation had been merely suggested.</p> - -<p>“Waddell, as you call him, has sold out to a girl in Los Angeles,” -James Blaine Hawkins explained in a more friendly tone. “I got an -agreement here to run the place on shares. I don’t know nothing -about Waddell. He’s out of it.”</p> - -<p>Gary’s eyebrows lifted slightly in what the camera would record as -his terribly worried expression.</p> - -<p>“He isn’t—in the—er—asylum, is he? Was I too late to save poor -Waddy?”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins looked blank.</p> - -<p>“Save him from what? What yuh talkin’ about, anyway?”</p> - -<p>Gary opened his lips to answer, then closed them and shook his head. -When he really did speak it was quite plain to James Blaine Hawkins -that he had reconsidered, and was not saying as much as he had at -first intended to say.</p> - -<p>“If you’re here to stay, I hope you’ll be all right and don’t have -the same thing happen to you that happened to Waddy,” he said -cautiously. “I think, myself, that Waddell had too keen an -imagination. He was a nervous cuss, anyway; I really don’t think -you’ll be bothered.”</p> - -<p>“Bothered with what?” James Blaine Hawkins demanded impatiently. “I -can’t see what you’re driving at.”</p> - -<p>Gary gave him a little, secretive smile and the slight head-shake -that always went with it on the screen.</p> - -<p>“Well, I sure hope you never do—see.” And with that he deliberately -changed the subject and refused artfully to be led back toward it.</p> - -<p>He went in and started the fire going, saying that he knew a man -couldn’t drive out from Las Vegas without being mighty hungry when -he arrived. He made fresh coffee, warmed over his pot of Mexican -beans cooked with chili peppers, and opened a can of blackberry jam -for the occasion. He apologized for his biscuits, which needed no -apology whatever. He went down to the creek and brought up the -butter, bewailing the fact that there was so little of it. But then, -as he took pains to explain again, he had not expected to stay so -long when he arrived.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins warmed perceptibly under the good-natured -service he was getting. It was pleasant to have some one cook his -supper for him after that long drive across the desert and it was -satisfying to his vanity to be able to talk largely of his plans for -running Johnnywater ranch at a profit. By the time he had mopped up -his third helping of jam with his fourth hot biscuit, James Blaine -Hawkins felt at peace with the world and with Gary Marshall, who was -a fine young man and a good cook.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t make such a bad deal with that girl,” he boasted, leaning -back against the dish cupboard and heaving a sigh of repletion. -“Kinda had a white elephant on her hands, I guess. Had this place -here and nobody to look after it. Yes, sir, time I’d talked with her -awhile, she was ready to agree to every damned thing I said. Got my -own terms, ab-so-lute-ly. Five years’ contract, and two thirds the -increase of stock—cattle <i>and</i> horses—two thirds of all the -crops—and <i>found</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Get out!” exclaimed Gary, and grinned when he said it. “I suppose -there <i>are</i> such snaps in the world, but I never saw one. She agreed -to that? <i>On paper?</i>”</p> - -<p>“On paper!” James Blaine Hawkins affirmed solemnly. He reached into -his coat pocket (exactly as Gary had meant that he should). “Read it -yourself,” he invited triumphantly. “Guess that spells Easy Street -in less than five years. Don’t it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a bird,” Gary assured him heartily. Then his face clouded. He -sat with his head slightly bowed, drumming with his fingers on the -table, in frowning meditation.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong?” James Blaine Hawkins looked at him anxiously. -“Anything wrong with that contract?”</p> - -<p>Gary started and with a noticeable effort pulled himself out of his -mood. He laughed constrainedly.</p> - -<p>“The contract? Why, the contract’s all right—fine. I was just -wondering——” He shook his shoulders impatiently. “But you’ll be all -right, I guess. A man of your type——” He forced another laugh. “Of -course it’s all right!”</p> - -<p>“You got something on your mind,” James Blaine Hawkins challenged -uneasily. “What is it? You needn’t be afraid to tell <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>But Gary forced a laugh and declared that he had nothing at all on -his mind. And by his very manner and tone James Blaine Hawkins knew -that he was lying.</p> - -<p>The mottled cat hopped upon the doorstep, hesitated when she saw -James Blaine Hawkins sitting there, then walked in demurely.</p> - -<p>“Funny-looking cat,” James Blaine Hawkins commented carelessly.</p> - -<p>Gary looked up at him surprisedly; saw the direction of his glance, -and turned and looked that way with a blank expression of -astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Cat? What cat?”</p> - -<p>“<i>That</i> cat! Hell, can’t you see that <i>cat</i>?” James Blaine Hawkins -leaned forward excitedly.</p> - -<p>Gary’s glance wandered over the cabin floor. Toward Faith, over -Faith and beyond Faith. He might have been a blind man for all the -expression there was in his eyes. He turned and eyed James Blaine -Hawkins curiously.</p> - -<p>“You mean to say you—you see a <i>cat</i>?” he asked solicitously.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t there a cat?” James Blaine Hawkins half rose from his seat -and pointed a shaking finger. “Mean to tell me that ain’t a cat -walkin’ over there to the bunk?”</p> - -<p>Gary looked toward the bunk, but it was perfectly apparent that he -saw nothing.</p> - -<p>“Waddell used to see—a cat,” he murmured regretfully. “There used to -be a cat that belonged to a man named Steve Carson, that built this -cabin and used to live here. Steve disappeared very mysteriously -awhile back. Five years or so ago. Ever since then——” He broke off -suddenly. “Really, Mr. Hawkins, maybe I hadn’t better be telling you -this. I didn’t think a man of your type would be bothered——”</p> - -<p>“What about it?” A sallow streak had appeared around the mouth and -nostrils of James Blaine Hawkins. “Yuh needn’t be afraid to go on -and tell me. If that ain’t a cat——”</p> - -<p>“There <i>was</i> a cat, a few years back,” Gary corrected himself -gently. “There was the cat’s master, too. Now—they say there’s a -Voice—away up on the bluff, that calls and calls. Waddell—poor old -duffer! He used to see Steve Carson—and the cat. It was, as you say, -a funny-looking cat. White, I believe, with black spots and -yellowish-brown spots. And half of its face was said to be white, -with a blue eye in that side.”</p> - -<p>Gary leaned forward, his arms folded on the table. His voice dropped -almost to a whisper.</p> - -<p>“Is that the kind of a cat you see?” he asked.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins got up from the bench as if some extraneous -force were pulling him up. His jaw sagged. His eyes had in them a -glassy look which Gary recognized at once as stark terror. A cold -feeling went crimpling up Gary’s spine to his scalp.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins was staring, not at the cat lying curled up on -the bunk, but at something midway between the bunk and the door.</p> - -<p>Gary could see nothing. But he had a queer feeling that he knew what -it was that James Blaine Hawkins saw. The eyes of the man followed -something to the bunk. Gary saw the cat lift its head and look, -heard it mew lazily, saw it rise, stretch itself and hop lightly -down. He saw that terrified stare of James Blaine Hawkins follow -something to the open doorway. The cat trotted out into the dusky -warmth of the starlit night. It looked to Gary as if the cat were -following some one—or some <i>thing</i>.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins relaxed, drew a deep breath and looked at Gary.</p> - -<p>“Did you see it?” he whispered, and licked his lips.</p> - -<p>Gary shivered a little and shook his head. The three deep creases -stood between his eyebrows, and his lips were pressed together so -that the deep lines showed more distinctly beside his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t yuh—<i>honest</i>?” James Blaine Hawkins whispered again.</p> - -<p>Again Gary shook his head. He got up and began clearing the table, -his hands not quite steady. He lifted the dented teakettle, saw that -it needed water and picked up the bucket. He hesitated for an -instant on the doorstep before he started to the creek. He heard a -scrape of feet behind him on the rough floor and looked back. James -Blaine Hawkins was following him like a frightened child.</p> - -<p>They returned to the cabin, and Gary washed the dishes and swept the -floor. James Blaine Hawkins sat with his back against the wall and -smoked one cigarette after another, his eyes roving here and there. -They did not talk at all until Gary had finished his work and seated -himself on the bunk to roll a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with this damn place, anyway?” James Blaine -Hawkins demanded abruptly in that tone of resentment with which a -man tacitly acknowledges himself completely baffled.</p> - -<p>Gary shrugged his shoulders expressively and lifted his eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“What would you say was the matter with it?” he countered. “I know -that one man disappeared here very mysteriously. An Indian, so they -tell me, heard a Voice calling, up on the bluff. He died soon -afterwards. And I know Waddell was in a fair way to go crazy from -staying here alone. But as to what ails the place—one man’s guess is -as good as another man’s.” He lighted his cigarette. “I’ve quit -guessing,” he added grimly.</p> - -<p>“You think the cabin’s haunted?” James Blaine Hawkins asked him -reluctantly.</p> - -<p>Again Gary shrugged. “If the cabin’s haunted, the whole darn cañon -is in the same fix,” he stated evenly. “You can’t drag an Indian in -here with a rope.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all damn nonsense!” James Blaine Hawkins asserted -blusteringly.</p> - -<p>Gary made no reply, but smoked imperturbably, staring abstractedly -at the floor.</p> - -<p>“Wherever there’s a spook there’s a man at the back of it,” declared -James Blaine Hawkins, gathering courage from the continued calm. -“That was a man I seen standin’ by the bunk. Felt slippers, likely -as not—so he wouldn’t make no noise walkin’. He likely come in when -I wasn’t looking. And yuh needn’t try to tell <i>me</i>,” he added -defiantly, “that wasn’t no cat!”</p> - -<p>Gary turned his head slowly and looked at James Blaine Hawkins.</p> - -<p>“If there was a cat,” he argued, “why the heck didn’t I see it? -There’s nothing wrong with <i>my</i> eyes.”</p> - -<p>“I dunno why you never seen it,” James Blaine Hawkins retorted -pettishly. “<i>I</i> seen it, plain as I see you this minute. Funny you -never seen it. I s’pose you’ll say next yuh never seen that man -standin’ there by the bunk! He went outside, and the cat follered -him.”</p> - -<p>Gary looked up quickly. “I didn’t see any man,” he said gravely. -“There wasn’t any man. I think you just imagined it. Waddell used to -imagine the same thing. And he used to see a cat. He particularly -hated the cat.” James Blaine Hawkins gave a gasp. Gary looked at him -sharply and saw that he was once more staring at the empty air near -the door. The cat had come in again and was gazing questioningly -about her as if trying to decide where she would curl herself down -for a nap. The eyes of James Blaine Hawkins pulled themselves away -from the terrifying vision near the door, and turned toward Faith. -He gave a sudden yell and rushed out of the cabin.</p> - -<p>Faith ran and jumped upon the bunk, her tail the size of a bologna -sausage. Gary got up and followed James Blaine Hawkins as far as the -door.</p> - -<p>“Look out you don’t hear the Voice, Mr. Hawkins,” he said -commiseratingly. “If I let my imagination get a fair running start, -I couldn’t stay in this cañon over night. I’d be a plain nut inside -twenty-four hours.”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins was busy cranking his car. If he heard Gary -speak he paid no attention. He got a sputter from the engine, rushed -to the wheel and coaxed it with spark and gas-lever, straddled in -over the side and went careening away down the trail to the open -desert beyond.</p> - -<p>Faith came inquisitively to the door, and Gary picked her up in his -hands and held her, purring, against his face while he stroked her -mottled back.</p> - -<p>“I think you’ve saved little Pat Connolly a darned lot of trouble,” -he murmured into the cat’s ear. “Thrashing that bird wouldn’t have -had half the effect.”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXVI' title='“There’s Mystery Here——”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER SIXTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“THERE’S MYSTERY HERE——”</span> -</h2> - -<p style='text-indent:0'>“Dear Pat:—</p> - -<p>“In God’s name, what were you thinking of when you sent this fellow -Hawkins over here with a five years’ contract? Couldn’t you see the -man’s a crook? Are the lawyers in Los Angeles all <i>dead</i>, that you -couldn’t call one up on the ’phone and ask a question or two about -letting places on shares? Of course you’d want to write the contract -yourself. Perfect Patricia is the little lady that invented brains! -If she doesn’t know all there is to know in the world, she’ll go as -far as she does know and fake the rest.</p> - -<p>“Permit me to congratulate you, Miss Connolly, upon the artistic -manner in which you handed over to James Blaine Hawkins the best -imitation of a legacy that I ever saw! Of course you’d have to -invent a new way of having your pocket picked. Two thirds and found! -My word!</p> - -<p>“Any ordinary, peanut-headed man would have given the usual one half -of increase in stock, and the old stock made good at the end of the -term of contract. And <i>not</i> found, Pat! No one but you would ever -dream of doing a thing like that. And he says you agreed to buy his -gas and oil. Pat, if ever a girl needed some one to look after her, -you’re that small person. And he bragged about it—the dirty whelp. -Laughed at the way you met his terms and thought they were all -right!</p> - -<p>“He never came nearer a licking in his life and missed it, Pat. But -I had another scheme, and I didn’t want to gum it up by letting on I -knew you. I had to sit pretty and let him brag, and register -admiration for the rotter. He’s gone now—it worked. But he’ll come -back—to-morrow, when the sun is shining and his blood thaws out -again. I may have to lick him yet. If he were a white man, with the -intelligence of a hen turkey, I could play the joker and make him -lay down his hand. But I’ll probably have to take a few falls out of -him before I can convince him he’s whipped from the start.</p> - -<p>“You know, Pat, you’ve made an ungodly mess of things. In the whole -sorry assortment of blunders you did just one thing that gives me a -chance to save you. Before I left the city I made it a point to find -out what kind of power runs a Power of Attorney, anyway. I happen to -know a darned good lawyer, and I had a talk with him.</p> - -<p>“Pat, you did something when you gave me that Power of Attorney. You -gave me more right over the disposal of this place than if I were -your husband. I came over here to use this right and sell -Johnnywater. I think even James Blaine Hawkins will stop, look and -listen when I tell him how come to-morrow.</p> - -<p>“He’ll come back. A good, strong dose of sunlight will bring him -back—on the rampage, I’m guessing—mad to think how scared he was -when he left. I played a dirty trick on him, Pat. I made him think -the psychic cat was a spook.</p> - -<p>“He thought it all right! But you see, I didn’t know.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he really did see something. I think he did—or at any -rate he kidded himself into thinking he did. I never dreamed he’d -see.</p> - -<p>“Pat, you called me flabby souled. That hurt—and it wasn’t my vanity -you hit. I’ve wanted you to respect me, Pat, in spite of my -profession. And when you flung that at me, I saw you didn’t -understand. Lord knows I hate a whiner, and I won’t try to explain -just why I called you unjust.</p> - -<p>“But after I got over here, Pat, I began to see the way I must have -looked to you. You took at face value all the slams you’ve heard -about the movies. You lumped us all together and called us cheap and -weak and vain. Just puppets strutting around before the camera like -damned peacocks. You couldn’t see that maybe it takes quite as much -character for a man to make good in the movies and live clean and -honest, as it does to drive cows to water.</p> - -<p>“But after all these hills and the desert out here beyond the cañon -are mighty big and clean—my God, Pat, they’d shame the biggest man -that ever lived! When you get out here and measure yourself -alongside them you feel like a buffalo gnat on an elephant. And -there’s things in this cañon it takes a man to meet.</p> - -<p>“There’s mystery here; the kind you can’t put your finger on. The -kind the movies can’t feature on the screen. Until James Blaine -Hawkins drove into the scene, I’d have sworn a man could live here -for forty years in the wilderness like the children of Israel—or -maybe it was Noah and the ark—and never meet a villain who’s out to -make you either the goat or a corpse—both, maybe, if the story runs -that way.</p> - -<p>“But I’ve learned something I never knew before. I’ve learned there -are things a man can fight that’s worse than crooks. Dad was kind of -religious, and he used to quote Bible at me. One of his favorite -lines was about ‘He that is master of himself is greater than he -that taketh a city.’ It sounded like the bunk to me when I was a -kid. Now I kind of see what the old man was driving at. This country -puts it right up to you, Pat.</p> - -<p>“So, I’m going to find out something before I leave here, Pat. I -want to know who’s going to lick: Gary Marshall, or Johnnywater -Cañon. It sort of dawned on me gradually that if I leave here now, -I’ll leave here licked. Licked by something that’s never laid a -finger on me! Scared out—like Waddell. Pat, my dear, I never could -go back and face you if I had that to remember. Every time you -looked at me I’d feel that you were calling me flabby souled in your -heart—and I’d know I had it coming.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I don’t need to be hit with an axe in order to take a -hint. I got the slap you sent me, Pat—along with James Blaine -Hawkins. <i>You</i> know I’m over here. You know it as well as you know -anything. Even if I didn’t say I was coming—even though I <i>did</i> say -I wasn’t coming—you knew I came. You’d call up the studio, and Mills -would tell you I was out of town on business. So you’d know; there’s -nothing else could take me out.</p> - -<p>“So I got the slam you handed me, when you let the place to Hawkins -for five years. You couldn’t go into court, Pat, and swear that you -didn’t offer me the management of Johnnywater. The very fact that I -have all the documents pertaining to the deal, plus the Power of -Attorney, will prove that anywhere. Then Monty Girard knows it—a -valuable witness, Monty. So I can save you from your own -foolishness, and I’ll do it, young lady, if I have to fight you in -court. Hawkins is not going to get his two thirds and <i>found</i>! The -two hundred he grafted off you I may not be able to save. But I’ll -keep the rest out of his clutches, make no mistake.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got the glooms to-night, Pat. Feel sort of blue and sick at -heart. It hit me pretty hard, reading that contract you drew up for -Hawkins to brag about. It hurt to see him take that paper out of his -pocket—paper that you had handled, Pat, words that you had typed. -He’s not fit to touch it. He left it here—lying on the table when he -beat it, scared silly. You were stubborn when you signed your -name—you did that to spite Gary. Own up now, Pat; didn’t you do it -just for spite—because I left without saying good-by? I wonder if it -hurt you like it hurt me. I reckon not. Girls are so damned -self-righteous—but then, they have the right. God knows, the best of -men don’t amount to much.</p> - -<p>“There’s something I want to do for you; if I don’t do it before I -leave here, it won’t be for want of trying. You’ll never make one -dollar off this investment, just hanging on to it as it stands. This -country’s full of loco, for one thing. The percentage of loss is -higher than my dad would ever have stood for. Practically every -horse you own has got a touch of loco. And Monty says the calf crop -is never up to normal. It’s a losing game, in dollars and cents. A -man could stay with it and make a bare living, I suppose. He could -raise his own vegetables, put up enough hay to keep a horse or two, -and manage to exist. But that would be the extent of it. And I don’t -want to see you lose—you won’t, if I can help it. Having Hawkins in -the deal may complicate matters—unless he quits. And, honey, I’ll -make the quitting as good as possible for him.</p> - -<p>“I was sore when I started to write. But now I’m just sorry—and I -love you, Pat. I wouldn’t have you different if I could.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> -<div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“Gary.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXVII' title='James Blaine Hawkins Finds His Courage—and Loses It'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>JAMES BLAINE HAWKINS FINDS HIS COURAGE—AND LOSES IT</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary had measured his man rather accurately, and his guess hit close -to the mark. He slept late that morning, probably because he had -lain awake until the morning star looked at him through the window. -The sun was three hours high when he got up, and he loitered over -his breakfast, gave Faith a severe talking to and fed her all the -canned milk she would drink, so that she would not be teasing him -for it later on when her insistence might be embarrassing. Faith was -a methodical cat and a self-reliant cat. She loved her milk -breakfast and her little talk with Gary afterward. Then she would -head straight for the creek, cross it and go bounding away up the -bluff. She always took the same direction, and Gary had sometimes -wondered why. Of course, she hunted birds and kangaroo rats and -mice; she was an expert huntress. Gary thought she must keep a -private game preserve up on the bluff somewhere. However that might -be, Faith was off for her daily prowl on the bluff and would not -show up again at the cabin until noon or later.</p> - -<p>Gary was up at the corral rubbing down the chunky little sorrel -horse he called Jazz, when he heard the chug of a motor coming -up-grade through the sand. James Blaine Hawkins, he knew without -looking, had discounted his terror of last night and was returning -to take possession.</p> - -<p>“Well, Jazz, if I get the gate, there’s your new master.” Gary -slapped the horsefly that was just settling on the sorrel’s neck. -“But I won’t tell you good-by till I’m gone.”</p> - -<p>He turned and went down to the cabin, reaching it just as James -Blaine Hawkins stopped in the dooryard. Gary chose to take the -return as a matter of course.</p> - -<p>“Had your breakfast, Mr. Hawkins?” Gary asked him genially. “The -coffee may still be hot. I had a pretty good fire while I was -washing the dishes. Thought I’d cook up a mess of beans. Takes a -heck of a while to cook them in this altitude.”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins gave him a look that might easily be called -suspicious. But Gary met it innocently.</p> - -<p>“I’ve et,” James Blaine Hawkins grunted. “Camped out on the -desert—better than walking distance away from whoever it was that -tried to get funny last night. Feller don’t know what he’s going up -against, in a strange place like that after dark. But there can’t -nobody bamboozle me, once I’ve got my bearings!”</p> - -<p>His whole manner was a challenge. He eyed Gary boldly, watching for -some overt act of hostility. He climbed out of the car and began to -unpack, with a great deal of fussing and mighty little accomplished.