not a creature was stirring by dean evans illustrated by david stone [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction december 1951. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] this could be a christmas story. if it is, it shows one way peace on earth can be attained! he was a tall, hard man with skin the color of very old iodine. when he climbed up out of the vertical shaft of his small gold mine, _the lousy disappointment_, he could have been taken for an indian, he was that dark. except, of course, that indians didn't exist any more in 1982. his name was tom gannett and he was about forty years old and he didn't realize his own uniqueness. when he made it to his feet, the first thing he did was to squint up at the sun. the second was to sneeze, and the third to blow his nose. "hey, you old sun!" he growled. "you old crummy sun, you look sicker'n a dog." which was literally true, for the sun seemed to be pretty queer. the whole sky seemed to be pretty queer, for that matter. skies should be blue and the sun should be a bloated golden bauble drifting serenely across them. but the skies were not blue; they were a dirty purplish-gray. and the sun wasn't a bloated golden bauble; somebody had it by the scruff of the neck and was dragging it. gannett planted his big feet wide apart and frowned sourly around and sniffed the air like a dog at a gopher hole. "the damn world smells sick," he grunted. which was also true. the world did smell sick. the world smelled something like that peculiar odor that comes from an old graveyard carefully tended by an old man with dank moss sticking to the soles of his old shoes. that kind of smell. gannett didn't know why the sun looked sick, and he didn't know why the world smelled sick. indeed, there were many things gannett didn't know, among which would be these in particular: (a) he did not know (since, for the last six months, he had been living and working all alone at his little mine, which was in the remotest of the most remote desert regions of nevada) that a little less than three weeks earlier, mankind had finally achieved the inevitable: man's own annihilation. (b) he did not know that he was going to be the loneliest man on earth--he who was used to, and perfectly content with, the hermitlike existence of a desert rat. (c) he furthermore did not know that there were four of the ten commandments which he wasn't going to be able to break any more--not even if he stayed up nights trying and lived for centuries. * * * * * gannett snorted the smell from his nostrils and shrugged. hell with it. he thought about reno and how he hadn't been there for nearly a year. he thought of the dimly lighted, soft-carpeted cocktail lounges in reno where drinks come in long stemmed glasses and blondes in long-stemmed legs. reno at christmastime, he thought. there was a town, reno! he grinned, showing big gold teeth that blazed out of his mouth like the glittering grille on a buick. he dug his feet into the hard ground and walked the hundred feet or so to his cabin where he sometimes slept when he didn't happen to sleep in the mine. he stripped off his grime-sodden clothes. he stepped out of them, in fact, and stretched luxuriously as though he hadn't felt the good joy of being unclothed for a long time. he got up and went to a corner of the cabin, rummaged out a pair of dusty clogs and pushed his feet into them. then--and they don't come any nakeder than he was--he went outside and around the shack to the rear where he kept his jeep and where the shower was. he stepped into it, for it was nothing more ornate than a large oil drum suspended on long four by sixes. he yanked on a rope that hung down from the drum. the result of doing that made him leap out again dripping wet and colder than a buried mother-in-law. he shivered, eyes blinking fast. he took a deep breath. his gold teeth went together tightly and the big muscles in his neck corded defensively. he deliberately went under the shower again. pawing a sliver of laundry soap from a ledge on one of the four by sixes, he went to work with it, and when he finally tripped the hanging rope once more, he was a clean man. he went into the cabin. it wasn't any warmer than the great outdoors, but that was where his clothes were. he shaved from an old granite basin full of cold water. after that he went to a hook on the wall and got down a suit of clothes which looked as though it had shriveled up waiting for somebody to wear it. the last thing he did before leaving was to pry up one of the boards behind the door and lift out of this hiding place a small leather bag. the bag was filled with gold. * * * * * the sun was gone now. leg-like rays of light still sprawled, dirty-looking, in the sky over toward the california line, but aside from these extremities, most of it was somewhere out in the pacific. the purplish sky was darker now. drab. dead, somehow. the old jeep started nicely. it always started nicely; that was one of the good things about a jeep. the only funny thing was that out of its exhaust pipe in the rear came angry purplish flames. queer flames. gannett stared at them, surprised. "even the damn jeep is sick," he muttered. he was wrong, of course, but he had no way of knowing that. he backed around, finally, and went down what he called his driveway, which was little more than rock-strewn ground, until he came to a small dirt road. this led him to another, larger dirt road, which in turn led him to route #395, which was a u.s. highway. a hundred miles farther on, he came to the outskirts of carson city. it wasn't until he pulled into a gas station that he realized something was wrong. nobody jumped out to wipe his windshield. the attendant who still leaned in the doorway of the station had a rag in his