</p> - -<p>Gary did not say anything. He leaned against the cabin with his arms -folded and watched James Blaine Hawkins indifferently. His silence -affected the other unpleasantly.</p> - -<p>“Well, why don’t you say something? What yuh standin’ there grinnin’ -that way for? Why don’t yuh own up you know a damn sight more’n what -yuh let on?” he demanded pugnaciously.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins came toward him, his fists opening and closing -nervously at his side. “I ain’t to be bluffed, you know! I ain’t to -be bluffed <i>nor</i> scared!”</p> - -<p>Gary’s lip curled. He rubbed the ash from his cigarette against a -splinter on the log wall beside him.</p> - -<p>“You’re brighter than I thought,” he drawled. “I <i>do</i> know a damn -sight more than I’m saying. I’ll say as much of what I know as I -happen to choose. No more—and bullying won’t get you anything at -all. I might have told you a few things last night, if you hadn’t -got scared and beat it.”</p> - -<p>“Scared? Who was scared?” fleered James Blaine Hawkins. “Not me, -anyway. I seen right away there was some kind of frame-up agin me -here and I didn’t want no trouble. Any fool can go head down into -trouble, but a man uh brains’ll side-step till he knows what he’s up -against.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” smiled Gary, “do you know what you’re up against?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I know! For some reason, somebody don’t want me here. They -tried to scare me last night—but I seen through that right off.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you saw more than I did,” Gary told him quietly.</p> - -<p>“Well, and what’s all this you know?” Hawkins’ voice was rising -angrily. “I’m here to stay. I want to know what’s back of all this.”</p> - -<p>Gary took an exasperating time to reply. “If you find out, you’ll do -more than Waddell did,” he said at last. His face was sober, his -tone convincing. “I’ve a little matter of my own to discuss with -you, but that has nothing whatever to do with last night. Last night -you claimed to see a man—and there <i>wasn’t</i> any man. You know darned -well there wasn’t, or you wouldn’t have been so scared. That’s -something I have nothing to do with. I didn’t see any one in the -cabin—but you.” He smoked for another minute. “You also claimed you -saw a cat.” He looked at James Blaine Hawkins steadily.</p> - -<p>“I claimed to and I <i>did</i>! There’s a frame-up of some kind. You said -yourself——”</p> - -<p>“I said Waddell thought <i>he</i> saw things here. That’s the plain -truth, Hawkins. It worried Waddell so he nearly went crazy, from all -accounts. You needn’t take my word for that. You can ask the -Indians, or Monty Girard—any one who knows this place.”</p> - -<p>He stopped and drew some legal papers from his pocket. “Here’s -something I meant to show you last night—if you had stayed,” he -said. “I’m not in the habit of babbling my business to every chance -stranger. I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to make sure that it -concerned you. But it happens that I have a prior right here. That’s -what brought me over here in the first place. It’s true I wanted to -see Waddell, and he was gone when I arrived. But I knew all about -the sale, Mr. Hawkins. I know Miss Connolly very well. She begged me -to undertake the complete management of Johnnywater ranch, and to -that end she signed this Power of Attorney. You will see, Mr. -Hawkins, that it has been duly certified and that the date is much -earlier than your first knowledge of the place. Miss Connolly also -gave me the deed and this certificate of the water rights. -Everything is perfectly legal and straight, and I’m sorry to say—No, -by heck, I’m not sorry! It’s a relief to me to know that your -contract isn’t worth a lead nickel. In order to get this place on -shares, you would need to make an agreement with me. And you would -not get the terms Miss Connolly was so generous as to give you. One -half the increase in stock, any loss in the old stock during the -term of contract to be made good when you turned the place back to -its owner, are the usual terms. Your expenses would not be paid for -you.</p> - -<p>“However, that is beside the point. I am not in favor of letting the -place go on shares—not at present, anyway. So this is what you did -not wait last night to hear.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a frame-up!” snorted James Blaine Hawkins indignantly. “It’s a -rotten frame-up! I’ll bet them papers is forged. There’s a law made -to handle just such cases as yours, young feller. And yuh needn’t -think I’m going to stand and be held up like that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve told you all you’re entitled to know. I’ve no objection -to your camping here for a while, so long as you behave yourself.” -Gary threw away his cigarette stub. His tone had been as casual as -if he were gossiping with Monty, but was not so friendly. He really -did not want to fight James Blaine Hawkins, in spite of the fact -that he had discussed the possibility quite frankly with the cat.</p> - -<p>But James Blaine Hawkins had spent an uncomfortable night and he -wanted some one else to pay for it. He began to shake his fists and -to call names, none of which were nice. Gary was up to something, -and Hawkins was not going to stand for it, whatever it was. Gary was -a faker, a thief—though what he had stolen James Blaine Hawkins -failed to stipulate. Gary was a forger (Hawkins hinted darkly that -he had, in some mysterious manner, evolved those papers during the -night for the express purpose of using them as a bluff this morning) -and he was also a liar.</p> - -<p>Wherefore Gary reached out a long arm and slapped James Blaine -Hawkins stingingly on the ear. When the head of James Blaine Hawkins -snapped over to his right shoulder, Gary reached his other long arm -and slapped the head upright. James Blaine Hawkins backed up and -felt his ear; both ears, to be exact.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t come here to have no trouble,” James Blaine Hawkins -protested indignantly. “A man of brains can always settle things -<i>with</i> his brains. I don’t want to fight, and I ain’t goin’ to -fight. I’m goin’ to settle this thing——”</p> - -<p>“With your brains. Well, go on and settle it then. Only be careful -and don’t sprain your head! Thinking’s dangerous when you’re not -used to it. And if you do any more talking—which I certainly don’t -advise—be careful of the words you use, Mr. Hawkins. I’m not a liar -or a thief. Don’t call me either one.”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins spluttered and swore and argued one-sidedly. -Gary leaned against the cabin with his arms folded negligently and -listened with supreme indifference if one were to believe his -manner.</p> - -<p>“Rave on,” he said indulgently. “Get it all out of your system—and -then crank your little Ford and iris out of this scene, will you? I -did say you could stay for a day or so if you behaved yourself. But -you better beat it. The going may not be so good after awhile.”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins intimated that he would go when he got good and -ready. So Gary went in and shut the door. He was sick of the fellow. -The man was the weakest kind of a bully. He wouldn’t fight. -Heretofore Gary had believed that only a make-believe villain in a -story would refuse to fight after he had been slapped twice.</p> - -<p>When Gary came out of the cabin for a bucket of water, James Blaine -Hawkins was fumbling in the car and talking to himself. He -straightened up and renewed his aimless accusations when Gary passed -him going to the creek.</p> - -<p>The Voice suddenly shouted from the bluff, but Gary continued on his -way, seemingly oblivious to the sound.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that hollerin’ up there? Thought you said you was alone here. -What does that feller want?” James Blaine Hawkins left the Ford and -started after Gary.</p> - -<p>“Beg pardon?” While the Voice continued to shout, Gary looked -inquiringly at Hawkins.</p> - -<p>“I asked yuh who was hollerin’ up there! What does he want?”</p> - -<p>Gary continued to look at James Blaine Hawkins. “Hollering?” His -eyes narrowed a bit. “On the bluff, did you say?”</p> - -<p>“Not over on <i>that</i> bluff,” James Blaine Hawkins bellowed. “Up -there, across the creek! Good Lord, are yuh deef? Can’t yuh hear -that hollering?”</p> - -<p>Gary half turned his head and listened carefully. “Can you still -hear it?” he asked in the midst of a loud halloo.</p> - -<p>“You must be deef if <i>you</i> don’t,” James Blaine Hawkins spluttered.</p> - -<p>Gary shook his head. “My hearing is splendid,” he stated calmly. “I -was a wireless operator on a sub-chaser during the war. Do you still -hear it?”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins testified profanely that he did. He was looking -somewhat paler than was normal. He stared at Gary anxiously.</p> - -<p>“What was that damfool yarn you was telling last night——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, about the Indian that heard some one hollering on the bluff -after Steve Carson disappeared? By Jove! I wonder if it can be the -<i>Voice</i> you hear!” He looked at Hawkins blankly. “Say, I’m sorry I -slapped you, Mr. Hawkins. I’d like to feel—afterwards—that you -didn’t hold any grudge against me for that.” He held out his hand -with the pitying smile of one who wishes to make amends before it is -too late.</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins swallowed twice. Gary set down the bucket and -laid a hand kindly on the man’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Aw, buck up, Mr. Hawkins. I—I guess they lied about that Injun -dying right after—don’t you believe it, anyway.” And then, -anxiously, “Do you still hear it, old fellow?”</p> - -<p>Gary felt absolutely certain that James Blaine Hawkins did hear. -Above the sound of the wind in the tree tops, the Voice was calling -imperiously from the bluff.</p> - -<p>“You can keep the damn place for all of me,” James Blaine Hawkins -exploded viciously. “I wouldn’t have it as a gift. There’s that -damned cat I seen last night! A man’s crazy that’d think of staying -in a hole like this.”</p> - -<p>He was cranking furiously when Gary tapped him on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Since you aren’t going to stay and fulfill the contract,” Gary said -evenly, “you better hand over that two hundred dollars which Miss -Connolly advanced you under the ‘found’ clause of your agreement. -I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course.”</p> - -<p>James Blaine Hawkins meant to refuse, but Gary’s fingers slid up to -his ear and pulled him upright.</p> - -<p>“We’ll just go in the cabin where I can write that receipt,” he -explained cheerfully, and led James Blaine Hawkins inside. “You’re -in a hurry to go, and I’m in a hurry to have you. So we’ll make this -snappy.”</p> - -<p>It must have been snappy indeed, for within five minutes James -Blaine Hawkins was driving down the trail toward the mouth of the -cañon, quite as fast as he had driven the night before. Only this -time he went in broad daylight and he had no intention of ever -coming back.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXVIII' title='Gary Rides To Kawich'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY RIDES TO KAWICH</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary saddled Jazz, filled the two canteens at the creek, tied some -food for himself and rolled barley for Jazz in a flour sack—with a -knot tied between to prevent mixing—and rode down the trail before -the dust had fully settled after the passing of James Blaine -Hawkins.</p> - -<p>Primarily he wanted to make sure that Hawkins was actually leaving -for town. After that he meant to ride over to Kawich, if he could -find the place. In the mental slump that followed close on the heels -of his altercation, Gary felt an overwhelming hunger for speech with -a friend. Monty Girard was practical, wholesome and loyal as a man -may be. Not for a long while had Gary known a man of Monty Girard’s -exact type. He confessed frankly to himself that certain phases of -the James Blaine Hawkins incident had shaken his nerves. He was not -at all sure that he meant to tell Monty about that side of the -encounter, but he felt that he needed the mental tonic of Monty -Girard’s simple outlook on life. There was nothing subtle, no -complexities in Monty’s nature.</p> - -<p>He dismounted and fastened the gate carefully behind him with a -secret twist of the wire that would betray the fact if another -opened the gate in his absence. As an added precaution he brushed -out the trail of his own passing, as far as he could reach inside -the gate with a pine branch. It was not likely that any one would -visit Johnnywater Cañon; but Gary felt an unexplained desire to know -it if they did. There was not one chance in a hundred that any one -passing through the gate would observe the untracked space just -within. An Indian might. But Gary had no fear that any Indian would -invade Johnnywater Cañon. For that matter, it was not fear at all -that impelled the caution. He simply wanted to know if any one -visited the place.</p> - -<p>Far down the mesa a cloud of gray dust rolled swiftly along a brown -pencil-marking through the sage. That would be James Blaine Hawkins -heading for Las Vegas as fast as gas and four cylinders would take -him. Gary pulled up and watched the dust cloud, his eyes laughing.</p> - -<p>“God bless that pinto cat!” he murmured, and leaned to smooth the -sorrel’s mane which the wind was tossing and tangling. “We won’t see -him again—for a while, anyway. But golly grandma, won’t Pat be sore -at the way I jimmed her revenge on Handsome Gary! But you know, -Jazz, I expect to have to live with Pat, and I don’t expect to do -all my walking on my knees, either. A little demonstration of manly -authority now and then does ’em good. They won’t own it, Jazz, but -they all like to feel they’ve tamed a cave man, and goodness knows -when he may get rough. I worked in ‘The Taming of the Shrew,’ and I -learned a lot about women from that.”</p> - -<p>The dust cloud rolled out of sight around a lonesome black butte, -and Gary waved it a mocking farewell and got out the map which Monty -had made of the trail to Kawich.</p> - -<p>“Five miles down the trail toward town, and then turn short off to -the left,” he mumbled, studying the crude map. “That’s simple -enough—and no wonder I couldn’t trail Monty afoot. I didn’t walk to -where he turned off. But hold on here! Dotted line shows faint stock -trail straight across country to the Kawich road. Monty did say -something about a cut-off, Jazz. All right, we’ll hunt around here -in the sage till we find that dotted line. This is great stuff. Feel -so good now I don’t have to go see Monty to get cheered up. But -we’ll go just the same—and see the country.”</p> - -<p>The trail, when he found it, was so faint that it was scarcely -distinguishable in the gravelly soil. In places where they followed -a rocky ridge Gary would have missed it altogether; but once on the -trail Jazz followed it by instinct and his familiarity with the -country. Probably he had traveled that way before, carrying Waddell, -or perhaps Steve Carson, since Jazz was well past his youth.</p> - -<p>Unconsciously Gary laid aside his movie habit of weaving in and out -among the sage at a gallop, and dropped back into the old, shacking -trail-trot he had learned from his father’s riders. It was the gait -to which Jazz was long accustomed, and it carried them steadily over -the rough mesa to where the road angled off through the foothills.</p> - -<p>The distant hills looked more unreal than ever. The clouds that -grouped themselves around the violet-tinted peaks were like dabs of -white paint upon a painted sky line. Again the sense of waiting in a -tremendous calm impressed Gary with the immeasurable patience of the -universe.</p> - -<p>Insensibly the mental burden of loneliness, the nameless dread of -things unseen and incomprehensible, lightened. The strained look -left his eyes; the lines in his face relaxed as if he slept and, -sleeping, forgot the worries of his waking hours. The world around -him was so big, so quiet—the forces of nature were so invincible in -their strength—that the cares of one small human being seemed as -pettily unimportant as the scurrying of a lizard down the road. It -occurred to Gary whimsically that the lizard’s panicky retreat -before the approaching cataclysm of the horse’s shadow was very real -and tremendously important—to the lizard. Quite as important, no -doubt, as the complexity of emotions that filled the human soul of a -certain Gary Marshall in Johnnywater Cañon. And the great butte that -stood in its immutable strength under the buffetings of wind and sun -and rain looked alike upon the troubles of the lizard and of Gary -Marshall.</p> - -<p>“After all, Jazz, we haven’t got such a heck of a lot to worry -about. If I was a jack rabbit I reckon I’d still have troubles of my -own. Take your ears off your neck, Jazz, and shack along. Packing me -over to Kawich isn’t the worst thing could happen you, you lazy -brute.”</p> - -<p>Gradually it dawned upon Gary that the road was creeping around the -great butte that held Johnnywater Cañon gashed into the side turned -toward the southeast. He wondered if the place called Kawich might -not be just across the butte from Johnnywater. There was a certain -comfort in the thought that Monty might not be so far from him, -after all. Above him towered the bold outline of the butte, capped -by the sheer wall of rock that rose like a cliff above its -precipitous slopes. The trail itself followed the line of least -resistance through the wrinkles formed in the foothills when this -old world was cooling. But however deep the cañon, wherever the -winding trail led, always the butte stood high-shouldered and grim -just under the clouds. Gary could not wonder at the dilapidated -condition of Monty’s Ford, when he saw the trail it had been -compelled to travel.</p> - -<p>He ate his lunch beside a little spring that trickled out from -beneath a rock just above the trail. Another hour’s riding brought -him into the very dooryard of a camp which he judged was Monty’s, -though no one appeared in answer to his call.</p> - -<p>In point of picturesqueness and the natural beauty of its -surroundings, Gary felt impelled to confide to Jazz that Johnnywater -had Kawich beaten to a pulp. Kawich lacked the timber and the -talkative little stream that distinguished Johnnywater Cañon. The -camp itself was a rude shack built of boards and canvas, with a roof -of corrugated iron and a sprinkle of tin cans and bits of broken -implements surrounding it. The sun beat harshly down upon the barren -knoll, and heat waves radiated from the iron roof. A cattle-trodden -pathway led down to a zinc-lined trough in a hollow. The trough was -full, with little lips of water pushing out over the edge here and -there in a continuous drip-drip that muddied the ground immediately -beneath the trough and made deep trampling tracks when the cattle -crowded down to water. A crude corral was built above the trough, -enclosing one end so that corralled stock could drink at will. The -charred remains of the burnt Ford tilted crazily on the slope with -its nose toward a brushy little gulch.</p> - -<p>Gary took in all the bleak surroundings and the general air of -discomfort that permeated the place. It struck him suddenly that -Johnnywater Cañon was not so bad a place after all, with its -whispery piñons, its picturesque log cabin set in the grove and the -little gurgling stream just beyond. If it were not for the Voice and -the eerie atmosphere of the place, he thought a person might rather -enjoy a month or two there in the summer. Certainly it held more of -the vacation elements than did this camp at Kawich.</p> - -<p>He dismounted, led Jazz down into the corral, unsaddled him and left -him to his own devices. There did not seem to be any feed about the -place, and he was glad that he had brought plenty of grain for Jazz. -He could do very well for twenty-four hours on rolled barley -rations, Gary thought.</p> - -<p>Monty could not be very far away, for he had eaten his breakfast -there and had left cooked food covered under a cloth on the table -for his next meal. As to the comforts of living, Monty seemed to be -no better off than was Gary in Johnnywater Cañon. A camp bed in its -canvas tarp was spread upon the board bunk in one corner of the -shack. The cook stove was small and rusty from many rains that had -beaten down through the haggled hole in the corrugated iron roof. -The stovepipe was streaked with red lines of rust. There was the -inevitable cupboard built of boxes nailed one above the other, -bottoms against the wall. There was the regulation assortment of -necessary supplies: coffee, salt, lard, a can of bacon grease, rice, -sugar, beans and canned corn and tomatoes. Of reading matter, Monty -seemed to have a little more than Waddell had left behind him. There -was a small pile of <i>Stock Growers Journals</i>, some old Salt Lake -papers and half a dozen old <i>Populars</i> with the backs torn off.</p> - -<p>Gary chose a magazine that had a complete novel by an author whose -work he liked. He stretched himself out on his back on the bunk, -crossed his feet, wriggled his shoulders into a comfortable position -just under Monty’s only pillow, and in two sentences was away back -in Texas after a mysterious gang of cattle rustlers.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXIX' title='“Have Yuh-all Got a Gun?”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER NINETEEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“HAVE YUH-ALL GOT A GUN?”</span> -</h2> - -<p>He was still hot on the trail and expecting every moment to have his -horse shot from under him, when Monty pulled open the door and -walked in upon him, swearing affectionately. Gary sat up, turned -down a corner of the page to mark his place, and reached for his -smoking material.</p> - -<p>“Golly grandma, I meant to have supper ready!” he exclaimed. “But I -got to reading and forgot all about eating.”</p> - -<p>“How yuh-all been making out?” Monty wanted to know. “Going to catch -a ride back to town?”</p> - -<p>Gary licked the cigarette paper and shook his head while he pressed -it into place. “No, the action is just beginning to get snappy now,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“Meanin’ what?” Monty paused in the act of lifting a stove lid.</p> - -<p>“Meaning that I just put on a fight scene, and ran the heavy clean -out of the cañon as per usual.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah?” Monty’s tone betrayed a complete lack of understanding.</p> - -<p>“You bet. Never saw a leading man get licked, did you? I’m starring -in this piece—so naturally I just <i>had</i> to put the heavy on the -run.”</p> - -<p>“What’s a heavy?”</p> - -<p>“The villain. Pat Connolly went and had another impulse. She let the -place on shares to a gink that I’ll bet has done time. He had every -mark of a crook, and he had the darndest holdup game you ever saw. -Pat Connolly doesn’t know anything at all about ranches. She went -and——”</p> - -<p>“Pat Connolly—<i>she</i>?” Monty was dipping cold water into the -coffeepot, and he spilled a cupful.</p> - -<p>“Er—yes.” Gary reddened a bit. “She’s a girl all right. Finest in -the world. Patricia Connolly’s her name, and if I can pull her clear -on this damned Johnnywater investment and remain on speaking terms -with Pat, I expect she’ll become Mrs. Marshall. She’s not at all -like other girls, Monty. Pat’s got brains. A crackerjack -stenographer and bookkeeper. Got a man-sized job with the -Consolidated Grain and Milling Company in the city. You may have -heard of them.”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” said Monty. “Sent there once for some oil cakes to winter my -she stock on. Costs too much, though. A cow ain’t worth what it -costs to feed one through the winter. What about this feller yuh run -off?”</p> - -<p>Gary got up and began helping with the supper while he told all -about James Blaine Hawkins and his AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT.</p> - -<p>Monty was in the position of a man who dips into the middle of a -story and finds it something of a jumble because he does not know -what went before. He asked a good many questions, so that the -telling lasted through supper and the dishwashing afterwards. By the -time they were ready to sit down and smoke with the comfortable -assurance that further exertion would not be necessary that night, -Monty was pretty well up-to-date on the affairs of Gary Marshall and -Patricia Connolly, up to and including the arrival of James Blaine -Hawkins at Johnnywater and his hurried departure that morning.</p> - -<p>“And yuh-all say the feller seen something,” Monty drawled -meditatively after a minute or two of silence. “Did he tell yuh what -it was he saw?”</p> - -<p>“No, except that he thought it was a man who had slipped into the -cabin when he wasn’t looking. But it was the cat that really put him -on the run. Seems he hated to see a cat unless I saw it too.”</p> - -<p>Monty looked up quickly. In Gary’s tone he had caught a certain -reluctance to speak of the man which James Blaine Hawkins declared -he saw. He was willing enough to explain all about James Blaine -Hawkins and the cat, and he had laughed when he told how he had -pretended not to hear the Voice. But of the possible apparition of a -man Gary did not like to talk.</p> - -<p>“Tell the truth, now—ain’t yuh scared to stay there alone?” Monty’s -question was anxious.</p> - -<p>Gary shrugged his shoulders and blew a smoke ring, watching it drift -up toward the ceiling. “Being scared or not being scared makes no -difference whatever. I’m going to stay. For a while, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“I wisht you’d tell me what for,” Monty urged uneasily. “A man that -can hold down the position and earn the money yuh did in pictures -kain’t afford to set around in Johnnywater Cañon lookin’ after two -shoats and a dozen or fifteen hens. I don’t agree with Miss Connolly -at all. I’d be mighty proud if I could do what I’ve seen yuh-all do -in pictures. Your actin’ was real—and I reckon that’s what puts a -man at the top. I know the top-notchers all act so good you kain’t -ketch ’em at it. Yuh just seem to be lookin’ in on ’em whilst -they’re livin’.”</p> - -<p>“The best acting I’ve done,” chuckled Gary, “was last night and this -morning. I was scared to death that the pinto cat would come and hop -up on my lap like she usually does. I’d have had a merry heck of a -time acting like she wasn’t there. But I put it over—enough to send -him breezing down the cañon, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“You’re liable to have trouble with that feller yet,” warned Monty. -“If he got an agreement out of Miss Connolly, he ain’t liable to -give up the idea of holding her to it. Have yuh-all got a gun?”</p> - -<p>“An automatic, yes.” Gary pulled the gun from his hip pocket. “I -carry this just in case. I was born and raised where men pack -guns—but they didn’t ride with ’em cocked and in their hands ready -to shoot, like we do in the movies. There’s a lot of hokum I do -before the camera that gives me a pain. So if I should happen to -need a gun, I’ve got one. But don’t you worry about James Blaine -Hawkins. <i>He</i> won’t show up again.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t be none too sure of that,” Monty reiterated -admonishingly. “He’s liable to get to thinkin’ it over in town and -git his courage back. Things like Johnnywater has got don’t look so -important when you’re away off somewhere just thinkin’ about it.”</p> - -<p>“I guess you’re right, at that,” Gary admitted. “He’ll probably get -over the cat and the Voice, all right, and—that other spell of -imagination. But without meaning to brag on myself, I think he’ll -study it over a while before he comes around trying to bully me -again. You see, Monty, the man’s an awful coward. I slapped him -twice and even then he wouldn’t fight. He just backed up away from -me and cooled right down.”</p> - -<p>“Them’s the kind uh skunks yuh want to look out for,” Monty declared -sententiously.</p> - -<p>But Gary only laughed at him and called him the original gloom, and -insisted upon talking of something altogether different.</p> - -<p>Monty, it transpired, had promised to help a man through haying over -in Pahranagat Valley and meant to start the next day. He was frankly -relieved to know that Gary was still all right. He had wanted to -ride over to Johnnywater again before going to Pahranagat, but had -had too much riding of his own to do.</p> - -<p>“But if you’re bent on hangin’ out there,” he said, after some -futile argument, “I’ll ride on over when I get through with this -job. What yuh-all trying to do over there, anyway? Hate yourself to -death?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope I’m pleasing Pat,” Gary laughed evasively.</p> - -<p>“Well, I hate to be butting in,” Monty said diffidently, “but if she -wanted yuh to stay over here and run Johnnywater, it don’t seem to -me like she’d ’a’ sent this Hawkins feller over with a five years’ -contract to run the place on shares. Didn’t she send yuh no word -about why she done it?”</p> - -<p>“She did not! I have a hunch Pat’s pretty sore at me. You see, she -sprung this deal on me kinda sudden, right on top of a strawberry -shortcake when I didn’t want to think. I told her what I thought -about it—and I told it straight. So we had a little—er—argument. She -up and threw my profile in my face, and called me flabby souled. So -I up and left. And I didn’t go back to tell her good-by when I -started over here, so I wouldn’t be surprised if little Pat Connolly -is pretty well peeved.”</p> - -<p>Monty smoked and studied the matter. “Does she know you’re over -here?” he asked abruptly. “Seems kinda funny to me, that she’d go -and send Hawkins over here without sayin’ a word to yuh about it. -She could ’a’ wrote, couldn’t she? If yuh-all didn’t tell her yuh -was coming, how would she know yuh was here?”</p> - -<p>“Why, she could call up the studio and get the dope from Mills, my -director,” Gary explained uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>“But would she? Seems like as if <i>I</i> was a girl and had any spunk, I -wouldn’t want to let on that the feller I was engaged to had gone -off somewheres without letting me know about it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s one way to look at it,” Gary admitted. “But Pat’s nobody’s -fool. She could find out all right, without letting on.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s none of my put-in—but I don’t reckon yuh-all are -pleasing Pat Connolly much by sticking over here.”</p> - -<p>Gary got up and stretched his arms above his head. “She wanted me to -sit in my cabin and listen to a saddle horse champing hay,” he -contended lightly. “I think I’ll go down and give Jazz a feed of -barley to champ.”</p> - -<p>Monty understood quite well that Gary meant to end the discussion -right there. He said no more about it, therefore. But he promised -himself—and mentally he promised Patricia as well—that he would -manage somehow to bring about a complete understanding between these -two obstinate young people.</p> - -<p>They slept shoulder to shoulder that night in Monty’s bunk, and the -next morning they saddled early and each rode his way, feeling the -better for the meeting.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXX' title='“That Cat Ain’t Human!”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“THAT CAT AIN’T HUMAN!”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Monty rode rather anxiously into Johnnywater Cañon, determined to -take whatever means he found necessary to persuade Gary to return to -Los Angeles and “make it up with his girl.” With three weeks’ wages -in his pocket Monty felt sufficiently affluent to buy the pigs and -chickens if Gary used them for a point in his argument against -going.</p> - -<p>Monty had spent a lot of time during those three weeks in mulling -over in his mind the peculiar chain of circumstances that had -dragged Gary to Johnnywater. What bond it was that held him there, -Monty would have given much to know. He was sure that Gary disliked -the place, and that he hated to stay there alone. It seemed -unreasonable that any normal young man would punish himself like -that from sheer stubbornness; yet Gary would have had Monty believe -that he was staying to spite Patricia.</p> - -<p>Monty did not believe it. Gary had shown himself to be too -intelligent, too level-headed and safely humorous in his viewpoints -to harbor that peculiar form of egotism. Monty was shrewd enough to -recognize the fact that “cutting off the nose to spite the face” is -a sport indulged in only by weak natures who own an exaggerated ego. -Wherefore, Gary failed to convince him that he was of that type of -individual.</p> - -<p>At the same time, he could think of no other reason that could -possibly hold a man like Gary Marshall at Johnnywater. Monty had a -good memory for details. Certain trivial incidents he remembered -vividly: Gary’s stealthy approach around the corner of the cabin -with the upraised pitchfork in his hands; Gary’s forced gayety -afterwards, and the strained look in his eyes—the lines beside the -mouth; Gary’s reluctance to speak of the uncanny, nameless -<i>something</i> that clung to Johnnywater Cañon; the incomprehensible -behavior of the spotted cat. And always Monty brought up short with -a question which he asked himself but could not answer.</p> - -<p>Why had Gary Marshall described Steven Carson—who had dropped from -sight of mortal eyes five years and more ago?—why had Gary described -Steve Carson and asked if that description fitted Waddell?</p> - -<p>“Gary never saw Steve Carson—not when he was alive, anyway. He says -the Indians never told him how Steve looked. I reckon he really -thought Waddell was that kind uh lookin’ man. But how in thunder did -he <i>get the idea</i>?” Monty frequently found himself mentally asking -that question, but he never attempted to put an answer into words. -He couldn’t. He didn’t know the answer.</p> - -<p>So here he was, peering anxiously at the cabin squatted between the -two great piñon trees in the grove and hoping that Gary was still -all right. He had consciously put aside an incipient dread of James -Blaine Hawkins and his possible vengefulness toward Gary. Monty told -himself that there was no use in crossing that bridge until he came -to it. He had come over for the express purpose of offering to take -the Walking X cattle on shares and look after them with his own. He -would manage somehow to take charge of the pigs and chickens as -well. He decided that he could kill the pigs and pack the meat over -on his horse. And he could carry the chickens on a pack horse in a -couple of crates. There would be nothing then to give Gary any -excuse for staying.</p> - -<p>Remembering how he had startled Gary before with calling, Monty did -not dismount at the cabin. Instead, he rode close to the front -window, leaned and peered in like an Indian; and finding the cabin -empty, he went on through the grove to the corral. Jazz was there, -standing hip-shot in a shady corner next the creek, his head nodding -jerkily while he dozed. Monty’s horse whinnied a greeting and Jazz -awoke with a start and came trotting across the corral to slide his -nose over the top rail nearest them.</p> - -<p>Monty rode on past the potato patch and the alfalfa meadow where a -second crop was already growing apace. There was no sign of Gary, -and Monty rode on to the very head of the cañon and back to the -cabin.</p> - -<p>A vague uneasiness seized Monty in spite of his efforts to throw it -off. Gary should be somewhere in the cañon, since he would not leave -it afoot, not while he had a horse doing nothing in the corral. Of -course, if anything were wrong with Jazz——Monty turned and rode back -to the corral, where he dismounted by the gate. He went in and -walked up to Jazz, and examined him with the practiced palms of the -expert horseman. He slapped Jazz on the rump and shooed him around -the corral at a lope.</p> - -<p>“There ain’t a thing in the world the matter with <i>you</i>,” he told -the horse, after a watchful minute or two. Then he rolled a -cigarette, lighted and smoked it while he waited and meditated upon -the probable whereabouts of Gary.</p> - -<p>He went out into the open and studied the steep bluff sides, foot by -foot. The entire width of the cañon was no more than a long -rifle-shot. If Gary were climbing anywhere along its sides, Monty -would be able to see him. But there was no sign of movement -anywhere, though he took half an hour for the examination.</p> - -<p>He returned to the cabin, leaving his horse in the corral with -saddle and bridle off and a forkful of hay under his eager nose. He -shouted Gary’s name.</p> - -<p>“Hey, <i>Gary! Oh-h-h</i>, Gary!” he called, over and over, careful to -enunciate the words.</p> - -<p>From high up on the bluff somewhere the Voice answered him -mockingly, shouting again and again a monotonous, eerie call. There -was no other sound for a time, and Monty went into the cabin to see -if he could find there some clue to Gary’s absence.</p> - -<p>Little things bear a message plain as print to those dwellers of the -wilderness who depend much upon their eyes and their ears. The cabin -told Monty with absolute certainty that Gary had not planned an -absence of more than a few hours at most. Nor had he left in any -great haste. He had been gone, Monty judged, since breakfast. Of the -cooked food set away in the cupboard, two pancakes lay on top of a -plate containing three slices of fried bacon. To Monty that meant -breakfast cleared away and no later meal prepared. He looked at his -watch. He had taken an early start from Kawich, and it was now two -o’clock.</p> - -<p>He lifted the lid of the stove and reached in, feeling the ashes. -There had been no fire since morning; he was sure of that. He stood -in the middle of the room and studied the whole interior -questioningly. Gary’s good clothes—which were not nearly so good as -they had been when Monty first saw him—hung against the wall -farthest from the stove, the coat neatly spread over a makeshift -hanger. Gary’s good hat was in the cupboard nailed to the wall. A -corner of his suit case protruded from under the bunk. Gary was in -the rough clothes he had gleaned from Waddell’s leavings.</p> - -<p>Monty could not find any canteen, but that told him nothing at all. -He could not remember whether Waddell had canteens or not. The vague -uneasiness which he had at first smothered under his natural -optimism grew to a definite anxiety. He knew the ways of the desert. -And he could think of no plausible reason why Gary should have left -the cañon afoot.</p> - -<p>He went out and began looking for tracks. The dry soil still held -the imprint of automobile tires, but it was impossible to tell just -how long ago they had been made. Several days, at least, he judged -after a careful inspection. He heard a noise in the bushes across -the little creek and turned that way expectantly.</p> - -<p>The spotted cat came out of the brush, jumped the tiny stream and -approached him, meowing dolefully. Monty stood stock still, watching -her advance. She came directly toward him, her tail drooping and -waving nervously from side to side. She looked straight up into his -face and yowled four or five times without stopping.</p> - -<p>“Get out, damn yuh!” cried Monty and motioned threateningly with his -foot. “Yuh can’t stand there and yowl at <i>me</i>—I got enough on my -mind right now.”</p> - -<p>The mottled cat ducked and started back to the creek, stopping now -and then to look over her shoulder and yowl at Monty. Monty picked -up a pebble and shied it after her. The cat gave a final squall and -ran into a clump of bushes a few yards up-stream from where Monty -had first seen her.</p> - -<p>“That damned cat ain’t human!” Monty ejaculated uncomfortably. -“That’s the way she yowled around when Steve Carson——” He lifted his -shoulders impatiently at the thought.</p> - -<p>After a minute or two spent in resisting the impulse, Monty yielded -and started out to see where the cat had gone. Beyond the clump of -bushes lay an open space along the bank of the creek. On the farther -side he saw the mottled cat picking her way through weeds and small -bushes, still going up the creek and yowling mournfully as she went. -Monty walked slowly after her. He noticed, while he was crossing the -open space, a man’s footprints going that way and another set coming -back. The soil was too loose to hold a clear imprint, so that Monty -could not tell whose tracks they were; though he believed them to -have been made by Gary.</p> - -<p>The cat looked back and yowled at Monty, then went on. At a point -nearly opposite the potato patch the cat stopped near a bushy little -juniper tree that stood by itself where the creek bank rounded up to -a tiny knoll. As Monty neared the spot the cat leaped behind the -juniper and disappeared.</p> - -<p>Monty went closer, stopped with a jerk and stood staring. He felt -his knees quiver with a distinct tendency to buckle under him. The -blood seeped slowly away from his face, leaving it sallow under the -tan.</p> - -<p>Monty was standing at the very edge of a narrow mound of earth that -still bore the marks of a shovel where the mound had been smoothed -and patted into symmetrical form. A grave, the length of a man.</p> - -<p>Here again were the blurred footprints in the loose soil. Who had -made them, what lay buried beneath that narrow ridge of heaped sand, -Monty shrank from conjecturing.</p> - -<p>With an involuntary movement, of which Monty was wholly unconscious, -his right hand went up to his hat brim. He stood there for a space -without moving. Then he turned and almost ran to the corral. It was -not until he reached to open the gate that Monty discovered his hat -in his hand.</p> - -<p>He was thinking swiftly now, holding his thoughts rigidly to the -details of what he must do. The name Hawkins obtruded itself -frequently upon his mind, but he pushed the thought of Hawkins from -him. Beyond the details of his own part, which he knew he must play -unfalteringly from now on, he would not think—he could not bear to -think. He saddled Jazz, mounted and led his own horse down to the -cabin. Working swiftly, he packed a few blankets, food for three -days and his own refilled canteens upon the led horse.</p> - -<p>Then with a last shrinking glance around the cañon walls, he mounted -Jazz. He remembered then something that he must do, something that -Gary would wish to have him do. He rode back to the stone pen and -opened the gate so that the pigs could run free and look after -themselves.</p> - -<p>He remounted, then half-turned in the saddle and took up the slack -in the lead rope, got the led horse straightened out behind him and -kicked Jazz into a trot. In his mental stress he loped the horses -all the way down to the cañon’s mouth. And then, striking into the -dim trail, he went racking away over the small ridges and into the -hollows, heading straight for the road most likely to be traveled in -this big, empty land; the road that stretched its long, long miles -between Goldfield and Las Vegas.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXI' title='Gary Follows the Pinto Cat'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY FOLLOWS THE PINTO CAT</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary had prospected pretty thoroughly the whole cañon, following the -theory that some one—he felt that it was probably Steve Carson—had -carried that rich, gold-bearing rock down to the cabin. Waddell had -left neither chemicals nor appliances by which he could test any of -the mineralized rock he found; but Gary was looking for one -particular kind, the porphyry that carried free gold.</p> - -<p>Greater than the loneliness, stronger than his dread of the cañon -and the cabin, was his desire to find more of that gold-bearing -rock. It would not take much of it to make Pat’s investment in -Johnnywater more than profitable. He even climbed to the top of the -butte—a heart-breaking effort accomplished at the risk of his neck -on the sheer wall of the rim rock. There was no means of knowing -just where that porphyry had come from. In some prehistoric eruption -it might have been thrown for miles, though Gary did not believe -that it had been. The top of the bluff gave no clue whatever. Malapi -bowlders strewed much of the surface with outcroppings of country -rock. Certainly there was no sign of mineral up there. He tramped -the butte for miles, however, and spent two days in doing it. Then, -satisfied that the porphyry must be somewhere in the cañon, he -renewed his search on the slope.</p> - -<p>Prospecting here was quite as difficult, because so much of the -upper slopes was covered with an overburden of the malapi that -formed the rim rock. Portions of the rim would break and slide when -the storms beat upon it. Considerable areas of loose rock had formed -during the centuries of wear and tear, and if there had been mineral -outcroppings they were as effectually hidden as if they had never -come to the surface at all. But a strain of persistence which Gary -had inherited from pioneering forebears held him somewhat doggedly -to the search.</p> - -<p>He reasoned that he had more time than he knew what to do with, and -if a fortune were hidden away in this cañon, it would be inexcusable -for him to mope through the days without making any systematic -effort to find it. Patricia deserved the best fortune the world had -to bestow. To find one for her would, he told himself whimsically, -wipe out the stain of owning a profile and a natural marcel wave -over his temples. Pat might possibly forgive even his painted -eyebrows and painted lashes and painted lips, if he found her a gold -mine.</p> - -<p>So he tramped and scrambled and climbed from one end of the cañon -walls to the other, and would not hint to Monty Girard what it was -that held him in Johnnywater Cañon. He would not even put his hopes -on paper in the long, lonely evenings when he wrote to Patricia. -After the jibing letter concerning the millions she might have if -she owned a mine as rich as the rock he had found behind the cabin, -Gary had not put his search into words even when he talked to Faith.</p> - -<p>He found himself thinking more and more about Steve Carson. The -weak-souled Waddell he had come practically to ignore. Waddell had -left no impress upon the cañon, at least, so far as Gary was -concerned. And that in spite of the fact that he was walking about -in Waddell’s boots and trousers, wearing Waddell’s hat, tending -Waddell’s pigs. Walking in Waddell’s boots, Gary wondered about -Steve Carson, speculated upon his life and his hopes and the things -he had put away in his past when he came to Johnnywater to live -alone, wholly apart from his fellows. Steve Carson’s hands had built -the cabin between the two piñons. Steve Carson—Gary did not attempt -any explanation of why he knew it was so—had brought the -gold-bearing rock to the cabin. A prospector of sorts, he must have -been, to have found gold-bearing rock in that cañon.</p> - -<p>It was during the forenoon after Gary had returned from Kawich that -he obeyed a sudden, inexplicable impulse to follow Faith, the -mottled cat.</p> - -<p>Ever since Gary had come to Johnnywater he had seen Faith go off -across the creek after breakfast. Usually she returned in the course -of three or four hours, and frequently she brought some small rodent -or a bird home with her. Gary had been faintly amused by the pinto -cat’s regular hours and settled habits of living. He used to -compliment her upon her decorous behavior, stroking her back while -she purred on his knee, her paws tucked snugly close to her body.</p> - -<p>On this morning Gary rose abruptly from the doorstep, and, -bareheaded, he followed Faith across the creek and up the bluff. It -was hot climbing, but Gary did not think about the heat. Indeed, he -was not consciously thinking of anything much. He was simply -following Faith up the bluff, because he had got up from the -doorstep to follow Faith.</p> - -<p>Faith climbed up and up quite as if she knew exactly where she was -going. Gary, stopping once on a bowlder to breathe for a minute -after an unusually stiff bit of climbing, saw the cat look up in the -queer way she had of doing. In a minute she went on and Gary -followed.</p> - -<p>It began to look as if Faith meant to climb to the top of the butte. -She made her way around the lower edge of a slide, went out of sight -into a narrow gulch which Gary, with all his prospecting had never -noticed before—or at least had never entered—and reappeared farther -up, just under the rim rock where many slides had evidently had -their birth. For the first time since he had left the cabin, the cat -looked back at Gary, gave an amiable mew and waited a minute before -she started on.