hand, but he didn't budge. he couldn't. his face looked like weathered leather and he was dead. "holy...!" whispered gannett incredulously. he forgot about needing gas. he jumped in the jeep and drove down the main stem and found police headquarters in an old gray stone building. he knew it was police headquarters for the green neon over the revolving door had _cpd_ on it and it was still burning. he went up the steps two at a time, banged through the swinging doors and stamped straight to where the sergeant sat at a desk over in the corner by the switchboard. "hey, by god!" yelled gannett to the desk sergeant. "there's a guy down the street in a gas station and he's standing up in the doorway and he's dead as a mackerel!" dramatic words. but the desk sergeant was no longer among the living and didn't appreciate them. it took gannett a long while to get over that. he slowly backed away. he made the big oak doors, still backing. he went down the stairs on legs as stiff as icicles. he got back in his jeep and started up again. he knew there was something terribly wrong, but before he thought about it, he knew he had to have a drink. he pulled up in front of a saloon that had nice, cheery, glowing lights showing through the big front window. he got out of the jeep. he went through the swinging glass doors and straight to the bar. "scotch!" nobody answered. the barman behind the mahogany, facing him, didn't make a move. the barman had a dead cigarette between his cold colorless lips. the cigarette had a half inch of ash on it. the ash looked as though it was sculptured out of purple marble. gannett put both hands flat on the bar and swallowed hard. he twisted his head and looked over the shoulder of a customer on his left, who was leaning negligently on the bar with one elbow. there was a half-full bottle in front of the leaning man and it had an alert-looking horse's head stuck in the neck of it for a pouring spout. "excuse me, mac," gannett whispered. the leaning man didn't twitch a muscle. gannett sucked in a deep breath. he reached. he got the bottle. he blinked stupidly at the bottle and then he put it down very carefully and took another breath and looked at a highball glass in front of the leaning man. the highball glass was empty and clean, but the leaning man's fingers were curled lightly and gracefully around it. they were nice fingers. white fingers. fingers that looked as if they hadn't had to do any hard work lately. slender, tapering, carefully manicured fingers. gannett swore softly. he yanked the horse's head out and then poked the bottle into his mouth and tilted it up. he held it until there wasn't anything left but the very glass it was made of plus the bright little paper label. his throat burned. he coughed. he banged the empty bottle down on the bartop and coughed again--hard. the leaning man stirred, seemed to turn slowly, stiffly, in a half arc that put him face to face with gannett. then he went down backward and all in one piece, like a tall tree on top of a hill on a very still night. he went down with the glass in his hand and, when he hit, swirls of thick dust rose lazily from the floor and then settled back over his rigid form like freshly falling snow blanketing something left out on the front lawn. * * * * * the night was black. there wasn't a star and there wasn't a sound except for earth sounds, which are never very loud. gannett sat in his jeep with the motor running and the purple flames coming out of the tailpipe. his hands were tight around the wheel, but the jeep wasn't moving. gannett was staring off into space and his eyes looked as though somebody had peeled them back. he said it to himself mentally, for the first few times. then, as if he couldn't contain them any longer, the words tumbled out of his mouth into the night air: "everybody's dead, by god!" he drove through deserted streets until he found an all-night drugstore. it didn't seem funny to him just yet that the streets were deserted; that was something he would think of later. he walked into the drugstore and went to the newsstand and picked up a copy of the _carson daily bugle_. the date struck him first. it was the wrong date; it was three weeks ago. he dropped it and picked up another, a reno paper this time. same trouble with the date. he read the headline then: reds strike at turkey! unveil new weapon he blinked at it. there was a little more--pitifully little--to the effect that congress had been asked for a declaration of war in order to defend the assaulted member of the atlantic pact nations. gannett swallowed hard. he dropped the paper and turned to the clerk who was leaning over the glass counter watching him. "jeez!" gannett said. "when did all this happen? i didn't even know about it." he didn't get any answer from the clerk. he knew he wouldn't from the way the clerk's eyes looked. they looked as if they should have been under refrigeration. "people around dead," he muttered. "by god, the governor oughta know about this!" he left the drugstore and drove straight for the state capitol building, which wasn't far away, for carson city isn't very large. he walked up the long concrete ribbon to the big stone steps. he mounted them. he stood before the bronze doors for an instant, a feeling of awe coming over him despite what he knew he was going to tell the governor. he pulled on the handle of the nearest of the bronze doors. nothing happened. it was locked, of course. the capitol is never open at three a.m. (which was the exact time when it had happened three weeks ago--but he didn't know that). a feeling of rage came over gannett slowly, like heat radiating through soft wood. he stood on the stone steps and faced the broad expanse of lawn, which, in the summertime, at least, was very lovely. he