</p> - -<p>Gary hesitated. He was thirsty, and the rapid climb was beginning to -tell on him. He looked back down the bluff to the cool green of the -grove, and for the first time wondered why he had been such a fool -as to follow a cat away up here on a hunting trip in which he could -not possibly take any active interest or part. He told himself what -a fool he was and said he must be getting goofy himself. But when he -moved it was upward, after the cat.</p> - -<p>He brought up at the foot of a high ledge seamed and cracked as one -would never suspect, looking up from below. It was up here somewhere -that the Voice always seemed to be located. He stopped and listened, -but the whole cañon lay in a somnolent calm under the mounting sun. -It looked as if nothing could disturb it; as if there never could be -a Voice other than the everyday voices of men. While he stood there -wiping his forehead and panting with the heat and the labor of -climbing, the red rooster down in the grove began to crow lustily. -The sound came faintly up to Gary, linking him lightly to -commonplace affairs.</p> - -<p>A little distance away the cat had curled herself down in a tiny -hollow at the edge of the slide. Gary made his way over to her. She -opened one eye and regarded him sleepily, gave a lazy purr or two -and settled herself again more comfortably. Gary saw, from certain -small scratchings in the gravel, that the pinto cat had made this -little nest for herself. She had not been hunting at all. She had -come to a spot with which she was very familiar.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXII' title='The Pat Connolly Mine'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>THE PAT CONNOLLY MINE</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary decided offhand that he had been neatly sold. He sat down on -the loose rubble near Faith and made himself a smoke. The grove and -the cabin were hidden from him by the narrow little ridge that -looked perfectly smooth from the cañon bottom. But the rest of the -cañon—the corral, the potato patch, the alfalfa—lay blocked out in -miniature far below him. He stared down upon the peaceful picture it -made and wondered why he had climbed all the way up here just -following the pinto cat. For the matter of that, his following the -cat was not half so purposeless as the cat’s coming had been.</p> - -<p>He looked down at her curled asleep in her little hollow. It struck -him that this must have been her destination each time she crossed -the creek and started up the bluff. But why should the cat come away -up here every day? Gary did not attempt to explain the vagaries of a -cat so eccentric as Faith had proved herself to be. He wondered idly -if he were becoming eccentric also, just from constant association -with Faith.</p> - -<p>He laughed a little to himself and picked up a piece of malapi rock; -balanced it in his hand while he thought of other things, and tossed -it down the slide. It landed ten feet below him and began rolling -farther, carrying with it a small avalanche of loose rocks. Gary -watched the slide with languid interest. Even so small a thing could -make a tiny ripple in the dead calm of the cañon that day.</p> - -<p>The slide started by that one rock spread farther. Other rocks -loosened and went rolling down the bluff, and Gary’s eyes followed -them and went higher, watching to see where next a rock would slip -away from the mass and go rolling down. It seemed to him that the -whole slide might be easily set in motion with no more than a kick -or two at the top. He got up and began to experiment, kicking a rock -loose here and there. There was no danger to himself, since he stood -at the top of the slide. As for Faith, she had sprung up in a furry -arch at the first slithering clatter and was now viewing the scene -with extreme disfavor from the secure vantage point of a shelf on -the ledge above Gary.</p> - -<p>In a very few minutes Gary had set the whole surface of the slide in -motion. The noise it made pleased him immensely. It served to break -that waiting silence in the cañon. When the rocks ceased rolling, he -started others. Finally he found himself standing upon firm ground -again, with an outcropping of gray quartz just below him. His eyes -fixed themselves upon the quartz in a steady stare before he dug -heels into the slope and edged down to it.</p> - -<p>With a malapi rock bigger than his two fists he hammered off a piece -of quartz and held it in the shade of his body while he examined it -closely. He turned it this way and that, fearful of deceiving -himself by the very strength of his desire. But all the while he -knew what were those little yellow specks that gleamed in the shade.</p> - -<p>He knelt and pounded off other pieces of the quartz and compared -them anxiously with the first. They were all identical in character: -steel gray, with here and there the specks of gold in the gray, and -the chocolate brown streaks and splotches of hematite—the “red -oxide” iron which runs as high as seventy per cent. iron. Hematite -and free gold in gray quartz——</p> - -<p>“A prettier combination for free gold I couldn’t have made to -order!” he whispered, almost as if he were praying. “It’s good -enough for my girl’s ‘million-dollar mine’—though they <i>do</i> get rich -off a piece of gold float in the movies!” He began to laugh -nervously. A weaker-souled man would probably have wept instead.</p> - -<p>With the side of his foot he tore away the rubble from the quartz -outcropping. There, just where he had been kneeling, he discovered a -narrow vein of the bird’s-eye porphyry such as he had found at the -cabin. Here, then, lay the object of all his tiresome prospecting. -So far as he could judge, with only his hands and feet for digging, -the vein averaged about eight inches in width. Whether the porphyry -formed a wall for the quartz he could not tell at the surface; but -he hoped fervently that it did. With hematite, gray quartz and -bird’s-eye porphyry he would have the ideal combination for a rich, -permanent gold mine. And Pat, he reflected breathlessly, might -really have her millions after all.</p> - -<p>He picked up what he believed to be average samples of the vein and -started back down the bluff, his imagination building air castles, -mostly for Patricia. If he dramatized the event and cast himself for -the leading man playing opposite Patricia, who was the star, surely -he had earned the right to paint rose tints across the veil that hid -his future and hers.</p> - -<p>He had forgotten all about the cat; but when he reached the cabin, -there she was at his heels looking extremely self-satisfied and -waving her tail with a gentle air of importance. Gary laid his ore -samples on the table and stood with his hands on his hips, looking -down at Faith with a peculiar expression in his eyes. Suddenly he -smiled endearingly at the cat, stooped and picked her up, holding -her by his two hands so that he could look into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Doggone you, Faith, I wish to heck you could talk! I wouldn’t put -it past you to think like humans. I’ll bet you’ve been trying all -along to show me that outcropping. And I thought you were hunting -mice and birds and gophers just like a plain, ordinary cat! You -can’t tell <i>me</i>—you knew all about that gold! I’ll bet you’ve got a -name all picked out for the mine, too. But it won’t go, I’ll tell a -meddlesome world. That is, unless you’ve decided it ought to be -called ‘The Pat Connolly.’ Because that’s the way it’s going on -record, if Handsome Gary has anything to say about it—and I rather -think he has!”</p> - -<p>Faith blinked at him and mewed understandingly. Gary wooled her a -bit and put her down, considerately smoothing down the fur he had -roughed. Faith was a forgiving cat, and she immediately began -purring under his fingers. After that she tagged him indefatigably -while he got mortar, pestle and pan, and carried them down to a -shady spot beside the creek.</p> - -<p>Gary’s glance strayed often to the bluff while he broke bits off -each sample of quartz and dropped them into the iron mortar. Then, -with the mortar held firmly between his knees, Gary picked up the -eight-inch length of iron with the round knob on the end and began -to pulverize the ore. For a full quarter of an hour the quiet air of -the grove throbbed to the steady <i>pung, pung, pung</i>, of the iron -pestle striking upon rock particles in the deep iron bowl.</p> - -<p>About twice in every minute, Gary would stop, dip thumb and finger -into the mortar, and bring up a pinch of pulverized rock at which he -would squint with the wholly unconscious eagerness of a small boy. -Naturally, since he was not flattening a nugget of solid gold in the -mortar, he failed to see anything except once when he caught an -unmistakable yellow gleam from a speck of gold almost half the size -of a small pinhead.</p> - -<p>He gloated over that speck for a full minute before he shook it -carefully back into the mortar. And then you should have heard him -pound!</p> - -<p>He was all aquiver with hope and eager expectancy when at last he -poured the pulverized quartz into the gold pan and went digging his -heels down the bank to the water. Faith came forward and stood upon -a dry rock, mewing and purring by turns, and waving her tail -encouragingly while she watched him.</p> - -<p>Those who plod along the beaten trail toward commercial success can -scarcely apprehend the thrill of winning from nature herself the -symbol that promises fulfillment of hope and dreams coming true. The -ardency of Gary’s desire was measurable only by the depth of his -love for Patricia. For himself he had a man’s normal hunger for -achievement. To discover a gold mine here in Johnnywater Cañon, to -develop it in secret to the point where he could command what -capital he needed for the making of a real mine, that in itself -seemed to Gary a goal worth striving for. To fill Patricia’s hands -with virgin gold which he had found for her, there spoke the -primitive desire of man since the world was young; to bring the -spoils of war or the chase and lay them, proud offering of love, at -the feet of his Woman.</p> - -<p>Gary turned and tilted the pan, tenderly as a young mother cradles -her first-born. He dipped and rocked and spilled the water carefully -over the rim; dipped and rocked and tilted again. The three deep -creases stood between his straight, dark eyebrows, but now they -betokened eager concentration upon his work. At last, he poured -clear water from the pan carefully, almost drop by drop. He tilted -the pan slowly in the sunlight and bent his head, peering sharply -into the pan. His heart seemed to be beating in his throat when he -saw the trail of tiny yellow particles following sluggishly the -spoonful of black sand when he tilted the pan.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got it, Steve,” he exclaimed, looking up over his shoulder. He -caught his breath in the sudden realization that he was looking into -the empty sunlight. Absorbed as he had been in the gold, the felt -presence of Steve Carson looking over his shoulder had seemed -perfectly natural and altogether real.</p> - -<p>The momentary shock sobered him. But the old dread of that felt -presence no longer assailed him as something he must combat by -feigning unconsciousness. The unreasoning impression that Steve -Carson—the mind of him—was there just behind his shoulder, watching -and sharing in his delight, persisted nevertheless. Gary caught -himself wondering if the thing was really only a prank of his -imagination. Feeling a bit foolish, but choosing to indulge the -whimsy, he stood up and turned deliberately, the pan held out before -him.</p> - -<p>“Steve Carson, if dead people go on living and thinking, and if you -really are hanging around just out of sight but watching the game, -I’m here to say that I hope you’re glad I found this vein. And I -want to tell you right now that if there’s any money to be made out -of it, it’s going to the finest, squarest little girl in the world. -So if there is such a thing as a spirit, just take it from me -everything’s going to be on the square.”</p> - -<p>He carried the pan up to the cabin and carefully rinsed the gold -down into a jelly glass. He made no apology to himself for the -little speech to a man dead and gone these five years. Having made -himself as clear on the subject as was diplomatic—supposing Steve -Carson’s spirit had been present and could hear—he felt a certain -relief and could lay the subject aside and devote himself to the -fascination of hunting the gold out of the hills where it had lain -buried for ages.</p> - -<p>It occurred to him that he might find some particularly rich -specimens, mortar them by hand and pan them for Patricia. A wedding -ring made from the first gold taken and panned by hand—the hand of -Gary Marshall—from “The Pat Connolly” mine, appealed to him -irresistibly. Before he had mortared a lump of porphyry the size of -a pigeon’s egg, Gary had resolved to pan enough gold for that very -purpose. He pictured himself pulling the ring from his vest pocket -while the minister waited. He experienced a prophetic thrill of -ecstasy when he slipped the ring upon Patricia’s finger. The dreamed -sentence, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” intoned by an -imaginary minister, thrilled him to the soul.</p> - -<p><i>Pung, pung, pung!</i> It wouldn’t take so very long, if he mortared -rock evenings, say, instead of killing time minute by minute playing -solitaire with the deck of cards Waddell had thumbed before him. -<i>Pung, pung, pung!</i> He could mortar the quartz in the evenings and -pan it in the morning before he went to work. <i>Pung, pung, pung, -pung!</i> He would hunt up a cow’s horn and fix it as he had seen old -prospectors do, so that he could blow the sand from the panned gold -and carry it unmixed to the jeweler. <i>Pung, pung!</i> The porphyry -sample was fine as corn meal under the miniature stamp-mill of -Gary’s pounding.</p> - -<p>He was mighty careful of that handful of pulp. He even dipped the -mortar half full of water and sloshed it round and round, pouring it -afterward into the pan to rinse out what gold may have stuck to the -iron. His finger tips stirred the wet mass caressingly in the pan, -muddying the water with the waste matter and pouring that out before -he squatted on his heels at the edge of the stream.</p> - -<p>The result was gratifying in the extreme. Granting that the values -were inclined to “jump” from quartz to porphyry and back again to -the quartz, he would still lose none of the gold. He tried to be -very conservative in estimating the probable value of the vein. He -knew that, granting quartz and porphyry were in place from the -surface downward, the values should increase with depth. It would -take some digging, however, to determine that point. He was glad -that Patricia knew nothing at all about it. If there were to be -disappointment later on, he wanted to bear it alone. The joys of -success he was perfectly willing to share; but not the sickening -certitude of failure. He judged that the outcropping would run -several hundred dollars to the ton, provided his panned samples had -run a fair average of the vein.</p> - -<p>Material for air castles aplenty, that! Gary was afraid to believe -it. He kept warning himself headily that the world would be peopled -entirely with multimillionaires if every man’s dream of wealth came -true and every man’s hopes were realized.</p> - -<p>“Ninety-nine per cent. of all mineral prospects are failures, -Faith,” he told the spotted cat admonishingly. “We may get the -raspberry yet on this proposition. I’m just waiting to see whether -you’re a mascot or a jinx. I wish to heck you were a dog—I’d make -you get busy and help dig!”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXIII' title='Gary Finds the Voice—and Something Else'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY FINDS THE VOICE—AND SOMETHING ELSE</span> -</h2> - -<p>“Here’s where Handsome Gary raises a crop of callouses big as birds’ -eggs in his mad pursuit of the fickle jade, Fortune. Come on, Faith, -doggone you; I want you handy in case this gold thing is a fluke.”</p> - -<p>Gary had remembered that eating is considered necessary to the -preservation of life and had delayed his further investigation of -the outcropping until he had scrambled together some sort of a meal. -He had bolted food as if he must hurry to catch a train that was -already whistling a warning. Now he took down a canteen from behind -the door, shouldered an old pick and shovel he had found in the -shed, and started back up the bluff, stopping just long enough to -fill the canteen at the creek as he passed.</p> - -<p>Loaded with canteen and tools, the climb was a heart-breaking one. -The spotted cat led the way, going as straight as possible toward -the tiny ridge behind which lay the outcropping. At the top, Gary -decided that hereafter he would bring a lunch and spend the day up -there, thus saving a valuable hour or two and a good deal of energy. -Energy, he realized, would be needed in unlimited quantities if he -did much development work alone.</p> - -<p>By hard labor he managed to clear away the rubble of the slide and -uncover the vein for a distance of several feet before dusk began to -fill the cañon. He carried down with him the richest pieces of rock -that he could find, and that night he worked with mortar and pestle -until his arms ached with the unaccustomed exercise.</p> - -<p>Several times that evening he was pulled away from his air castles -by the peculiar sensation of some one standing very close to him. It -was not the first time he had experienced the sensation, but never -before had the impression brought him a comforting sense of friendly -companionship. It struck him suddenly that he must be growing used -to the idea, and that Johnnywater Cañon was not at all likely to -“get” him as it had got Waddell. He had not heard the Voice all day, -but he believed that he could now listen to it with perfect -equanimity.</p> - -<p>He had just one worry that evening; rather, he had one difficult -problem to solve. In order to work in that quartz, dynamite was -absolutely necessary. Unless he could find some on the place, it -began to look very much as if he would not be able to do much unless -he could get some brought out to him from town.</p> - -<p>The result of his cogitations that evening was a belief that Steve -Carson must have had dynamite, caps and fuse on hand. Men living out -in a country known to produce minerals of one sort and another -usually were supplied with explosives. Even if they never did any -mining, they might want to blow a bowlder out of the way now and -then. He had never seen any powder about the place; but on the other -hand, he had not looked for any.</p> - -<p>The next morning he panned the pulped rock immediately after -breakfast and was overjoyed at the amount of gold he gleaned from -the pint or so of pulp. At that rate, he told himself gleefully, the -wedding ring would not need to wait very long. After that he went -hunting dynamite in the storehouse and shed. He was lucky enough to -find a couple of dozen sticks of powder and some caps and fuse -wrapped in a gunny sack and hung from the ridgepole of the shed. The -dynamite did not look so very old, and he guessed that it had been -brought there by Waddell. This seemed to him an amazing bit of good -luck, and he shouldered the stuff and went off up the bluff with an -extra canteen and his lunch, whistling in an exuberance of good -humor with the world. Faith, of course, went with him and curled -herself in her little hollow just under the frowning malapi ledge.</p> - -<p>Gary worked for three days, following the quartz and porphyry down -at an incline of forty-five degrees. The vein held true to form, and -the samples he panned each morning never failed to show a drag of -gold after the concentrate. It was killing work for a man unused to -pick and shovel. In the afternoon of the third day even Gary’s -driving energy began to slow down. He had learned how to drill and -shoot in rock, but the steady swing of the four-pound hammer (miners -call them single-jacks) lamed his right arm so that he could not -strike a forceful blow. Moreover, he discovered that twisting a -drill in rock is not soothing to broken blisters. So, much as he -wanted to make Patricia rich in the shortest possible time, -protesting flesh prevailed upon him to knock off work for the time -being.</p> - -<p>He was sitting on the edge of what would one day be an incline -shaft—when he had dug it deep enough—inspecting his blistered hands. -After several days of quiet the wind began to blow in gusts from off -the butte. Somewhere behind Gary and above him there came a -bellowing halloo that made him jump and slide into the open cut. -Again and again came the bellow above him—and after his first -astonishment Gary’s mouth relaxed into a slow grin.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet right there’s the makings of that spook Voice!” he said -aloud. “Up there in the rim rock somewhere.”</p> - -<p>He climbed out of the cut and stood facing the cliff, listening. At -close quarters the call became a bellow with only a faint -resemblance to a Voice shouting hello. He remembered now that on -that first morning when he had searched for the elusive “man” on the -bluff, the wind had died before he had climbed very high. After that -he had not heard the Voice again that day.</p> - -<p>He made his way laboriously up to the rim rock, listening always to -locate the exact source of the sound. The bluff was almost -perpendicular just under the rim, and huge bowlders lay where they -had fallen in some forgotten time from the top. Gary scrambled over -the first of these and confronted a narrow aperture which seemed to -lead back into the cliff. The opening was perhaps three feet wide at -the bottom, drawing in to a pointed roof a few feet above his head.</p> - -<p>The Voice did not seem to come from this opening, but Gary’s -curiosity was roused. He went into the cave. Fifteen feet, as he -paced the distance, brought him to the rear wall—and to a small -recess where a couple of boxes sat side by side with a three-pound -coffee can on top and a bundle wrapped in canvas. Gary forgot the -Voice for the time being and began to investigate the cache.</p> - -<p>It was perfectly simple; perfectly amazing also. The boxes had been -opened, probably in order to carry the contents more easily up the -bluff; the most ambitious man would scarcely want to make that climb -with a fifty-pound box of dynamite on his shoulder. But both boxes -were full, or so nearly full that the few missing sticks did not -matter. The coffee can contained six boxes of caps, and in the -canvas bundle were eight full coils of fuse.</p> - -<p>“Golly grandma, if this ain’t movie luck!” Gary jubilated to the -cat, which had tagged him into the cave. “Or it would be if the -dynamite were fresh. From the weird tales I’ve heard about men who -got fresh with stale dynamite and landed in fragments before a -horrified audience, Handsome Gary’s liable to lose his profile if he -doesn’t watch his step. But it’s giant powder, and if it will shoot -at all, I’ve simply got to use it. It’s just about as necessary a -prop in this scene as a rope is in a lynching bee. Well, now we’ll -go ketchum that Voice.”</p> - -<p>By dint of hard climbing he made his way higher, to where the ledge -seemed broken in splintered clefts above the slide. As he went, the -Voice bellowed at him with a rising tone which distance might easily -modify to a human cry. Even so close, he was some time in -discovering just how the sound was made. But at last, after much -listening and investigating the splintered slits, he caught the rush -of wind up through a series of small, chimneylike openings. Here, -then, was the Voice that had given Johnnywater Cañon so weird a -reputation.</p> - -<p>As to the appearance of the Voice just after Steve Carson’s -disappearance, Gary considered that an exaggeration, unconscious, -perhaps, but nevertheless born of superstitious fear. Steve Carson -might have told a different story could he have been questioned -about the sound.</p> - -<p>“I’d say that Injun was about due to check out, anyway,” he told -Faith, who was nosing a crack that probably held a rat or two. “Now -I see how it’s done, the Voice isn’t half so mysterious or spookish -as all that giant powder right on hand where I need it. Don’t even -have to pack it up the bluff. And that’s Providence, I’ll tell the -cock-eyed world! When I think how I chased that supernatural Voice -all over the bluff and then sat and shivered in the cabin because I -couldn’t find it—Faith, I should think you might have told me! You -can’t kid <i>me</i> into believing you weren’t wise all the while. You -know a heap more than you let on. You can’t string <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>He made his way back to the cave and examined more carefully the -giant powder cached there. He cut a foot length of fuse, lighted and -timed it with his watch. The fuse burned with almost perfect -accuracy—a minute to the foot. Then he capped a two-foot length, -broke a stick of powder in two, carefully inserted the cap in the -dynamite and went out and laid it under a bowlder the size of a -half-barrel. He scraped loose dirt over it, split the fuse end back -an inch, “spitted” it with his cigarette and ducked into the cave -with his watch in his hand to await the result.</p> - -<p>The explosion lifted the bowlder, and broke it in three pieces, and -Gary felt that the experiment had been a success. The powder would -probably miss fire occasionally, since it was crystallized with age. -It might also explode when he least expected it to do so, but Gary -was prepared to take that risk; though many an old miner would have -refused profanely to touch the stuff.</p> - -<p>“Well, I used to take a chance on breaking my neck every time I put -over a stunt before the camera,” he mused. “That was just to hold -down a job. I ought to be dead willing to take a chance with this -junk when it means millions for my girl—maybe.”</p> - -<p>With explosives enough to last him a couple of months at the very -least, Gary felt that Fate was giving him a broad smile of -encouragement. He acknowledged to himself, while he mortared rich -pieces of porphyry and quartz that night, the growing belief that he -had been all wrong in blaming Patricia for making the investment. It -was, he was beginning to think, the whispering of Destiny that had -urged Patricia to buy Johnnywater in the first place; and it was -Destiny again at work that had pushed him out of pictures and over -here to work out the plan.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he did not reduce the thought to so definite a form, but -that was the substance of his speculations.</p> - -<p>So he dreamed and worked with untiring energy through the days, -dreamed and pulped gold-bearing rock for the wedding ring during the -evenings when he should have been resting, and slept like a tired -baby at night. Whenever he heard the Voice shouting from the bluff, -he shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the joke the wind was -trying to play. Whenever he felt that unseen presence beside him, if -he did not grin he at least accepted it with a certain sense of -friendly companionship. And the spotted cat, Faith, was always -close, like a pet dog.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXIV' title='“Steve Carson—Poor Devil!”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“STEVE CARSON—POOR DEVIL!”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary went down ten feet at an incline so sharp he could not carry -the muck up in the buckets he had expected to use for the purpose. -He knew, because he spent two perspiring hours in the attempt. Could -he have done it, it would have been slow, toilsome work. But at -least he could have gone down. He would not take the time to -experiment with a ladder. To carry the necessary material up the -bluff and build a thing would consume the best part of a day, and -the richness of the vein bred impatience that could not brook delay.</p> - -<p>He therefore decided to crosscut on the side where the vein showed -the highest values and continue throwing out the muck. It would be -slow, but Gary was thankful that he could make headway working by -himself. So he drilled a round of holes in the left wall of the -shaft, with the quartz and porphyry in the center of the face of the -proposed crosscut. The vein on that side was wider, and the values -were fully as high as on the other. He was pleased with his plan and -tried to remember all he had learned about mining, so that he would -waste neither time, effort, nor ore.</p> - -<p>It takes practice to handle dynamite to the best advantage, and Gary -did not always shoot the gangue cleanly away from the ore, but mixed -some of his richest values with the muck. To offset that, he used -the pick as much as possible and sorted the ore carefully at the -bottom of the incline shaft, before he threw it to the surface.</p> - -<p>Any experienced miner would have made better footage in a day, but -it is doubtful if any man would have put in longer shifts or worked -harder. And it is a great pity that Patricia could not have watched -him for a day and appreciated the full strength of his devotion to -her interests.</p> - -<p>At the end of ten days, Gary had gone five feet into his crosscut, -and was hoping to make better footage now that his muscles had -adjusted themselves somewhat to the labor. His hands, too, had -hardened amazingly. Altogether, Gary felt that he was justified in -thinking mighty well of himself. There were so many things for which -he was thankful, and there were so few for which he felt regret.</p> - -<p>He did not even worry about Patricia, now that he was accomplishing -something really worth while for her. It amused him to picture -Patricia’s astonishment when he returned to Los Angeles and told her -that he had investigated Johnnywater ranch very carefully, and that -she could not expect to make a nickel running cattle over there. He -would tell her that his hunch had been a bird. He dramatized for -himself her indignation and chuckled at the way she would fly at him -for daring to convince her that she had made a foolish investment.</p> - -<p>Then, when she had called him a lot of names and argued and squared -her chin—<i>then</i> he would tell her that he had found the makings of a -wedding ring at Johnnywater, and that he would expect her finger to -be ready for it the minute it was cool enough to wear. After he had -teased her sufficiently, he would tell her how he and the pinto cat -had located “The Pat Connolly” mine; he would ask her for the job of -general manager, because he would want to make sure that half of -Patricia’s millions were not being stolen from her.</p> - -<p>Now that the cañon held a potential fortune, Gary could appreciate -its picturesque setting and could contemplate with pleasure the -prospect of spending long summers there with Patricia. He would -locate sufficient claims to protect the cañon from an influx of -strangers, and they would have it for their own special little -corner of the world. It is astonishing how prosperity will change a -man’s point of view.</p> - -<p>Six feet into the crosscut, Gary’s round of holes shot unexpectedly -through hard rock into a close-packed mass of broken malapi. The -stuff had no logical right to be there, breaking short off the -formation and vein. Had the vein pinched out and the malapi come in -gradually, he might have seen some geologic reason for the change. -But the whole face of his crosscut opened up malapi bowlders and -“nigger-heads.”</p> - -<p>Gary filled his two buckets and carried them out into the shaft, -dumping them disgustedly on the floor. It was like being shaken out -of a blissful dream. He would have given a good deal just then for -the presence of his old field boss, who was wise in all the vagaries -of mineral formations. But there was ore still in the loosened muck, -and Gary went back after it, thinking that he would make a clean job -of that side before he started crosscutting the vein to the right of -the shaft.</p> - -<p>He filled one bucket. Then his shovel struck into something tough -and yielding. Gary stooped, holding his candle low. He groped with -his hand and pulled out a shapeless, earth-stained felt hat, with -part of a skull inside it.</p> - -<p>He dropped the gruesome thing and made for the opening, took the -steep incline like a scared centipede and sat down weakly on a rock, -drawing the back of his hand again and again across his clammy -forehead. His knees shook. The flesh of his entire body was all -aquiver with the horror of it.</p> - -<p>Some time elapsed before Gary could even bring himself to think of -the thing he had uncovered. He moved farther away, pretending that -he was seeking the shade; in reality, he wanted to push a little -more sunlight between the shaft and himself.</p> - -<p>Faith came and mewed suddenly at his elbow, rubbing herself against -his arm, and Gary jumped as if some one had struck him from behind. -The contact of the cat set him quivering again, and he pushed her -away from him with a backward sweep of his arm. Faith retreated to -another rock and stood there with her back arched, regarding him -fixedly in round-eyed amazement. Gary slid off the bowlder and -started down the bluff, his going savoring strongly of retreat. He -was not particularly squeamish, nor had he ever been called a -coward; nevertheless the grisly discovery drove him from the spot -with the very unexpectedness of the disinterment.</p> - -<p>At the cabin he stopped and looked back up the bluff, ashamed of his -flight.</p> - -<p>“Steve Carson—the poor devil!” he muttered under his breath. “A -cave-in caught him, I reckon. And nobody ever knew what became of -him.”</p> - -<p>He walked aimlessly to the corral, perhaps seeking the small comfort -of even the horse’s presence. He gave Jazz an extra forkful of hay -and stood leaning his elbows upon the top rail of the corral, -watching Jazz nose the heap for the tenderest morsels. The -phlegmatic content of the old horse steadied him. He could think of -the horror now, without shaking inside like joggled jelly.</p> - -<p>He looked at his watch and saw that it lacked half an hour until -noon. There would be time enough to do what he knew must be done, if -he were to have any future peace in Johnnywater Cañon.</p> - -<p>He found an extra pick, shouldered the long-handled irrigating -shovel and set out to find a suitable spot—not too close to the -house—where he might give the shattered bones of Steve Carson decent -burial. He chose the tiny knoll crowned with the thick-branched -juniper and dug the grave there that afternoon. For the time being -he must leave the body where it was, crushed under the cave-in.</p> - -<p>“But he stayed there for five years,” Gary excused the seeming -slight. “One more night shouldn’t hurt him.”</p> - -<p>It was an uncomfortable night, however, for Gary. Even in his sleep -the thought of that broken body would not leave him. It overshadowed -all his hopes and dreams, and even Patricia seemed very far away, -and life seemed very short and uncertain.</p> - -<p>The next day Gary devoted to moving what little was left of Steve -Carson from under the mass of broken rock and burying the remains in -the grave under the juniper. The mottled cat walked solemnly behind -him all the way; and it seemed to Gary that the unseen yet sentient -spirit of the man walked beside him.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXV' title='The Value of a Hunch'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>THE VALUE OF A HUNCH</span> -</h2> - -<p>The resiliency of youth, aided by the allurement of riches to be -gained by digging, drove Gary back up the bluff to his work. Here -again circumstances had forced him to continue where he would -voluntarily have left off. In digging out the body of Steve Carson, -Gary had dug completely through the broken stuff to a continuation -of the vein and its contact beyond.</p> - -<p>He felt that he understood in a general way what had happened five -years ago. Steve Carson had undoubtedly discovered the gold-bearing -quartz and had started to sink on the vein much as Gary had done. -The calamity of a cave-in—or perhaps a slide—had overtaken him while -he was at work underground. He had never known what hit him, which -was a mercy. And since no one in the country had heard of the -prospect up on the bluff, the discovery of his body would never have -been made if Gary had not followed the cat up there and so stumbled -upon the vein.</p> - -<p>He thought he also understood now why Faith had shown her strange -penchant for that particular spot on the bluff. Monty had told him -that the cat had belonged to Steve Carson. She had undoubtedly been -in the habit of following Steve Carson to work, just as she followed -Gary. Very likely she had been somewhere near at the time when her -master was killed. That she should continue the habit of going each -day to the spot where she had last seen him was not unlikely. So -another small mystery was cleared to Gary’s satisfaction. Save for -its grim history, Johnnywater Cañon was likely to drop at last to -the dead level of commonplace respectability.</p> - -<p>If Steve Carson had worked in an open shaft that had been filled by -a slide, the opening had been effectually blocked afterward. For on -the surface Gary could see no evidence whatever, among the piled -bowlders, of an opening beneath. And the roof, when he lifted his -candle to examine it, looked to be a smooth expanse of rock.</p> - -<p>For himself, he pronounced his own incline shaft safe from any -similar catastrophe. He had started it at the extreme edge of the -slide, and above it the rocks seemed firmly in place. He was working -under dangerous conditions, it is true; but the danger lay in using -five-year-old dynamite. Still, he must chance it or let the -development of Patricia’s claim stand still.</p> - -<p>Pondering the necessary steps to protect Patricia in case anything -happened to him, Gary wrote a copy of his location notice, declared -the necessary location work done, described the exact spot as -closely as possible—lining it up with blazed trees in the grove -behind the cabin, and placed the papers in his suit case. That, he -knew, would effectually forestall any claim-jumping; unless James -Blaine Hawkins or some other crook appeared first on the scene and -ransacked his belongings, destroying the papers and placing their -own location notices on the claim. He felt that the danger of such -villainy was slight and not worth considering seriously. Monty would -probably ride over as soon as he had finished his work in Pahranagat -Valley; and when he did, Gary meant to tell him all about it and -take him up and show him the claim.</p> - -<p>Monty would keep the secret for him, he was sure. He did not want -Patricia to know anything about it until he was sure that the vein -was not going to peter out before it yielded at least a modest -fortune.</p> - -<p>One night soon after he had made these elaborate arrangements, Gary -woke sweating from a nightmare. He was so sure that James Blaine -Hawkins was rummaging through his suit case, looking for the -information of the mine, that he swung out of bed, kicking viciously -with both feet. When they failed to land upon the man he believed -was there, Gary drew back and kicked again at a different angle.</p> - -<p>Not a sound save Gary’s breathing disturbed the midnight quiet of -the cabin. Gary waited, wondering foolishly if he had been dreaming -after all. He leaned and reached for his trousers, found a match and -lighted it. The tiny blaze flared up and showed him an empty cabin. -It was a dream, then—but a disagreeably vivid one, that impressed -upon Gary’s mind the thought that James Blaine Hawkins, returning -while he was at work up the bluff, would be very likely to go -prowling. If he found and read Gary’s explicit description of the -mine and the way to find it, together with his opinion of its -richness, James Blaine Hawkins might be tempted to slip up there and -roll a rock down on Gary.</p> - -<p>Wherefore, Gary dragged his suit case from under the bed, found the -papers, lighted another match and burned them. When that was done to -his satisfaction, he lay down again and went to sleep. Books might -be written—and possibly have been—about hunches, their origin and -value, if any. Gary’s nightmare and the strong impulse afterward to -guard against danger, took a wrong turning somewhere. He provided -against a danger which did not exist in reality and felt an instant -relief. And soon after sunrise he shouldered a full canteen, stuffed -a five-pound lard bucket as full of lunch as he could cram it, got a -handful of fresh candles and went blithely up the bluff to meet the -greatest danger that had ever threatened him in his life.</p> - -<p>He had driven the crosscut in a good twelve feet by now, and he was -proud of his work. The vein seemed to be widening a bit, and the -values still held. Already he had an ore dump which he estimated -should bring Patricia almost as much money as she had paid for -Johnnywater. He hoped there was more than that in the dump, but he -was clinging to the side of conservatism. If the claim yielded no -more than that, he could still feel that he had done Patricia a real -service. To-day he carried his gold dust knotted in a handkerchief -in his pocket, lest his nightmare should come true and James Blaine -Hawkins should return to rob him. He even carried the mortar and -pestle to the shed and threw them down in a corner with the gold pan -tucked under some steel traps, so that no one could possibly suspect -that they had been used lately.</p> - -<p>He was thinking of James Blaine Hawkins while he drilled the four -holes in the face of the crosscut. He stopped to listen and looked -down the cañon and out as far as he could see into the desert when -he went up into the hot sunlight to get the powder, fuse and caps -from the cave to load the holes. As he sat in the shade crimping the -caps on the four lengths of fuse, a vague uneasiness grew upon him.</p> - -<p>“I got a hunch he’ll turn up to-day—and maybe bring some strong-arm -guy with him,” Gary said to himself. “Just so he doesn’t happen -along in time to hear the shots up here, I don’t know what harm he -could do. He never could find this place, even if he got some hint -there was a mine somewhere. Anyway, I could hear him drive up the -cañon, all right.”</p> - -<p>Still he was charging his mental disturbance to James Blaine -Hawkins—which proves how inaccurate a “hunch” may be. He carried his -four loads to the incline shaft and let himself carefully down, the -explosive cuddled in one arm while he steadied himself with the -other. At the bottom he noticed his second canteen lying in the full -glare of the sun and moved it inside the crosscut with the other -canteen and his lunch. It was an absent-minded act, since he would -presently move everything outside clear of flung rocks from the -blasting.</p> - -<p>Still fighting the vague depression that seemed the aftermath of his -nightmare, Gary loaded the holes with more care than usual, -remembering that he was playing with death whenever he handled that -old powder. He flung shovel and pick toward the opening, split the -fuse ends with his knife and turned to hurry out of the shaft.</p> - -<p>He faced the opening just in time to see it close as a great bowlder -dropped into the shaft, followed by the clatter of smaller rocks.</p> - -<p>Instinctively Gary recoiled and got the smell of the burning fuse in -his nostrils. Without conscious thought of what he must do, he -whipped out his knife, tore open a blade and cut the fuses, one by -one, close to the rock. He stamped upon them—though they were -harmless, writhing there on the floor of the crosscut until the -powder was exhausted.</p> - -<p>Not until the last fuse stopped burning did Gary approach the -blocked opening to see how badly he was trapped. A little rift of -sunlight showed at the upper right-hand corner. The rest was black, -solid rock. Gary felt the rock all over with his hands, then stooped -and lifted his lunch and the two canteens and set them farther back -in the crosscut, as if he feared they might yet be destroyed.</p> - -<p>He moved the candle here and there above the floor, looking -desperately for his pick and shovel. But the heave he had given them -had sent them out into the shaft directly in the path of the falling -bowlder. He searched the crosscut for other tools, and found his -single-jack leaning against the wall where he had dropped it; beside -it were two of the shorter drills, the bits nicked and dull.</p> - -<p>He returned to the closed mouth of the crosscut and attempted to pry -away the bowlder, using the longer of the two drills thrust into the -opening as a lever. He could as easily have tilted the rim rock -itself. Sunlight streamed in through a crack possibly eighteen -inches long and the width of his hand, but except for the -ventilation it gave, the opening merely served to emphasize the -hopelessness of his prison.</p> - -<p>He looked at his watch mechanically, and saw that it was just -fifteen minutes past twelve. He had timed his work, like all good -miners, so that he could “shoot” at noon and let the smoke clear -away from the workings while he rested and ate his lunch. He did not -feel like eating now. He did not feel like much of anything. His -brain refused to react immediately to the full horror of his -position.</p> - -<p>That he, Gary Marshall, should actually be entombed alive in -Patricia’s gold mine—“The Pat Connolly” mine—was a thing too -incredible for his mind to grasp. He simply could not take the thing -seriously.</p> - -<p>The unreasoning belief that Mills would presently shout, “Cut!” and -Gary would walk out into the sunlight, persisted for a time. The -dramatic element loomed high above the grim reality of it. The thing -was too ghastly to be true. To believe in the horrible truth of it -would drive a man crazy, he told himself impatiently.</p> - -<p>He put his face to the widest part of the opening between the -bowlder and the wall, and shouted again and again frenziedly.</p> - -<p>“<i>Monty! Oh-h, Monty!</i>” he called.</p> - -<p>The pity of it was that Monty Girard was at that moment jogging into -the mouth of Johnnywater Cañon, swinging his feet boyishly in the -stirrups and humming a little song as he rode, his thoughts with -Gary, wondering how he was “making it” these days.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXVI' title='“Gary Marshall Mysteriously Missing”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“GARY MARSHALL MYSTERIOUSLY MISSING”</span> -</h2> - -<p>By riding as late as he dared that night, and letting the horses -rest until daylight the next morning, and then pushing them forward -at top desert speed—which was a steady trail trot—Monty reached the -first ranch house a little after noon the next day. In all that time -he had not seen a human being, though he had hoped to be overtaken -or to meet some car on the road.</p> - -<p>Nerve-racking delay met him at the ranch. The woman and two small -children were there, but the man (Ben Thompson was his name) had -left that morning for Las Vegas in the car. Monty was too late by -about four hours.</p> - -<p>He ate dinner there, fed his horses hay and grain, watered them the -last minute and started out again, still hoping that some car would -be traveling that way. But luck was against him and he was forced to -camp that night thirty miles out from Las Vegas.</p> - -<p>Long before daylight he was up and on his way again, to take -advantage of the few hours before the intense heat of the day began. -Jazz was going lame, traveling barefooted at the forced pace Monty -required of him. It was nearly five o’clock when he limped into town -with the dusty pack roped upon his sweat-encrusted back.</p> - -<p>Monty went directly to the depot and climbed the steep stairs to the -telegraph office, his spur rowels burring along the boards. He -leaned heavily upon the shelf outside the grated window while he -wrote two messages with a hand that shook from exhaustion.</p> - -<p>The first was addressed to the sheriff of Nye County, notifying him -that a man had disappeared in Johnnywater Cañon and that it looked -like murder. The other read as follows:</p> - -<div style='margin:0.7em 5%'> -<div>“P. Connolly,<br /> -Cons. Grain & Milling Co.,<br /> -Los Angeles, Calif.</div> - -<p style='margin-top:0.5em;'>“Gary Marshall mysteriously missing from -Johnnywater evidence points to foul play suspect -Hawkins wire instructions.