slowly pulled his leather bag of gold from his coat pocket and raised it up so he could see it. then he turned once more to the bronze doors and smashed the bag of gold through one of the glass panes. "gannett done it!" he roared. "if anybody wants to know, tell them gannett, by god!" he went back to his jeep. the big, darkly hulking form of the red brick post office building went by and faded into the night. he passed a jewelry store. he looked in. an electric mantel clock in the store window indicated the time as nine-ten. he passed a supermarket. the big illuminated clock on the facade said nine-seven. the clock in the service station, where he finally pulled in for gas, pointed at nine exactly. cycles have to be controlled if electric clocks are to keep correct time, but that was something else he did not know. after he put back the gasoline hose, he left one more observation on the silence of the night before driving to reno. he said it loudly, and there was angry frustration in every word of it: "hell with carson city. to _hell_ with it!" * * * * * approaching downtown reno at night is a pleasant, cheerful experience. there are lights all around, like a store selling electric fixtures. on the right hand side of virginia street they glow brightly, each one a little gaudier than the last. big lights. neon lights in all the colors neon lights can come in. signs on the fronts of the big gaming houses that stay open until lights aren't needed any more; and the one flash of light across virginia street at the intersection of commercial row which had been photographed more times than the mind of man could have conjectured: reno the biggest little city in the world he drove slowly by the happy times club. he could see quite a few people inside. you wouldn't think there was anything wrong when you looked at something like that. at the corner of first street, he stopped for the signal. he pulled around a military vehicle that seemed to be waiting for the signal, too. it was an open vehicle, painted the olive drab of the army, and sitting stiffly erect behind the wheel was a natty-looking first lieutenant with his cap at just the right angle over one eye. the signal bell up on the corner poles clanged loudly and the lights turned green. gannett crossed the intersection, but the lieutenant and his military vehicle stayed behind. he went by the golden bubble, which was perhaps the largest and gaudiest of all the gaming places in reno. its big front, done in glass bricks with multicolored lights behind them, looked like some monstrous kaleidoscope built for the use of the man in the moon. seen from his jeep, through the plate glass of the wide door, the interior of the golden bubble seemed to be a happy, carousing place full of the joyous laughter of folks having a fine time. only that wasn't so, of course, for the only sounds to be heard were the jeep's motor and the signal bells on the corner poles. gannett parked. he walked back, went slowly through the doors of the golden bubble. the first thing that met his eyes was the flashing welcome grin of the head waiter, who was dressed in a tuxedo just inside the doors. the head waiter had his hand half out, as if to shake the hand of gannett as he came in. gannett almost stuck out his own hand in return--but not quite. he went to the bar. he didn't look at the barman lying on the floor with his ear in the spittoon. he shambled around the end of the bar, took a full bottle of scotch off the backbar shelf, broke the seal and took a long swallow. the bartender didn't notice. after that he took the bottle with him out on the floor. he went around a man in an overcoat who looked to be uncomfortably warm but wasn't. he went over to a roulette table and stared the croupier straight in the eyes. he reached for a pile of chips under the croupier's right hand and slid them over. "double zero," he said. the croupier looked bored, which was the way a croupier should look. gannett reached down and gave the wheel a spin and then stood back and waited. the croupier waited. two women and one man, on gannett's right, also waited. the ball clicked merrily, came to a stop. the wheel slowed, finally rested. it wasn't double zero. gannett reached for the croupier's rake and shoved his pile of chips back under the croupier's protecting right hand. "lousy wheel is fixed," gannett said. nobody argued with him on that. he uncorked his scotch bottle and took a long pull. nobody objected to that, either, the croupier still looked bored; and the two women and the one man waited patiently for the day of judgment. gannett went over to a cashier window and reached in and got a handful of silver dollars. he took them to the machines over against the far wall and stuck in a couple and pulled the two handles simultaneously. for his investment he got back five dollars, which one of the machines disgorged with a loud clatter. he put more dollars in. he put them in fast and pulled the levers fast. he went down the entire row of machines and pulled the levers as he went. he didn't linger to see what happened at any of them. he began to feel cold. he took out his scotch bottle again and half emptied it. a woman who looked as if she were someone's great-grandmother, except that her hair was bleached and fingernails were sharp talons, and who sat in a chrome and leather chair not six feet away from him, stared a little disapprovingly. gannett caught the look. "lady," he said defensively, "i earned me a holiday, see? it's none of your business if i do some celebrating, is it?" the lady didn't change her mind. she looked as though she might prefer gin herself. gannett belched. he wasn't so cold now. he threw back his head and laughed and listened to the sound of it bounce off walls. he did it again. he was feeling fine. he went back to the roulette wheel, got around behind it and nudged the croupier gently. the croupier went over like a broom sliding down the side of a wall. gannett picked up the little plastic rake and looked at the two women and one man. "place your bets, folks," he said, in a low tone that was a pretty good imitation of the drone of a professional man. he separated the chips into four neat piles. he pushed a pile each at the two women, one to the man. the last he kept for himself. "place your bets, folks," he repeated. nobody did, but that was okay anyhow. grinning happily, he made bets for them. one of the women--the one that was redheaded--looked to him as if she might be a plunger. he shoved her pile of chips over onto zero and then he gave her a friendly little wink. the other woman was the careful type, he thought. her chips--not all of them, of course--he shoved for red. he disposed of the man perfunctorily: ten dollars on plain number nine. his own bet was due a little more deliberation. he carefully spread around five hundred dollars until the strip looked as if eighteen people were playing it all at once. the effort made him sweat. he reached for his bottle, emptied it, then dropped it on the fallen croupier. "folks," gannett said in an apologetic tone, "you'll have to pardon me a minute. it seems i'm out of fuel. don't go away; i'll be right back." everybody was agreeable. gannett went back to the bar, went around behind it. he said to the barman: "i got a party out there, doc. a big party, see? the house might stand to make a mint. how's about drinks?" the barman considered it. the barman was still considering it when gannett went back to the wheel with a fifth of scotch and four glasses and a dish of olives. he made drinks. in each one he put an olive. by this time, of course, he was getting a little loud, but nobody could blame him for that. when the drinks were made and placed before the two women and the man, he was ready. he grinned around, rubbed his hands together and winked a sly little leering wink at the redhead. the wheel spun, stopped. zero. the redhead had brought down the house. "by god!" whispered gannett in frank admiration. "lady, you sure got luck. 'nother little snifter just to nail it tight?" gannett liked the idea. he drank her drink for her and made a face over the olive. he poured another. he made more bets for everybody and then thought of something. excusing himself once more, he got a roll of quarters from the cashier cage and, breaking it open, fed them into a big glittering juke box over in the corner. that done, he pushed down a row of tabs and went back to the table. everybody seemed to be having a time. the redhead just couldn't lose. three separate times gannett was forced to collect chips from other tables in order to keep the game going, but he didn't mind. he even said to the redhead once: "lady, ten more minutes and we sign the joint over to you. but have fun; you're doing swell." once more he consulted the thoughtful barman, and more than once he had to go back to the juke box and punch tabs, but that was all right. he liked music. at ten minutes past three in the morning, with all the chips in the place before the lucky redhead he finished his last bottle. he lifted his eyes and considered a crystal chandelier which hung from the exact center of the broad ceiling. it was a beautiful chandelier. it looked as though it might have graced the banquet hall of some castle over in england, back in the days when england was a tight little isle. he grinned appreciatively at it. he pitched the empty bottle upward. there was a crash. half the lights in the place went out. bowing solemnly to the scattered immobile figures, gannett lurched to the big door up front. he tried a bow to the friendly floorman, but it didn't quite go over. he banged through the doors and out into the street. * * * * * gannett groaned his aching body out of bed and padded heavily to the window. he put his big hands on the sill and looked out. purple snow was falling on a quiet world. the flakes came down softly, big wet, colored things like fluffy bits of cotton candy escaping from a circus in the sky. there was his jeep down on the street where he had left it. he could recognize it, for it was the only jeep on the block. "then it wasn't no lousy dream," he said miserably. he went back to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. he recalled the headlines in the paper. "them lousy reds," he whispered. "they done this, sure as hell." that made him think a little. everybody was dead, even the redhead in the golden bubble who couldn't lose. "what the hell am i doin' alive, then?" he asked himself. there was no answer to that. he thought of his mine, _the lousy disappointment_, and wondered if, living most of the time below the surface as he did, he had been protected from some sort of purple gas or something that seemed to have killed off everybody else. it could be. some very light gas, maybe, that wouldn't seep below the surface. "aw, for cripe sakes!" he grunted disgustedly. he dressed and left the room. he went downstairs. there was the lobby, all soft, quiet carpeting and soft, quiet furniture and soft, quiet drapes. a sheet of paper on a writing desk said _grand pachappa_. he was in a hotel, then. he must have wandered into it after he left the golden bubble. he carefully avoided looking at two well-dressed women who sat in lobby chairs, staring off into nothing, but he felt their presence chillingly. he shivered. he made his way outside, the purple snow coming down and giving his cheeks wet, cold caresses. he angrily brushed them off, but they came down anyway. above the snow, the sky was a sodden mass of purplish gray. he found a restaurant that was