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right'>“M. Girard.”</div> -</div> -<p>Monty regretted the probable shock that message would give to -Patricia, but he reasoned desperately that she would have to know -the worst anyway, and that a telegram never permits much softening -of a blow. She might know something about Hawkins that would be -helpful. At any rate, he knew of no one so intimately concerned as -Patricia.</p> - -<p>He waited for his change, asked the operator to rush both messages -straight through, and clumped heavily down the stairs. He remounted -and made straight for the nearest stable and turned the horses over -to the proprietor himself, who he knew would give them the best care -possible. After that he went to a hotel, got a room with bath, took -a cold plunge and crawled between the hot sheets with the window as -wide open as it would go, and dropped immediately into the heavy -slumber of complete mental and physical exhaustion.</p> - -<p>While Monty was refreshing himself with the cold bath, Gary, -squatted on his heels against the wall of his dungeon, was fingering -half of a hoarded biscuit and trying to decide whether he had better -eat it now and turn a bold face toward starvation, or put it back in -the lard bucket and let the thought of it torture him for a few more -hours.</p> - -<p>The telegram to the sheriff at Tonopah arrived while the sheriff was -hunting down a murderer elsewhere. His deputy read the wire and -speared it face down upon a bill-hook already half filled with a -conglomerate mass of other communications. The deputy was not -inclined to attach much significance to the message. He frequently -remarked that if the sheriff’s office got all fussed up over every -yarn that came in, the county would be broke inside a month paying -mileage and salary to a dozen deputies. Monty had not said that a -man had been murdered. He merely suspected something of the sort. -The deputy slid down deeper into the armchair he liked best, cocked -his feet higher on the desk and filled his pipe. Johnnywater Cañon -and the possible fate of the man who had disappeared from there -entered not at all into his somnolent meditations.</p> - -<p>The telegram to Patricia reached the main office in Los Angeles -after five o’clock. The clerk who telephones the messages called up -the office of the Consolidated Grain & Milling Company and got no -reply after repeated ringing. Patricia’s telegram was therefore held -until office hours the next morning. A messenger boy delivered it -last, on his first trip out that way with half-a-dozen messages. The -new stenographer was not at first inclined to take it, thinking -there must be some mistake. The new manager was in conference with -an important customer and she was afraid to disturb him with a -matter so unimportant. And since she had quarreled furiously with -the bookkeeper just the day before, she would not have spoken to him -for anything on earth. So Patricia’s telegram lay on the desk until -nearly noon.</p> - -<p>At last the manager happened to stroll into the outer office and -picked up the yellow envelope which had not been opened. Being half -in love with Patricia—in spite of a wife—he knew at once who “P. -Connolly” was. He was a conscientious man though his affections did -now and then stray from his own hearthside. He immediately called a -messenger and sent the telegram back to the main office with -forwarding instructions.</p> - -<p>At that time, Gary was standing before the sunny slit at the end of -the crosscut, pounding doggedly with the single-jack at the corner -of the rock wall. He had given up attempting to use the dulled drill -as a gadget. He could no longer strike with sufficient force to make -the steel bite into the rock, nor could he land the blow accurately -on the head of the drill.</p> - -<p>The day before he had managed to crack off a piece of rock twice the -width of his hand; and though it had broken too far inside the -crosscut to accomplish much in the way of enlarging the opening, -Gary was nevertheless vastly encouraged. He could now thrust out his -hand to the elbow. He could feel the sun shine hot upon it at -midday. He could feel the warm wind in his face when he held it -pressed close against the open space. He could even smooth Faith’s -sleek head when she scrambled upon the bowlder and peered in at him -round-eyed and anxious. The world that day had seemed very close.</p> - -<p>But to-day, while the telegram to Patricia was loitering in Los -Angeles, the sky over Johnnywater was filled thick with clouds. -Daylight came gray into the deep gloom of the crosscut. And Gary -could not swing a steady blow, but pounded doggedly at the rock with -quick, short-arm strokes like a woodpecker hammering at the bole of -a dead tree.</p> - -<p>He was obliged to stop often and rest, leaning against the wall with -his hunger-sharpened profile like a cameo where the light shone in -upon him. He would stand there and pant for a while and then lift -the four-pound hammer—grown terribly heavy, lately—and go on -pounding unavailingly at the rock.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXVII' title='“Nobody Knows But a Pinto Cat”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“NOBODY KNOWS BUT A PINTO CAT”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Patricia liked Kansas City even less than she had anticipated. She -dragged herself through the heat to the office each morning, worried -somehow through her work and returned to her room too utterly -depressed and weary to seek what enjoyment lay close at hand. A -little park was just across the street, but Patricia could not even -summon sufficient interest to enter it. Every cloud that rose over -the horizon was to her imagination a potential cyclone, which she -rather hoped would sweep her away. She thought she would like to be -swept into a new world; and if she could leave her memory behind her -she thought that life might be almost bearable.</p> - -<p>No mail had been forwarded to her from Los Angeles, and the utter -silence served to deepen her general pessimism. And then, an hour -before closing time on the hottest day she had ever experienced in -her life, here came the telegram for P. Connolly.</p> - -<p>“Gary Marshall mysteriously missing from Johnnywater——” Patricia -blinked and read again incredulously. The remainder of the message, -“evidence points to foul play suspect Hawkins wire instructions” -sounded to her suspiciously like one of Gary’s jokes. She was -obliged to read the signature, “M. Girard,” over several times, and -to make sure that it was sent from Las Vegas, Nevada, before she -could even begin to accept the message as authentic.</p> - -<p>How in the world could Gary be mysteriously missing from Johnnywater -when he had flatly refused to go there? How could Hawkins be -suspected? P. Connolly went suddenly into a white, wilted heap in -her chair.</p> - -<p>When she opened her eyes the assistant bookkeeper was standing over -her with a glass of water, and her boss was hurrying in from his -office. Some one had evidently called him. Her boss was not the kind -of man who wastes time on nonessentials. He did not ask Patricia if -she were ill or what was the matter. He picked up the open telegram -and read it with one long, comprehensive glance. Then he placed his -hand under Patricia’s arm, told her that she was all right, that the -heat did those things in Kansas City, and added the information that -there was a breeze blowing in the corner window of his office. -Patricia suffered him to lead her away from the gaping office force.</p> - -<p>“Sit right there until you feel better,” her boss commanded, pushing -her rather gently into a chair in the coolest corner of the room.</p> - -<p>“I feel better now,” Patricia told him gamely. “I received a -telegram that knocked me over for a minute. I didn’t know what it -meant. If you don’t mind, Mr. Wilson, I should like to go and attend -to the matter.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilson handed her the telegram with a dry smile. “It sounds -rather ominous, I admit,” he observed, omitting an apology for -having read it. “Naturally I cannot advise you, since I do not -understand what it is all about. But if you wish to wire any -instructions, just write your message here while I call the -messenger. There was a delay, remember. The message was forwarded -from Los Angeles.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia answered in her prim office tone. -“I should like to reply at once, if you don’t mind. And, Mr. Wilson, -if you will be so good as to O. K. a check for me, I shall take the -next train to Las Vegas, Nevada.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll ’phone for a ticket and reservations,” her boss announced -without hesitation. “You will want to be sure of having enough money -to see you through, of course. I can arrange an advance on your -salary, if you wish.”</p> - -<p>Patricia told him, in not quite so prim a tone, that it would not be -necessary. She wrote her message asking Monty Girard to wait until -she arrived, as she was taking the next train. The messenger, warned -by a certain look in the eye of the boss, ducked his head and -departed almost running. Patricia wrote her check and the boss sent -it to the cashier by the office boy; and telephoned the ticket -office. Patricia read the telegram again very slowly.</p> - -<p>“Johnnywater is the name of a cattle ranch which I happen to own in -Nevada, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia said in the steadiest voice she could -command. “Hawkins is a man I sent over to take charge of the ranch -and run it on shares. You’ll see why I must go and look into this -matter.” You will observe that Patricia, having come up gasping for -breath, was still saying, “Scissors!” with secret relish.</p> - -<p>Even in her confused state of apprehension, there was a certain -gratification to Patricia in seeing that the boss was impressed by -the fact that she owned a cattle ranch in Nevada. She was also glad -that it had not been necessary to explain the identity of Gary -Marshall. But immediately it became necessary.</p> - -<p>“This Gary Marshall who disappeared; do you know him?”</p> - -<p>“I’m engaged to marry him,” Patricia replied in as neutral a tone as -she could manage. “I didn’t know he was at Johnnywater,” she added -truthfully. “That’s why I thought it was a joke when I first read -it. I still don’t understand how he could be there at all. He was -playing the lead in a picture when I left Los Angeles.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean Gary Marshall, the Western star?” The boss’s tone -was distinctly exclamatory. Patricia saw that her engagement to Gary -Marshall impressed the boss much more deeply than did her ownership -of Johnnywater ranch. “That young man is going right to the top in -pictures. He acts with his brains and forgets his good looks. Most -of ’em do it the other way round. Why, I’d rather go and see Gary -Marshall in a picture than any star I know! And you’re engaged to -him! Well, well! I didn’t know, Miss Connolly, that I was so closely -related to my favorite movie star. May I see that telegram again? -Lord, I’d hate to think anything’d happened to that boy—but don’t -you worry! If I’m not mistaken, he’s a lad that can take care of -himself where most men would go under. By all means, go and see -what’s wrong. And I wish, Miss Connolly, you’d wire me as soon as -you find that everything is all right. You <i>will</i> find it all -right—I’m absolutely positive on that point.”</p> - -<p>Patricia cherished a deep respect for her boss. She felt suddenly -convicted of a great wrong. She had never dreamed that a man with -the keen, analytical mind of John S. Wilson could actually respect a -fellow who worked in the movies. She left the office humbled and -anxious to make amends.</p> - -<p>That evening the boss himself took her to the train and saw that she -was comfortable, and spoke encouragingly of Gary’s ability to take -care of himself, no matter what danger threatened. His -encouragement, however, only served to alarm Patricia the more. She -was a shrewd young woman, and she read deep concern in the mind of -her boss, from the very fact that he had taken the pains to reassure -her.</p> - -<p>That night Gary dreamed that Steve Carson stood suddenly before him -and spoke to him. He dreamed that Steve Carson told him he would not -starve to death in there, for his sweetheart was coming with men who -would dig him out.</p> - -<p>Gary woke with the dream so vivid in his mind that he could scarcely -reason himself out of the belief that Steve Carson had actually -talked with him. Gary lay thinking of Sir Ernest Shackleton, of -whose voyages to the Antarctic he had read again and again. He -recalled how close Shackleton and his companions had shaved -starvation, not from necessity, but from choice, in the interests of -science. He tried to guess what Shackleton would do, were he in -Gary’s predicament, with four candles and the stub of a fifth in his -possession, and approximately two gallons of water.</p> - -<p>“I bet he’d go strong for several days yet,” Gary whispered. “He’d -cut the candles into little bits and eat one piece and call it a -meal. And he’d figure out just how many wallops he could give that -damned rock on the strength of his gorgeous feed of one inch of -candle. And then, when he’d dined on the last wick and hit the rock -a last wallop, he’d grin and say it had been a great game.” He -turned painfully over upon the other side and laid his face upon his -bent arm.</p> - -<p>“Shackleton never was shut up in a hole a hundred miles from -nowhere,” he murmured, “with nobody knowing a word about it but a -pinto cat that’s crazy over spiritualism. If Shackleton was here, I -bet he’d say, ‘Eat the candles, boy, and take your indigestion all -at one time and finish the game.’ No use dragging out the suspense -till the audience gets the gapes. First time I ever starred in a -story that had an unhappy ending. I didn’t think the Big Director -would do it!”</p> - -<p>He lay for a time dozing and trying to forget the terrible gnawing -in his stomach. Then his thoughts wandered on and he mumbled,</p> - -<p>“I’m not kicking—if this is the way it’s supposed to be. But I did -want Pat to have her gold mine. And now the location work is all -covered up—so maybe it won’t count. And some other gink will maybe -come along and jump the claim, and my Pat won’t get her gold mine. I -guess it’s all right. But I didn’t think the Big Director would do -this!”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXVIII' title='Monty Meets Patricia'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>MONTY MEETS PATRICIA</span> -</h2> - -<p>Monty had made up his mind to go on to Los Angeles and see for -himself why Patricia would not answer his telegram, when he received -the word that she was coming from Kansas City. He swore a good deal -over the delay that would hold him inactive in town. To fill in the -time he wrote a long letter to the sheriff in Tonopah, stating all -the facts in the case so far as he knew them. He hoped that the -sheriff was already on his way to Johnnywater, though Monty could -not have told just what he expected the sheriff to accomplish when -he arrived there.</p> - -<p>He tried to trace James Blaine Hawkins, but only succeeded in -learning from a garage man that Hawkins had come in off the desert -at least three weeks before, cursed the roads and the country in -general and had left for Los Angeles. Or at least that was the -destination he had named.</p> - -<p>Even Monty could find no evidence in that of Hawkins’ guilt. His -restless pacing up and down the three short blocks that comprised -the main business street of the town got on the nerves of the men -who knew him. His concern over Gary Marshall gradually infected the -minds of others; so that news of a murder committed in Johnnywater -Cañon was wired to the city papers, and the Chief of Police in Los -Angeles was advised also by wire to trace James Blaine Hawkins if -possible.</p> - -<p>Old cuts of Gary Marshall were hastily dug up in newspaper offices -and his picture run on the first page. A reporter who knew him well -wrote a particularly dramatic special article, which was copied more -or less badly by many of the papers. Cohen got to hear of it, and -his publicity agents played up the story magnificently, not because -Cohen wished to immortalize one of his younger leading men who was -out of the game, but because it made splendid indirect advertising -for Cohen.</p> - -<p>Monty, of course, never dreamed that he had done all this. He was -sincerely grieving over Gary, whose grave he thought he had -discovered by the bushy juniper. The mere fact that James Blaine -Hawkins had appeared in Las Vegas approximately three weeks before -did not convince him that Gary had not been murdered. He believed -that Hawkins had lain in wait for Gary and had killed him on his -return from Kawich. The grave might easily be that old.</p> - -<p>Of course there was a weak point in that argument. In fact, Monty’s -state of mind was such that he failed to see the fatally weak point -until the day of Patricia’s arrival. When he did see it he abandoned -the theory in disgust, threw out his hands expressively, and -declared that he didn’t give a damn just how the crime had been -committed, or when. Without a doubt his friend, Gary Marshall, had -been killed, and Monty swore he would never rest until the murderer -had paid the price. The weak point, which was the well-fed comfort -of the pigs and Jazz, he did not attempt to explain away. Perhaps -James Blaine Hawkins had not gone to Los Angeles at all. Perhaps he -was still out there at Johnnywater, and Monty had failed to discover -him.</p> - -<p>He was in that frame of mind when he met the six o’clock train that -brought Patricia. Naturally, he had no means of identifying her. But -he followed a tired-looking girl with a small black handbag to one -of the hotels and inspected the register just as she turned away -from the desk. Then he took off his hat, extended his hand and told -her who he was.</p> - -<p>Patricia was all for starting for Johnnywater that night. Monty gave -her one long look and told her bluntly that it simply couldn’t be -done; that no one could travel the road at night. His eyes were very -blue and convincing, and his southern drawl branded the lie as -truth. Wherefore, Patricia rested that night in a bed that remained -stationary, and by morning Monty was better satisfied with her -appearance and believed that she would stand the trip all right.</p> - -<p>“I reckon maybe yuh-all better find some woman to go on out, Miss -Connolly,” Monty suggested while they breakfasted.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see why that should be necessary, Mr. Girard,” Patricia -replied in her primmest office tone. “I am perfectly able to take -care of myself, I should think.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be the only woman in the country for about sixty-five or -seventy miles,” Monty warned her diffidently. “Uh course there -couldn’t anything happen to yuh-all—but I expect the sheriff and -maybe one or two more will be down from Tonopah when we get there, -and I thought maybe yuh-all might like to have some other woman -along for company.”</p> - -<p>He dipped three spoons of sugar into his coffee and looked at -Patricia with a sympathetic look in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I was thinkin’ last night, Miss Connolly, that I dunno as there’s -much use of your going out there at all. Yuh-all couldn’t do a -thing, and it’s liable to be mighty unpleasant. When I sent that -wire to yuh-all, I never thought a word about yuh-all comin’ to -Johnnywater. What I wanted was to get a line on this man, Hawkins. I -thought maybe yuh-all could tell me something about him.”</p> - -<p>Patricia glanced unseeingly around the insufferably hot little café. -She was not conscious of the room at all. She was thinking of Gary -and trying to force herself to a calmness that could speak of him -without betraying her feelings.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about Mr. Hawkins, other than that I arranged -with him to run the ranch on shares,” she said, and the effort she -was making made her voice sound very cold and impersonal. “I -certainly did not know that Mr. Marshall was at Johnnywater, or I -should not have sent Mr. Hawkins over. I had asked Mr. Marshall -first to take charge of the ranch, and Mr. Marshall had refused, on -the ground that he did not wish to give up his work in motion -pictures. Are you sure that he came over here and was at Johnnywater -when Mr. Hawkins arrived?” Patricia did not know it, but her voice -sounded as coldly accusing as if she were a prosecuting attorney -trying to make a prisoner give damaging testimony against himself. -Her manner bred a slight resentment in Monty, so that he forgot his -diffidence.</p> - -<p>“I hauled Gary Marshall out to Johnnywater myself, over six weeks -ago,” he told her bluntly. “He hunted me up and acted like he wanted -to scrap with me because he thought I’d helped to cheat yuh-all. He -was going to sell the place for yuh-all if he could—and I sure -approved of the idea. It ain’t any place for a lady to own. A man -could go there and live like a hermit and make a bare living, but -yuh-all couldn’t divide the profits and break even. I dunno as -there’d <i>be</i> any profits to divide, after a feller’d paid for his -grub and clothes.</p> - -<p>“Gary saw it right away, and I was to bring him back to town in a -couple of days; but I had an accident to my car so I couldn’t come -in. I reckon Gary meant to write anyway and tell yuh-all where he -was. But he never had a chance to send out a letter.”</p> - -<p>Patricia dipped a spoon into her cereal and left it there. “Even so, -I don’t believe Gary disappeared very mysteriously,” she said, her -chin squaring itself. “He probably got tired of staying there and -went back to Los Angeles by way of Tonopah. However, I shall drive -out and see the ranch, now that I’m here. I’m very sorry you have -been put to so much trouble, Mr. Girard. I really think Mr. Marshall -should have left some word for you before he left. But then,” she -added with some bitterness, “he didn’t seem to think it necessary to -let <i>me</i> know he was coming over here. And we have telephones in Los -Angeles, Mr. Girard.”</p> - -<p>Monty’s eyes were very blue and steady when he looked at her across -the table. He set down his cup and leaned forward a little.</p> - -<p>“If yuh spoke to Gary in that tone of voice, Miss Connolly,” he -drawled, “I reckon he wouldn’t feel much like usin’ the telephone -before he left town. Gary’s as nice a boy as I ever met in my life.”</p> - -<p>Patricia bit her under lip, and a tinge of red crept up over her -cheek bones to the dark circles beneath her eyes, that told a tale -of sleepless nights which Patricia herself would have denied.</p> - -<p>The remainder of the breakfast was a silent meal, with only such -speech as was necessary and pertained to the trip before them. Monty -advised the taking out of certain supplies and assisted Patricia in -making up a list of common comforts which could be carried in a -touring car.</p> - -<p>He left her at the hotel while he attended to the details of getting -under way, and when he returned it was with a Ford and driver, and -many parcels stacked in the tonneau. Patricia’s suit case was wedged -between the front fender and the tucked-up hood of the motor, and a -bundle of new bedding was jammed down upon the other side in like -manner. Patricia herself was wedged into the rear seat beside the -parcels and packages of food. Her black traveling bag Monty -deposited between his feet in front with the driver.</p> - -<p>At the last moment, while the driver was cranking the motor, Monty -reached backward with a small package in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Put on these sun goggles,” he said. “Your eyes will be a fright if -you ride all day against this wind without any protection.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much, Mr. Girard,” said Patricia with a surprising -meekness—for her. What is more, she put on the hideous amber -glasses; though she hated the jaundiced look they gave to the world.</p> - -<p>Patricia had a good deal to think about during that interminable, -jolting ride. She was given ample opportunity for the thinking, -since Monty Girard never spoke to her except to inquire now and then -if she were comfortable.