open. a few customers sat on the stools like statues in a museum. all the coffeemakers were on the electric stove, but they were dry and clean except one that had no bottom in it any more and was quite discolored. beneath it, the round electric coil still glowed faithfully. he grabbed up one of the clean pots and took it to the metal rinse sink and reached for the faucet. and then his hand froze. what if the water was tainted? he had no way of finding out if it didn't carry that identifying purplish tint. he tried the faucet. it did. the milk in the refrigerator was three weeks old, of course. gannett ended by opening a bottle of pepsi cola for breakfast. the sky stayed leaden, but even so there were many things apparent now that he hadn't seen the night before. a lack of heavy traffic on the streets would seem to indicate that what had happened--purple gas or whatever--had been very late at night; even so, traffic accidents were everywhere. there was one big sedan with its front end crushed against the first olympic bank. there was one cop who had died trying to tie his right shoe--his fingers still clutched the laces. there was a doctor (his car had a caduceus emblem on the windshield) who had just stepped down to the street, his bag in his left hand and his right hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. he had a serious, purposeful look on his face that even the falling purple snow couldn't quite eradicate. despite the cold, sweat frosted gannett's forehead. he made his way to a radio and television store and kicked in a glass panel of the front door. stepping through to the clamor of the suddenly aroused night-warning bell, he went directly to a tv set and turned it on. the big screen tube flickered after a while and a scratching hum came out of the speaker, but nothing happened. he tried all the channels. nothing. he tuned in a big radio console next, going carefully and slowly across the dial with a hand that shook. even though the night-warning bell was kicking up quite a racket, he could tell after a moment or two. nothing.... * * * * * the sky was getting dark as gannett left the store. the purple snow still fell. it was then that he noticed for the first time the gay street decorations in preparation for christmas. big paper bells with plenty of glittering tinsel and electric lamps inside them. on the corner of first and virginia, he saw a big iron kettle of some salvation army santa. hanging from its metal tripod, it looked quite natural, except that it was filled with purple snow; and the santa who was supposed to ring his little bell was holding it stiffly over his head. he and the bell were frozen silent. there was a large department store. inside, in the show window, was a christmas display that would delight the kiddies. there was a big christmas tree trimmed with every imaginable ornament. beneath the tree, electrically activated toy soldiers jerked robotlike through their precise military designations, their lithographed faces looking stern and very brave. there was a clown who did uncounted somersaults; a lifelike doll who clapped her hands in glee. there was an aluminum bomber with a wing-spread of three feet--it was held in the air by almost invisible wires--and its six propellers droned in perfect unison, making a brisk little wash that rustled the silk of the little doll's dress. and around the base of the tree, through valley and over mountain, into tunnel and over spiderweb trestle, was a railroad track. it should have had busy little trains on it, except that it didn't--the trains had been derailed at a whistle stop called north pole. gannett's eyes twitched. the sky grew darker; the purple snow continued to fall silently. gannett went by the masonic lodge, the ymca, and crossed the little stone bridge over the frozen truckee river. he came to the heavy gray stone building of first community church. he stopped in front of the church and stared at it. it was a solid, respectable-looking building. it was a very nice thing, indeed, to have here in reno. "christmas eve," gannett whispered through cold lips. "this is christmas eve!" he went up six purple-snow covered stone steps. he reached the top where the stone steps ended and where the big square stone slab was, that slab where the minister stands when the weather is fair, and shakes hands with the congregation after the service. somewhere above, in the steeple, bells struck off the hour of eight. a timing device did that. many churches had such timing devices to save labor. and as though that were a signal, a loudspeaker, attached way up on the spire especially for this festive season, began to growl out preparatory scratching noises, like a big metal monster clearing its throat. gannett pulled on the wrought brass handles of the closed oaken door. the door didn't budge. he grabbed the handles in both hands and braced his feet. he pulled hard. the door was locked. "god," he whispered hoarsely. "god, this is me. i gotta get in, god. god, listen, _i gotta get in_!" high above, in the steeple, the loudspeaker was finally ready with a cheerful little carol. "_god rest ye merry, gentlemen!_" the voices of a dead choir roared out upon the silent city. the earthman by irving cox, jr. _the four survivors were sitting ducks surrounded by barbaric savages. and they were doubly handicapped, because they knew that one of them was a traitor!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, december 1955. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the robot supply ship came every thursday at seven minutes after noon. it was an unfortunate hour for the personnel of the nevada station, who happened to be in the commissary at lunch. out of fourteen hundred assigned to the post, only four escaped--two guards on noon duty in the watch tower; the commander's wife, who had skipped lunch and stayed in her cottage; and captain tchassen. the captain was on a hill south of the station making a tri-d shot of the range of mountains west of the camp. he took his amateur photography seriously and, like any tourist, he was fascinated by the rugged scenery; there was nothing comparable to this on any world in the civilized galaxy. to get the back lighting that he wanted, tchassen would cheerfully have given up any number of meals. as a matter of fact, he wasn't aware that it was noon until he heard the jet blast of the supply ship as it came in on the transit beam. tchassen saw the ship spin out of control as the beam went haywire. the robot plunged into the heart of the station and the earth shook in the catastrophic explosion of the nuclear reactor. the commissary, the communication center, the supply sheds and the row of patrol ships vanished in the rising, mushroom cloud. concussion threw tchassen violently to the ground. his camera was smashed against a boulder. the captain picked himself up unsteadily. he took a capsule from his belt pouch and swallowed it--a specific against shock and radiation sickness. in a remarkably short time, tchassen's mind cleared. he saw the prisoners pouring through the gap torn in the compound fence and running for the hills. but that did not alarm him particularly. they were unarmed and for the moment they represented no real danger. tchassen began to run toward the ruined administrative center. he had to find out if there were any other survivors and he had to make emergency contact with the occupation base on the coast. he ran with considerable difficulty. after less than a hundred yards, he was gasping for breath. he slowed to a walk. he could feel the hammering of his heart; his throat was dry and ice cold. to the escaped prisoners, watching from beyond the camp, the captain's weakness was unbelievable--for tchassen, in his twenties, had a magnificent build. typical of the occupation army, he wore the regulation military uniform, knee-high boots and tight-fitting, silver colored trousers. above the waist he was naked, except for the neck-chain which carried the emblem of his rank. his body was deeply tanned. his hair was a bristling, yellow crown. yet, despite his appearance, his sudden exhaustion was very real; captain tchassen had been on earth only five days and he was still not adjusted to the atmospheric differences. as he passed the row of officers' cottages, he fell against a wall, panting for breath. the flat-roofed buildings were nearly a mile from the crater of the explosion, yet even here windows had been broken by concussion. a cold, arid wind whipped past the dwellings; somewhere a door, torn loose from its frame, was banging back and forth. then tchassen heard a muffled cry. in one of the officer's cottages he found tynia. she had been thrown from her bed and the bed was overturned above her. it was a fortunate accident; the mattress had protected her from the flying glass. tchassen helped her to her feet. she clung to him, trembling. he was very conscious of her sensuous beauty, as he had been since he first came to the nevada station. tynia was the wife of the commanding officer: tchassen kept reminding himself of that, as if it could somehow build a barrier against her attractiveness. she was strikingly beautiful--and thirty years younger than her husband. it was common gossip that she had been flirting with most of the junior officers assigned to the station. tchassen was, in fact, a security investigator sent to probe the potential scandal and recommend a means for heading it off. he gave tynia a shock pill from his pouch. her hysteria subsided. she became suddenly modest about the semi-transparent bedgown she was wearing, and she zipped into a tight coverall, made from the same silver-hued material as the captain's trousers. they went outside. she stood a foot shorter than tchassen. her dark hair framed her face in graceful waves; make-up emphasized the size of her eyes and the lush, scarlet bow of her lips. tynia glanced toward the crater, shielding her face from the noon sun. "what happened, captain?" "the flight beam failed; the supply ship exploded." "and killed them all." she said it flatly, without feeling--but tchassen doubted that she would have mourned the loss of her husband in any case. "i'll have to get word through to the coast. we'll need a rescue helio and--" "i know how to use the emergency transmitter," tynia volunteered. "there may be other survivors, captain tchassen; they'll need your help." "i don't want to leave you alone, tynia." it was the first time he spoke her given name, though the informality was commonplace among the junior officers on the post. "the prisoners are out of the compound. we may have trouble." "not yet, captain; they're still unarmed. i'll be all right." she nodded toward the crater. "we have to make sure there's no one else alive down there." * * * * * he left her reluctantly. she went toward the emergency communications room, buried in a metal-walled pillbox which had been intentionally located far from the center of the station. tchassen walked across the scarred earth in the direction of the crater. none of the important buildings had survived. concussion had torn up the fence around the prison compound, but the cell block, half a mile from the explosion and built of concrete and steel, was still standing. the watch tower, beyond the prison building, stood askew on bent metal pillars, but it was otherwise undamaged. the captain knew that at least two guards were on watch duty at all hours; they might still be alive. he crossed the crater and pulled himself up the battered stairs to the top of the tower. the door was jammed. using a broken piece of railing as a lever, he pried it open. he found the two guards unconscious, slumped across their observation console. he gave them shock capsules, but the men regained consciousness slowly. while he waited, tchassen read their identity disks. the corporal, gorin drein, was a three-year draftee, serving a six month tour of duty on earth. he was a fair-haired, blue-eyed boy, probably no more than twenty years old. sergeant briggan was an army career man, in his fifties and only a few years away from retirement. yet the only physical indication of his age was the touch of gray in his bristling mane of dark hair. when their erratic breathing steadied and they opened their eyes, the captain explained what had happened. both men were still groggy; the shock pills inhibited their normal emotional reactions. neither briggan nor drein had much to say until tchassen helped them down from the tower and they stood looking at the hole blasted in the earth. "the supply rocket," sergeant briggan said slowly, "couldn't have done this; the beam landings are foolproof. the prisoners must have pulled it off, though i don't see--" "how?" tchassen broke in. "the compound fence didn't go down until after the blast; there was no way any of them could get out." "robot ships just don't get off the beam," corporal drein declared stubbornly. briggan nodded toward the empty cell block. "it worked out nicely--for the prisoners. a single explosion wipes out most of us; but the prisoners are far enough away from the blast center to escape." "surely there isn't any danger of revolution," tchassen asked, unconsciously mocking the optimism of the security bulletins. "not any longer." briggan grinned. "you've only been here five days, sir; you don't know how thoroughly our indoctrination has failed. the earth people hate us more than ever." "even so, how could one of the prisoners have brought the robot down?" "by tampering with the beam." "but that means they had a subversive--that means one of us must be--" "an earthman, yes. we encourage them to apply for citizenship. if we had an earthman on the post masquerading as an officer, how would we know it--unless he told us? they're no different from our own people, captain." on the other side of the crater tynia staggered out of the communications pillbox. tchassen saw her waving frantically and he knew something was wrong--very wrong. he began to run toward her. briggan and drein followed close behind him. almost immediately the captain staggered and gasped for breath; he motioned for the sergeant and the corporal to go on without him. briggan waited long enough to say, "so far we've located four survivors, sir--only four. and one of the four is very probably an earthman. the transit beams don't fail of their own accord. it's not a very nice thing to think about, is it, sir?" * * * * * the two men left him and tchassen walked slowly, alone across the barren land. the wind whispered against his naked chest; it felt suddenly cold and forbidding. the ragged peaks piled on the western horizon were no longer simply photogenic curiosities of an alien world, but symbols of undefined terror. why had the supply robot crashed? why had the prisoners been able to get away without a casualty? had it been planned by an officer of the station? if so, where was he now--with the prisoners, dead in the commissary, or among the four survivors? the tide of questions hammered at tchassen's mind, but he came up with no workable answers. his real trouble stemmed from the fact that he knew so little about the earth people. their reasoning was beyond rational analysis. they were physically identical to normal human beings, and it was almost impossible not to assume that their thinking would be normally human, too. when tchassen reached the communications pillbox, the sergeant, the corporal, and tynia were inside. in the gloomy half-light he saw the others silently trying to patch together the broken wires of the transmitter. it was hopeless; tchassen saw that at once. only a master technician could have made sense out of that jumbled maze. the other three knew that, too. they stopped when they saw tchassen and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell them what to do. with something of a shock, he realized that he now ranked as station commander. "i don't believe the explosion wrecked the transmitter," tchassen decided uncertainly. "it was torn up like this when i first came in," tynia told him. "so we couldn't get in touch with the occupation base. obviously one of the prisoners did it. they must have had--" the captain licked his lips. "they must have had outside help." "what do we do now?" tynia's voice was shrill with rising hysteria. "we can't radio for a rescue ship. how do we get away?" "it's up to us to find something else." she moved close to sergeant briggan, reaching for his hand. "the earth people are outside somewhere, waiting to kill us. we can't escape, captain! and you start talking nonsense--" very deliberately tchassen slapped the back of his hand against her cheek. the pillbox was abruptly very still. she stared at him, her eyes wide. slowly she raised her hand and touched the reddening mark on her face. she shrank against briggan and the sergeant put his arm around her shoulders. "you didn't have to do that, captain," he bristled. "don't quarrel," tynia whispered. "not on my account." tchassen's muscles tensed. this was the way tynia had created tension on the post; he had seen it happen to her husband. yet could he honestly blame her? it wasn't her fault; just the irony of circumstance. and tchassen knew that his anger now was primarily envy, because she had turned to the sergeant for protection and not to him. he made himself relax. "hysteria," he