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXIX' title='Gary Robs the Pinto Cat of Her Dinner'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>GARY ROBS THE PINTO CAT OF HER DINNER</span> -</h2> - -<p>That same morning Gary finished his third candle and tried his best -to make one swallow of water, held long in his parched mouth, -suffice for two hours.</p> - -<p>He could no longer lift the single-jack to the height of his -shoulder, much less strike a blow upon the rock. He leaned against -the bowlder and struck a few feeble blows with the head of the -longer of the two drills; but the steel bounced back futilely, and -the exertion tired him so that he was forced to desist after a few -minutes of heart-breaking effort.</p> - -<p>He sat down with his back against the wall where the sunlight could -find him and give a little cheer to his prison, and fingered his -fourth candle longingly. He licked his cracked lips and lifted the -canteen, his emaciated fingers fumbling the screw-top thirstily. He -tried to reason sensibly with himself that only a cowardly -reluctance to meet death—which was the inevitable goal of life—held -him fighting there in that narrow dungeon, scheming to add a few -more tortured hours to his life.</p> - -<p>He told himself angrily that he was merely holding up the action of -the story, and that the scene should be cut right there. In other -words, there was absolutely no hope of his ever getting out of -there, alive or dead. Steve Carson, he mumbled, had been lucky. He -had at least taken his exit quickly.</p> - -<p>“But I ain’t licked yet,” he croaked, with a cracked laugh. “There’s -a lot of fight in me yet. Never had any use for a quitter. Steve -Carson wouldn’t have quit—only he got beaned with the first rock and -couldn’t fight. I’m not hurt—yet. Trained down pretty fine, is all. -When I’m a ghost, maybe I’ll come back and tell fat ladies with -Ouija boards in their laps how to reduce. Great scheme. I’ll do that -little thing. But I ain’t whipped yet—not until I’ve tried out my -jackknife on that damned rock. Have a drink, old son. And then get -to work! What the hell are you loafing for?”</p> - -<p>He lifted the lightened canteen, his arms shaking with weakness, and -took another drink of water. Then, carefully screwing on the top of -the canteen, he set it down gently against the wall and reached -wearily into his pocket. The blade of his knife had never been so -hard to open; but he accomplished it and pulled himself laboriously -to his feet. Steadying himself with one hand against the malapi -bowlder that shut him in, he went to the opening—widened now so that -he could thrust forth his arm to the shoulder—and began carefully -chipping at a seam in the rock with the largest blade of his -jackknife.</p> - -<p>He really did not expect to free himself by that means; nor by any -other. Since he began to weaken he had come to accept his fate with -such calmness as his pride in playing the game could muster. But he -could not sit idle and wait for death to creep upon him. Nor could -he hurry it, which he held to be a coward’s trick. He still believed -that the “Big Director” should be obeyed. It was too late now to ask -for another part in the picture. He had been cast for this rôle and -he would play it to the final scene.</p> - -<p>So he stood hacking and prying with his knife blade, stopping now -and then to stare out into the hot sunshine. He could even see a -wisp of cloud drift across the bit of blue sky revealed to him -through the narrow rock window of his prison. The sight made him -grit his teeth. He was so close to that free, sun-drenched world, -and he was yet so utterly helpless!</p> - -<p>He was standing so, resting from his unavailing task, when the -spotted cat hopped upon the bowlder where every day she sat to be -stroked by Gary’s hand. Gary’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips -avidly. Faith was carrying a wild dove that she had caught and -brought to the bowlder where she might feast in pleasant company.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, old girl,” he said grimly; and stretching out his arm, -snatched the bird greedily from Faith’s mouth. “Some service! Now -beat it and go catch a rabbit; a big one. Catch two rabbits!”</p> - -<p>He slid down to a sitting position and began plucking the limp body -of the dove, his fingers trembling with eagerness. The “third -hunger” was upon him—that torment of craving which men who have been -entombed in mines speak of with lowered voices—if they live to tell -about it. Gary longed to tear the bird with his teeth, just as it -was.</p> - -<p>But he would not yield an inch from his idea of the proper way to -play the game. He therefore plucked the dove almost clean of -feathers, and lighting his one precious remaining candle, he turned -the small, plump body over the candle flame, singeing it before he -held the flame to its breast.</p> - -<p>The instant that portion was seared and partially broiled, Gary set -his handsome white teeth into it and chewed the morsel slowly while -he broiled another bite. His impulse—rather, the agonized craving of -his whole famished body—was to tear the body asunder with his teeth -and devour it like an animal. But he steeled himself to -self-control; just as he had held himself sternly in hand down in -the cabin when loneliness and that weird, felt presence plucked at -his courage.</p> - -<p>He would have grudged the melting of even the half-inch of tallow it -required to broil the bird so that he could eat it and retain his -self-respect; but the succulent flesh was too delicious. He could -not think of anything but the ecstasy of eating.</p> - -<p>He crunched the bones in his teeth, pulping them slowly, extracting -the last particle of flavor and nourishment. When he had finished -there remained but the head and the feet—and he flung them through -the opening lest he should be tempted to devour them also. After -that he indulged himself in a sip of water, stretched himself full -length upon the rock floor, and descended blissfully into the -oblivion of deep slumber.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXX' title='“Somebody Hollered Up On the Bluff”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTY</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“SOMEBODY HOLLERED UP ON THE BLUFF”</span> -</h2> - -<p>The left front tire of the town Ford persisted in going flat with a -slow valve leak. The driver, a heedless young fellow, had neglected -to bring extra valves; so that the tire needed pumping every ten -miles or such a matter. Then the Ford began heating on the long, -uphill pull between the Pintwater Mountains and the Spotted Range, -and some time was lost during the heat of the day because of the -necessity for cooling the motor. Delays such as these eat away the -hours on a long trip; wherefore it was nearly dusk when Patricia got -her first glimpse of Johnnywater Cañon.</p> - -<p>Up in the crosscut, Gary heard the rumbling throb of the motor, and -shouted until he was exhausted. Which did not take long, even with -the nourishment of the broiled dove to refresh his failing strength.</p> - -<p>He consoled himself afterward with the thought that it was James -Blaine Hawkins come sneaking back, and that he would like nothing -better than to find Gary hopelessly caged in the crosscut. Gary was -rather glad that James Blaine Hawkins had failed to hear him shout. -At any rate, the secret of Patricia’s mine was safe from him, and -Gary would be spared the misery of being taunted by Hawkins. It was -a crazy notion, for it was not at all likely that even James Blaine -Hawkins would have let him die so grisly a death. But Gary was -harboring strange notions at times during the last forty-eight -hours. And the body of one wild dove was pitifully inadequate for -the needs of a starving man.</p> - -<p>Monty had not meant to be cruel. Now that he was on the spot, he -tried his best to soften the shock of what he knew Patricia must -discover. That morning he had purposely avoided speaking of his -reasons for fearing the worst. Then Patricia’s manner—assumed merely -to hide her real emotion—had chilled Monty to silence on the whole -subject. With the driver present they had not discussed the matter -at all during the trip, so that Patricia was still ignorant of what -Monty believed to be the real, tragic state of affairs.</p> - -<p>Monty looked up from lighting a fire in the stove and saw Patricia -go over to Gary’s coat and smooth it caressingly with her hand. Then -and there he forgave Patricia for her tone at breakfast. She took -Gary’s hat from the cupboard and held it in her hands, her eyes -questioning Monty.</p> - -<p>“Gary was saving that hat till he went to town again,” Monty -informed her in his gentle drawl. “He was wearing an old hat of -Waddell’s, and some old clothes Waddell left here when he pulled -out. You see now, Miss Connolly, one reason why I don’t believe Gary -went to Tonopah. His suit case is there, too, under the bunk. But -don’t yuh-all worry—we’ll find him.”</p> - -<p>He turned back to his fire-building, and Patricia sat down on the -edge of the bunk and stared wide-eyed around the cabin.</p> - -<p>So this was why she had failed to hear from Gary in all these weeks! -He had come over here to Johnnywater after all, because she wished -it. She had never dreamed the place would be so lonely. And Gary had -lived here all alone!</p> - -<p>“Is this all there is to the house—just this one room?” she asked -Monty abruptly, in her prim, colorless tone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am, this is the size of it,” Monty replied cheerfully. -“Folks don’t generally waste much time on buildin’ fancy houses, out -here. Most generally they’re mighty thankful if the walls keep out -the wind and the roof don’t leak. If it’s dry and warm, they don’t -care if it ain’t stylish.”</p> - -<p>“Is this the way Gary left it?” she asked next, glancing down at the -rough board floor that gave evidence of having been lately scrubbed.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am, except for the dust on things. Gary Marshall was a -right neat housekeeper, Miss Connolly.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Was?</i>” Patricia stood up and came toward him. “Do you think -he’s—what makes you say <i>was</i>?”</p> - -<p>Monty hedged. “Well, he ain’t been keepin’ house here for a week, -anyway. It’s a week ago yesterday I rode over here from my camp. -Things are just as they was then.”</p> - -<p>“You have something else on your mind, Mr. Girard. What was it that -made you wire about foul play? I’ll have to know anyway, and I wish -you’d tell me now, before that boy comes in from fussing with the -car.”</p> - -<p>Monty was filling the coffeepot. He set it on the hottest part of -the stove and turned toward her commiseratingly.</p> - -<p>“I reckon I had better tell yuh-all,” he said gently. “The thing -that scared me was that this man, Hawkins, come here and made his -brags about how he got the best of yuh-all in that agreement. Him -and Gary had some words over it, the way I got it, and they like to -have had a fight—only Hawkins didn’t have the nerve. He beat it out -of here and Gary rode over to my place that same day and was tellin’ -me about it.</p> - -<p>“I told him then to look out for Hawkins. He sounded to me like a -bad man to have trouble with; or dealin’s of any kind. That was -three weeks ago, Miss Connolly—four weeks now, it is. I was away for -three weeks, and when I got back I rode over here and found the -place deserted. Gary’s hawse was in the corral and the two pigs was -shut up in the pen, so it looked like he ought to be around -somewheres close. Only he wasn’t. I hunts the place over, from one -end to the other. But there wasn’t no sign of him, except——”</p> - -<p>“Except what? I want to know all that you know about it, Mr. -Girard.”</p> - -<p>Monty hesitated, and when he spoke his reluctance was perfectly -apparent to Patricia.</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s something else I didn’t like the looks of. Up the -creek here a piece, there’s a grave that wasn’t there the last time -I was over here. I’m pretty sure about that, because I recollect I -led my hawse down to the creek right about there, to water him. It’s -about straight down from the corral, and I’d have noticed it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe a word of it—that it has anything to do with Gary!” -cried Patricia vehemently, and she went over and pressed her face -against Gary’s coat.</p> - -<p>Monty took a step toward her but reconsidered and went on with his -preparations for supper. Instinctively he felt that he would do -Patricia the greatest possible service if he made her physically -comfortable and refrained from intruding upon the sacred ground of -her thoughts concerning Gary.</p> - -<p>The boy who had driven the car out came in, and Monty sent him to -the creek for a bucket of fresh water. The boy came back with the -water and a look of concern on his face.</p> - -<p>“I thought I heard somebody holler, up on the bluff,” he said to -Monty. “Do you think we’d better go see——?”</p> - -<p>Monty shook his head at him, checking the sentence. But Patricia had -turned quickly and caught him at it. She came forward anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Certainly we ought to go and see!” she said with characteristic -decision. “It’s probably Mr. Marshall. He may be hurt, up there.” -She started for the door, but Monty took one long step and laid a -detaining hand upon her arm.</p> - -<p>“That Voice has been hollerin’ off and on for five years,” he told -her gravely. “I’ve heard it myself more than once. Gary used to hear -it—often. Yuh can’t get an Injun past the mouth of the cañon on -account of it. It was that Voice hollerin’ that made Waddell sell -out and quit the country.”</p> - -<p>Patricia looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What <i>is</i> it?” she -demanded. “I don’t understand what you mean.”</p> - -<p>“Neither can anybody else understand it—that I ever heard of,” Monty -retorted dryly, and gently urged her toward the one homemade chair. -“Supper’s about ready, Miss Connolly. I guess you’re pretty hungry, -after that long ride.” Then he added in his convincing drawl—which -this time was absolutely sincere—“I love Gary Marshall like I would -my own brother, Miss Connolly. Yuh-all needn’t think I’d leave a -stone unturned to find him. But that Voice—it ain’t anything human. -It—it scares folks, but nobody has ever been able to locate it. You -can’t pay any attention to it. You set up here to the table and let -me pour yuh-all a cup of coffee. And here’s some bacon and some -fresh eggs I fried for yuh-all. And that bread was warm when I -bought it off the baker this morning.”</p> - -<p>Patricia’s lips quivered, but she did her best to steady them. And -because she appreciated Monty’s kindness and his chivalrous attempts -to serve her in the best way he knew, she ate as much of the supper -as she could possibly swallow, and discovered that she was hungry -enough to relish the fried eggs and bacon, though she was not in the -habit of eating either.</p> - -<p>The boy—Monty called him Joe—gave Patricia the creeps with his -wide-eyed uneasiness; staring from one to the other and suspending -mastication now and then while he listened frankly for the Voice. -Patricia tried not to notice him and was grateful to Monty for his -continuous stream of inconsequential talk on any subject that came -into his mind, except the one subject that filled the minds of both.</p> - -<p>The boy, Joe, helped Monty afterward with the dishes, Patricia -having been commanded to rest; a command impossible for her to obey, -though she sat quiet with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Too -tightly, Monty thought, whenever he looked her way.</p> - -<p>Monty was a painstaking young man, and he had learned from long -experience in the wilderness to provide for possible emergencies as -well as present needs. He wiped out the dishpan, hung it on its nail -and spread the dishcloth over it, and then took a small, round box -from his pocket. He opened it and took out a tablet with his thumb -and finger. He dropped the tablet into a jelly glass—the same which -Gary had used to hold his gold dust—and added a little water. He -stood watching it, shaking it gently until the tablet was dissolved.</p> - -<p>“We-all are going to spread our bed out in the grove, Miss -Connolly,” he drawled easily, approaching Patricia with the glass. -“I reckoned likely yuh-all would be mighty tired to-night, and maybe -kinda nervous and upset. So I asked the doctor what I could bring -along that would give yuh-all a night’s rest without doin’ any harm. -He sent this out and said it would quiet your nerves so yuh-all -could sleep. Don’t be afraid of it—I made sure it wasn’t anything -harmful.”</p> - -<p>Patricia looked at him for a minute, then put out her hand for the -glass and drank the contents to the last dregs.</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much, Mr. Girard,” she said simply. “I was wondering -how I’d get through this night.”</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXXI' title='“God Wouldn’t Let Anything Happen to Gary!”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“GOD WOULDN’T LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO GARY!”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Having slept well during the night—thanks to Monty’s forethought in -bringing a sedative—Patricia woke while the sun was just gilding the -top of the butte. The cañon and the grove were still in shadow, and -a mocking bird was singing in the top of the piñon beside the cabin. -Patricia dressed hurriedly, and tidied the blankets in the bunk. She -pulled open the door, gazing upon her possessions with none of that -pleasurable thrill she had always pictured as accompanying her first -fair sight of Johnnywater.</p> - -<p>She did not believe that harm had befallen Gary. Things <i>couldn’t</i> -happen to Gary Marshall. Not for one moment, she told herself -resolutely, had she believed it. Yet the mystery of his absence -nagged at her like a gadfly.</p> - -<p>Fifty feet or so away, partially hidden by a young juniper, Patricia -could discern the white tarp that covered the bed where Monty Girard -and Joe were still asleep. She stepped down off the doorsill and -made her way quietly to the creek, and knelt on a stone and laved -her face and hands in the cool water.</p> - -<p>Standing again and gazing up through the fringe of tree tops at the -towering, sun-washed butte, Patricia told herself that now she knew -what people meant when they spoke of air like wine. She could feel -the sparkle, the heady stimulation of this rare atmosphere untainted -by the grime, the noise, the million conflicting vibrations created -by the world of men. After her sleep she simply <i>could not</i> believe -that any misfortune could have befallen her Gary, whose ring she -wore on her third finger, whose kisses were the last that had -touched her lips, whose face, whose voice, whose thousand endearing -little ways she carried deep in her heart.</p> - -<p>“The God that made all this <i>wouldn’t</i> let anything happen to Gary!” -she whispered fiercely, and drew fresh courage from the utterance.</p> - -<p>The mottled cat appeared, coming from the bushes across the tiny -stream. It halted and looked at her surprisedly and gave an -inquiring meow. Patricia stooped and held out her hands, calling -softly. She liked cats.</p> - -<p>“Come, kitty, kitty—you pretty thing!”</p> - -<p>Faith regarded her measuringly, then hopped across the creek on two -stones and rubbed against Patricia’s knees, purring and mewing -amiably by turns. Patricia took the cat in her arms and stroked its -sleek fur caressingly, and Faith radiated friendliness.</p> - -<p>Patricia made her way through the grove, glimpsed the corral and -went toward it, her big eyes taking in everything which Gary may -have touched or handled. Standing by the corral, she looked out -toward the creek, seeking the bushy juniper of which Monty had -spoken. Carrying the cat still in her arms she started forward -through the tall weeds and bushes, burrs sticking to her skirt and -clinging to her silken stockings.</p> - -<p>Abruptly Faith gave a wriggle and a jump, landed on all four feet -two yards in advance of Patricia, and started off at an angle up the -creek, looking back frequently and giving a sharp, insistent meow. -Patricia hesitated, watching the cat curiously. She had heard often -enough of dogs who led people to a certain spot when some one the -dog loved was in trouble. She had never, so far as she could -remember, heard of a cat doing the same thing; but Patricia owned a -brain that refused to think in grooves fixed by the opinions of -others.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see any reason why cats can’t lead people the same as -dogs,” she told herself after a moment’s consideration, and -forthwith turned and followed Faith.</p> - -<p>Just at first she was inclined to believe that the cat was walking -at random; but later she decided that Monty Girard had been slightly -inaccurate in his statement regarding the exact location of the -juniper beside the creek. The mottled cat led her straight to the -grave and stopped there, sniffing at the dirt and patting it -daintily with her paws.</p> - -<p>Monty was frying bacon with a great sizzling and sputtering on a hot -stove when Patricia entered the cabin. Her cheeks showed more color -than had been seen in them for weeks. Her eyes were clear and met -Monty’s inquiring look with their old, characteristic directness.</p> - -<p>“Have a good sleep?” he asked with that excessive cheerfulness which -is seldom genuine. Monty himself had not slept until dawn was -breaking.</p> - -<p>“Fine, thank you,” Patricia answered more cordially than she had yet -spoken to Monty. “Mr. Girard, this may not be a pleasant subject -before breakfast, but it’s on my mind.” She paused, looking at Monty -inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Shoot,” Monty invited calmly. “My mind’s plumb full of unpleasant -things, and talking about them can’t make it any worse, Miss -Connolly.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I’ve been up to that grave. And it wasn’t made by any -murderer. I somehow know it wasn’t. A murderer would have been in a -hurry, and I should think he’d try to hide it—and he wouldn’t pick -the prettiest spot he could find. And I know perfectly well, Mr. -Girard, that if <i>I</i> had killed a man, I wouldn’t spat the dirt down -over his grave and make it as nice and even as that grave is up -there. And somebody picked some flowers and laid them at the head, -Mr. Girard. They had wilted—and I don’t suppose you noticed them.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” she finished, after an unconscious pause that seemed to -sum up her reasoning and lend weight to the argument, “the cat knows -all about it. She tried as hard as ever she could to tell me. I—this -may sound foolish, but I can’t help believing it—I think the cat was -there looking on, and I’m pretty sure it was some one the cat knew -and liked.”</p> - -<p>Monty poured coffee all over Patricia’s plate, his hand shook so. -“Gary kinda made a pal uh that cat,” he blurted, before he realized -what meaning Patricia must read into the sentence.</p> - -<p>“The cat was here when Gary arrived, I suppose,” Patricia retorted -sharply, squaring her chin. “I can’t imagine him bringing a cat with -him.”</p> - -<p>A look of relief flashed into Monty’s face. “That cat’s been here on -the place for about eight years, as close as I can figure. Steve -Carson got it from a woman in Vegas when it was a kitten, and packed -it out here in a nose bag hung on his burro’s pack. Him and the cat -wasn’t ever more than three feet apart. There’s been something queer -about that cat, ever since Steve came up missing.”</p> - -<p>Monty started for the door, having it in his mind to call the boy to -breakfast. But a look in Patricia’s eyes stopped him, and he turned -back and sat down opposite her at the table.</p> - -<p>“I’d let that boy sleep—all day if he wants to,” Patricia remarked. -“He’ll do enough talking about us and our affairs, as it is. I wish -you’d tell me about this Steve Carson. I never heard of him before.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Monty related the mysteriously gruesome story to Patricia, -who listened so absorbedly that she neglected a very good breakfast. -Afterward she announced that she would wash the dishes and keep -breakfast warm for Joe, who appeared to be afflicted with a mild -form of sleeping sickness, since Monty yelled at him three times at -a distance of no more than ten feet, and elicited no response save a -grunt and a hitch of the shoulders under the blankets. Monty left -him alone, after that, and started off on another exhaustive search -of the cañon, tactfully leaving Patricia to herself.</p> - -<p>Patricia was grateful for the temporary solitude. Never in her life -had she been so full of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Her -forced resentment against Gary had suffered a complete collapse; the -revulsion of feeling was overwhelming. It seemed to Patricia that -her very longing for him should bring him back.</p> - -<p>She pulled his suit case from under the bunk, touching lock and -clasps and the smooth leather caressingly with her fingers. Its -substantial elegance spoke intimately to her of Gary’s unfailing -good taste in choosing his personal belongings. The square-blocked -initials, “G. E. M.” (Gary Elbert Marshall, at which Patricia had -often laughed teasingly), brought a lump into her throat. But -Patricia boasted that she was not the weepy type of female. She -would not yield now to tears.</p> - -<p>She almost believed it was accident that raised the lid. For a -moment she hesitated, not liking to pry into the little intimacies -of Gary’s possessions. But she saw her picture looking up from under -a silk shirt still folded as it had come from the laundry, and the -sight of her own pictured eyes and smiling lips gave her a -reassuring sense of belonging there.</p> - -<p>It was inevitable that she should find the “Dear Pat:” letters; -unfolded, the pages stacked like a manuscript, and tucked flat on -the bottom under the clothing.</p> - -<p>Patricia caught her breath. Here, perhaps, was the key to the whole -mystery. She lifted out the pages with trembling eagerness and set -her lips upon the bold scribbling she knew so well. She closed the -suit case hastily, pushed it out of sight beneath the bunk and -hurried out of the cabin, clasping the letters passionately to her -breast. She wanted to be alone, to read them slowly, gloatingly, -where no human eye could look upon her face.</p> - -<p>She went down to the creek, crossed it and climbed a short distance -up the bluff, to where a huge bowlder shaded a smaller one beside -it. There, with the butte staring down inscrutably upon her, she -began to read.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXXII' title='“It’s the Voice! It Ain’t Human!”'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“IT’S THE VOICE! IT AIN’T HUMAN!”</span> -</h2> - -<p>Gary had been imprisoned in the crosscut eight days, counting the -time until noon. He had stretched his lunch to the third day; human -endurance could not compass a longer abstinence than that, so long -as the smallest crumb remained. He had drunk perhaps a quart of -water from the canteen he had carried up the bluff the day before -the catastrophe, and had left the canteen there, expecting to use it -for drilling. With a fresh canteen filled that morning at the creek, -he had something over three gallons to begin with. Wherefore the -tortures of thirst had not yet assailed him, though he had from the -first hour held himself rigidly to the smallest ration he thought he -could endure and keep his reason.</p> - -<p>Through all the dragging hours, fighting indomitably against despair -when hope seemed but a form of madness, he had never once yielded to -temptation and taken more during any one day than he had fixed as -the amount that must suffice.</p> - -<p>He had almost resigned himself to death. And then Faith, unwittingly -playing providence, had roused a fighting demon within him. The wild -dove had won back a little of his failing strength just when a -matter of hours would have pushed him over the edge into lassitude, -that lethargy which is nature’s anesthetic when the end approaches, -and the final coma which eases a soul across the border.</p> - -<p>While Patricia slept exhaustedly in the cabin below, Gary babbled of -many things in the crosscut. He awoke, believing he had dreamed that -an automobile drove into the cañon the evening before. Nevertheless -he decided that, since there was no hope of cutting away the granite -wall with his knife, or of lifting the bowlder, Atlas-like, on his -shoulders and heaving it out of the incline shaft, he might as well -use what strength and breath he had in shouting.</p> - -<p>“About one chance in ten thousand that anybody would hear me,” he -told himself. “But getting out alone is a darned sight longer shot. -Trick camera work—and the best to be had—it would take, to make me -even <i>look</i> like getting out. My best bet is a correct imitation of -the Johnnywater Voice. But I wouldn’t advise anybody to bet any -money on me.”</p> - -<p>He was shouting all the while Monty was explaining to Patricia how -the Voice had come to give Johnnywater Cañon so sinister a -reputation. But his voice came muffled to the outer surface of the -bowlder-strewn bluff, and diminished rapidly down the slope. Joe -might have heard it had he been awake, since his ears were -sufficiently keen to hear Gary when he shouted the night before. But -Joe was asleep with his head under the tarp. And Patricia and Monty -were talking inside the cabin. So Gary shouted until he could shout -no more, and gave up and rested awhile.</p> - -<p>After that he stood leaning heavily against the wall and scraped -doggedly at the seams in the granite with his knife-blade.</p> - -<p>“——and I love you, Pat. I wouldn’t have you different if I could. -Gary.”</p> - -<p>Patricia was obliged to wipe the tears away from her eyes before she -could read the last two lines of Gary’s last letter. As it was she -splotched the penciled words with a great drop or two, before she -hid her face in her arms folded upon a high shoulder of the rock on -which she sat, and cried until no more tears would come.</p> - -<p>After a while she heard Monty calling her name, but at first she did -not care. The contents of that last letter proved that it had been -written three weeks ago, evidently a day or so before Gary had -ridden over to Monty’s camp. She was afraid to think what might have -befallen since.</p> - -<p>It was the Voice of the rim rock that roused her finally. She stood -up and listened, sure that it was Gary. To-day the beseeching note -was in the Voice, and all Monty’s talk of its elusiveness went for -naught. It was Gary up there, she was sure of that. And she knew -that he was in trouble. So she rolled his letters to her for easier -carrying, cupped her palms around her mouth, shouted that she was -coming, and started up the bluff.</p> - -<p>At the cabin Monty heard her and came running down to the creek.</p> - -<p>“That ain’t Gary!” he shouted to her. “That’s the Voice I was -tellin’ about. Yuh-all better keep down off that bluff, Miss -Connolly!”</p> - -<p>Patricia poised on a rock and looked back.</p> - -<p>“Oh, come and help find him! That’s Gary—I <i>know</i> it’s Gary!” Then -she turned and went on climbing recklessly over the treacherous, -piled rocks.</p> - -<p>“Come on back!” Monty shouted again peremptorily. “It’s the Voice! -It ain’t human!”</p> - -<p>But Patricia would not listen, would not stop. She went on climbing, -bareheaded, her breath coming in gasps from the altitude and the -pace she was trying to keep.</p> - -<p>Monty looked after her, shouted again. And when he saw that nothing -would stop her, he turned back, running to the cabin. There he -searched frantically for a canteen, found none and filled an empty -beer bottle with water, sliding it into his pocket. Then, with -Patricia’s sailor hat in one hand, he started after her.</p> - -<p>When Patricia was forced to stop and get her breath, the spotted cat -appeared suddenly from somewhere among the rocks. She looked up into -Patricia’s face and meowed wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, cat, you led me once to-day—and Gary likes you. He called you -Faith. Oh, Faith, where’s Gary? He <i>is</i> up on the bluff, isn’t he? I -believe you know! Come on, Faith—help me find Gary!”</p> - -<p>“Meow-w?” Faith inquired in her own way and hopped upon the bowlder -a few feet above Patricia. Patricia, with a hysterical little laugh, -followed her.</p> - -<p>From farther down the bluff Monty shouted, climbing with long steps. -Patricia looked back, climbed another rock and stopped to call down -to him.</p> - -<p>“I’m following the cat!” she cried. “Faith is leading me to Gary!” -Then she went on.</p> - -<p>Fifty yards below her Monty swore to himself. Insanity was leading -her, in Monty’s opinion; he wished fervently that he had left her in -town. But since she was here, and crazily climbing the bluff at the -mocking behest of that phantom Voice, Monty would have to follow and -look after her.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXXIII' title='“He’s Nearly Starved,” Said Patricia'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>“HE’S NEARLY STARVED,” SAID PATRICIA</span> -</h2> - -<p>“Damn you, Faith, where’s my breakfast?” Gary stopped scraping the -granite and peered balefully out at the cat, that had just hopped -down mewing upon the bowlder in front of him. “I hate to crab—but I -saved nearly a whole candle just on the strength of my belief in -you. You might have brought me another bird, anyway. As it is, I’ve -a darned good mind to eat <i>you</i>! You’re nice and fat—I sure as heck -ought to know, the way I fed you and pampered you. Come here, darn -you—I could eat you raw!”</p> - -<p>He reached out a long arm, his hand spread like a claw and made a -grab at Faith. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, in a grin -that may or may not have been as malevolent as it looked.</p> - -<p>“<i>Gary!</i> Oh, <i>Gary!</i>” Patricia’s voice had a sobbing gasp in it, and -it sounded faint and far away.</p> - -<p>The hand and arm hung motionless in the crevice. Gary’s nostrils -quivered, his eyebrows drew together. Then he reached again for the -cat.</p> - -<p>“I’m hearing things again—and this time I can’t kid myself I’m -asleep and dreaming. Faith, it’s up to you. Either you go rustle me -some grub like you did yesterday—only, for heck’s sake, make it a -rabbit this time—or I’ll just have to eat you! A man’s got to live -as long as he can make one breath pull the next one after it. That’s -the game, Faith——”</p> - -<p>“<i>Gary!</i> Oh, <i>Gary</i>!” Patricia’s voice was closer now; at least it -sounded so.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Pat!” Gary called hoarsely, before caution warned him that -it must be his fancy and no human voice.</p> - -<p>“Gary! Where are you? Oh, <i>Gary!</i>” She was gasping for breath. Gary -could hear her plainly now.</p> - -<p>“Literally and figuratively, I’m in a hole!” he cried recklessly, -mocking the intensity of his desire that the voice should be real.</p> - -<p>“<i>What</i> hole?” Patricia’s voice panted. “I lost—the cat! Where are -you, Gary?”</p> - -<p>Gary found himself clutching the rock with both hands. His knife had -slid to the floor of the crosscut. His knees were weak, so weak that -they kept buckling under him, letting him down so that he must pull -himself up again to the opening with his hands. It was cruel, he -thought, to keep thinking he heard Patricia coming to him.</p> - -<p>“<i>Gary!</i>—Oh, Monty Girard! Gary <i>is</i> up here somewhere! I heard him! -He say’s he’s in a hole! Oh, hurry up, why can’t you?”</p> - -<p>Gary swallowed hard. That must be Pat, he thought dizzily. Bossing -Monty Girard around—it <i>must</i> be Pat!</p> - -<p>“This way, Pat! Be careful of the slide—I’m down underground—in a -hole. If Monty’s coming, better wait for him. I’m afraid you’ll -fall. That slide’s darn treacherous.” Gary’s eyes were blazing, his -whole body was shaking as if he had a chill. But he was trying his -best to hold himself steady, to be sensible and to play the game. -The thought flashed into his mind of men lost on the desert, who -rushed crazily toward demon-painted mirages, babbling rapturously at -the false vision. If this were a trick of his tortured -imagination—well, let it be so. He would meet realization when it -came. But now——</p> - -<p>He could hear Patricia panting and slipping in the loose rocks no -more than a few yards away. He shouted to her, imploring her to be -careful—to wait for Monty—to come to him—he did not know what it was -he was saying. He caught himself babbling and stopped abruptly.</p> - -<p>After all, it was Monty who first peered down past the bowlder and -into the opening, where Gary’s face showed white and staring-eyed, -but with the unquenchable grin. Monty gasped the name of his Maker -and turned as white as a living man may become. Then he turned; Gary -saw him put up his arms. Saw two summer-shod feet with silk-clad -ankles above the low shoes; saw the flicker of a skirt—and then -Patricia was sitting on the bowlder where Faith had so often kept -him company. Patricia cried out at sight of him and looked as if she -were going to faint.</p> - -<p>“Count of Monte Cristo—in his dungeon in the Bastille—before he did -the high dive and made his get-away,” Gary cackled flippantly. “Say, -folks, how about a few eats?” Then his white, smiling face with the -terrible, brilliant eyes, slid down and down. They heard a -slithering kind of fall.</p> - -<p>Patricia screamed and screamed again. Monty himself gave a great, -man sob before he pulled himself together. He put his arm around -Patricia’s shoulder, patting her as he would soothe a child.</p> - -<p>“He’s just fainted,” he said, his voice breaking uncertainly. “It’s -the shock of seeing us. Can yuh-all stay here while I beat it down -to the shack and get some grub? Have yuh-all got the nerve?”</p> - -<p>Patricia held her palms tightly to her face and fought down her -panic and the horror that chilled her heart. When she looked up at -Monty she was Patricia-on-the-job again; efficient, thinking clearly -just what must be done.</p> - -<p>“He’s evidently nearly starved,” she said, and if her voice was not -calm, it was at least as steady as Monty’s. “Bring a can of milk and -plenty of water and a cup. And bread and a couple of eggs and a -spoon,” she said. “Some soft-boiled eggs, after awhile, should be -all right for him. But the milk is what he should have first. Oh, if -you look in my grip, you’ll find a bottle of malted milk. I brought -it in case the food was too bad at country hotels. That’s just what -I want. And hurry!”</p> - -<p>“Yuh-all needn’t be afraid I’ll loaf on the job,” Monty told her -reproachfully; and gave her the bottle of water, and was gone before -she could apologize.</p> - -<p>Patricia crawled down to where she could look in through the -opening. She could not see much of anything; just the rough wall of -the crosscut where the light struck, and beyond that gloom that -deepened to the darkness of night. Gary, lying directly beneath her, -she could not see at all. Yet she called him again and again. -Wistfully, endearingly, as women call frantically after the new-fled -souls of their dearest.</p> - -<p>She was still calling heart-brokenly upon Gary when Monty returned, -puffing up the slope under a capacity load of what he thought might -be needed. Slung upon his back, like a fantastic cross, was an old, -rusted pick, the handle cracked and weather-checked and well-nigh -useless.</p> - -<p>“Joe’s coming along behind with a shovel,” Monty informed her, when -he could summon sufficient breath for speaking. “Don’t yuh-all take -on thataway, Miss Connolly. Gary, he’s plumb fainted for joy and -weakness, I reckon. But he’s in the shade where it’s cool, and he’ll -come to himself in a little bit. I reckon we better have the malted -milk beat up and ready to hand in. I don’t reckon Gary’ll feel much -like waitin’ for meals—when he wakes up.”</p> - -<p>Once more Patricia steadied herself by sheer will power, so that she -might do calmly and efficiently the things that must be done. For an -hour longer she did full penance for all her sins; sitting there on -the bowlder with a cup of malted milk in her hands, waiting for Gary -to regain consciousness, and fighting a terrible fear that he was -dead—that they had come too late.</p> - -<p>Joe arrived with an old shovel that was absolutely useless for their -purpose. Such rocks as they could lift were quicker thrown out of -the half-filled shaft with their hands, using the pick now and then -to pry loose rocks that were wedged together. As for the bowlder -that blocked the opening to the crosscut, they needed dynamite for -that and would not have dared to use it if they had it; not with -Gary prisoned in the small space behind it.</p> - -<p>Monty worked the small rocks away from the bowlder first and studied -the problem worriedly. A malapi bowlder, nearly the height of a man, -fitted into the bottom of a ten-foot incline shaft with granite -walls, is a matter difficult to handle without giant powder.</p> - -<p>“Joe, yuh-all will have to beat it and get help. Three or four men -with strong backs we’ve got to have, and block and tackle and -chain—and some pinch bars. Yuh-all may have to go clear in to Vegas, -I reckon—but git the help!”</p> - -<p>Joe goggled wide-eyed at the narrow opening, stared curiously at -Patricia, wiping tears from her cheeks with one hand and holding -carefully the cup of malted milk in the other.</p> - -<p>“Gosh! Kin he last that long in there?” he blurted, and was -propelled several feet down the bluff by Monty’s hand fixed viselike -on the back of his neck.</p> - -<p>“Uh course he’ll last—a heap sight longer than yuh-all will, if -yuh-all don’t get a move on,” Monty gritted savagely. “Fill up with -water and take a lunch, and don’t light this side of Vegas. Not much -use stopping at the ranches this side, they ain’t liable to have -what we need.”</p> - -<p>He stood with his legs spread apart on two rocks and watched Joe -down the bluff. Whenever Joe looked back and saw Monty standing -there, his speed was accelerated appreciably. Whereat Monty grinned. -When Joe disappeared into the grove, Monty turned back to the shaft, -the weight of Gary’s misfortune heavy upon his soul.</p> - -<p>The first thing he saw was Patricia caressing a grimy hand and thin, -bared forearm. She had just kissed it twice when she looked up and -saw Monty. Patricia did not even blush.</p> - -<p>“He drank every drop of the milk, and now he’s called me a wretch -and a harpy because I won’t give him more,” she announced -triumphantly. “Do you think I’d better?”</p> - -<p>“I reckon I better talk to him by hand,” Monty grinned relievedly. -“He knows mighty well he kain’t bully <i>me</i>, Miss Connolly.”</p> - -<p>“I merely asked for fried chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes and -asparagus with drawn butter, and ripe olives and a fruit salad with -a cherry on top, and strawberry shortcake with oodles of butter -under the berries and double cream poured all over,” Gary explained, -grinning like a cheerful death’s-head through the opening. “That -isn’t much to ask—when a fellow’s been dieting the way I have for -God knows how long.”</p> - -<p>Monty blinked very fast, and his laugh was shaky. “Well, now, if -yuh-all can compromise on boiled hen,” he drawled, “I’ll beat it -back down the bluff and shoot the head off the first one I see.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right—all right, if it’ll be any accommodation,” Gary -yielded, “only for heck’s sake, make it snappy!”</p> - -<p>Whereupon he forgot Monty and pulled Patricia’s hand in through the -opening and began to kiss it passionately.</p> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - -<h2 class='nobreak' id='chXXXIV' title='Let’s Leave Them There'> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.2em'>LET’S LEAVE THEM THERE</span> -</h2> - -<p>Love adapts itself to strange conditions when it must, and men and -maids never find it less alluring. Eight days Gary had been -imprisoned in the crosscut, and thought it a lifetime of misery. Yet -the four days which he remained still a prisoner, but with Patricia -perched upon the bowlder practically all of the time, the entombment -became an adventure, something to tell about afterward as a bit of -red-blooded pioneering that seldom falls to the lot of men nowadays.</p> - -<p>It is true that Monty was there, pecking away at the bowlder with -single-jack and gadget much of the time; but Patricia during those -hours moved just far enough away to escape the swing of Monty’s -hammer, and the dialogue went on—mostly of things altogether strange -to Monty Girard. Gossip of the city, plans for “The Pat Connolly” -mine—in which Monty was of course included.</p> - -<p>“I shall put three names on that location,” Patricia announced, in -the tone that went with the squared chin. “Whatever possessed you, -Gary Marshall, to leave your name out of it—or Monty’s? Do you think -I’m a—a pig?”</p> - -<p>Monty dissented to the plan, and so did Gary—but precious little -good that did them. Patricia left the bowlder then, while the matter -was fresh in her mind, and made the trip down to the cabin after her -fountain pen so that she could have the mine as she wanted it.</p> - -<p>“There! If the thing is worth anything—half as much as you think, -Gary—two thirds of it is as much as we could ever spend and keep -decently sane on the subject. And I’m sure, Gary Marshall, you’d -think Monty was earning a share, if you knew how hot it is out here -in the sun. The perspiration is just <i>rolling</i> off him!”</p> - -<p>“Let up a while, old son,” Gary generously implored. “I’m doing all -right in here—it’s a cinch, with the eats passed in to me regularly, -and not a thing in the world to do. You can send out for a preacher, -Monty, and I can offer my good right hand to Pat any time. Great -scene, that would make! Handsome Gary entombed——”</p> - -<p>“For pity’s sake, Gary, don’t j-<i>joke</i> about it!” wailed Patricia. -When Monty sent a warning frown and a “sh-sh” through to the -irrepressible, Gary subsided.</p> - -<p>“Car’s coming,” Monty announced, glad to have the distraction for -Patricia, who was crying silently with her face hidden. “If that’s -Joe, he’s had better luck than is possible, or he’s laid down on the -job. I better go down and make shore. I’ll bring up whatever yuh-all -want to eat, when I come. If it’s in the cañon,” he added -cautiously, remembering some of the things Gary had perversely -insisted upon.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Pat,” Gary murmured, when Monty’s steps could no longer -be heard on the rocks. “Can’t you put your face right up to the -opening now? Monty knocked quite a chunk of rock off a few minutes -ago. And, Pat, if you knew how I wanted to kiss my girl on the -lips!”</p> - -<p>So Patricia wiped her eyes and put her face to the opening.</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>It happened to be the sheriff’s car from Tonopah, with three other -men deputized to come along and see what was taking place away over -here in Johnnywater. In a little while they came puffing up the -bluff to look in upon the man who had been trapped underground for -considerably more than a week. They were mighty sympathetic and they -were deeply concerned and anxious to do something, poor men. But -they were not welcome, and it was difficult for the leading man and -his lady to register gratitude for their presence.</p> - -<p>Gary finally thought of a way out. He told the sheriff that, since -there was nothing to be done at present to release him, he would -suggest that they investigate the grave under the juniper. He said -he thought they might be able to identify the remains of a man which -he had buried there.</p> - -<p>They took the bait and went trooping down the bluff again to do -their full duty. And the last hat-crown had no more than disappeared -when Patricia again leaned forward and put her face to the opening, -this time without being asked.</p> - -<p>There is nothing in the world like love, is there? When it can -brighten a situation such as this and turn tragedy into romance—why, -then, there’s mighty little more to be said.</p> - -<div class='ce'> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;'>THE END </div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER ***</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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