said, "is a luxury none of us can afford." "you're right," tynia answered. "absolutely right. i was very foolish." she moved away and briggan muttered, "sorry, sir. i didn't think--" "we must get back to the coast," tchassen said briskly, "through territory occupied by the enemy. we can scrape together all the weapons we'll need and the roads are supposed to be passable. our only problem, then, is transportation." "maybe we'd better stay here," tynia suggested. "sitting ducks for the earthmen to attack?" "you said we have weapons." "not enough to hold out indefinitely." "sir," corporal drein intervened, "there's an old, enemy vehicle in the prison building. we used it sometimes for field inspections." "let's look it over." captain tchassen had seen the instructional films which were made immediately after the occupation. he could identify the sedan--an inefficient, petroleum-burning machine, typical of a primitive people who had just reached the threshhold of the power age. the original beauty of design had long since disappeared. only one window and the windshield were unbroken; the body paint was peeling away in spreading patches of rust; the pneumatic tires were in shreds and the vehicle moved noisily on bent, metal rims. they fueled the car with gasoline confiscated long ago and stored in drums in the prison warehouse; corporal drein volunteered to do the driving. in the officers' cottages they found weapons--a portable heat beam, half a dozen dispersal rays, and a box of recharge cartridges. in terms of tchassen's technology such weapons were minor sidearms, but they were superior to anything yet produced by the earth people. tchassen was sure he had the power to beat off any attack. the survivors were handicapped in only one respect: all the food on the post had been destroyed with the commissary. however, tchassen did not consider that a serious problem. he was sure they could reach the coast by the following morning. shortly before three o'clock--nearly two hours after the supply robot crashed--the survivors left the station. they headed west on a highway unused since the conquest. tchassen and tynia sat together in back. the captain kept all the weapons. briggan's warning couldn't be ignored; one of the other three might be an earthman. unless they faced an actual emergency, tchassen did not intend to let any of the others carry arms. * * * * * the sedan lumbered over cracked and crumbling asphalt. the tireless rims made a nerve-wracking din that prevented all conversation. tchassen was unused to any sort of surface transportation. the civilized galaxy had outgrown it centuries ago; the flight beam, safe and inexpensive, was universally used. with equal ease the beam could move a one-man runabout or a cargo freighter over any distance--a few feet or the light years gapping between planets. twice tchassen revised his estimate of the sedan's speed. at this rate, it would be twenty-four hours or more before they reached the coast. that made their shortage of food far more significant. through the shattered side window tchassen scanned the arid soil. it was remotely possible that they might stumble across a native food cache, but he couldn't count on that. he wasn't even sure the caches existed, although the theory was a basic factor in the occupation policy. the galactic council of scientists estimated that one-tenth of the earth people had never been rounded up and resettled in the prison compounds; bandit raids increased that number steadily. how the rebels survived no one knew, for any large scale food production would have been spotted by the patrols and wiped out. one or two crackpot theorists said the bandits fed themselves by hunting wild game, but that was absurd. it was common fact throughout the civilized galaxy that any culture which evolved as far as the power age would, in the normal process of growth, eliminate all planetary animal life. the accepted explanation was the food cache theory. according to it, the earthmen--sometime after the conquest and before the prison compounds were set up--had raided their own cities and hidden the packaged food in remote mountain areas. the supply was decidedly limited. when it was gone, the rebels faced starvation unless they returned voluntarily to the compounds. the sierra range between the nevada station and the coast had become a haven for so many escaped earthmen that the region was marked "enemy territory" on the occupation maps. although tchassen was aware of that, he knew he could not assume that, because the four survivors had to pass through a rebel area, they would discover a cache of food. far too many organized expeditions, sent out expressly for that purpose, had returned empty handed. * * * * * as the afternoon shadows lengthened and the sedan seemed to be moving no closer to the snow-capped peaks, the air became colder. tchassen's naked chest was studded with gooseflesh. drein and briggan were rubbing their arms to keep warm. tchassen was accustomed to the controlled temperatures on the civilized worlds and the comforts of the beam ships. it hadn't occurred to him that the regular military uniform might be inadequate. he felt the subtle pulsing of fear, the crushing loneliness of a stranger on an alien world. he fingered the barrel of a dispersal ray, but the weapon gave him no sense of security. he had a terrible sensation of psychological nakedness. the weapons could drive off bandits, but what protection did tchassen have against the unknown elements of a savage world? we've failed; we have no right to be here: the words lashed at his mind like an insinuating poison. he could feel sweat on his face and chest, sweat turning cold in the icy wind. now the sedan entered a decaying village nestled close to the mountains. it was in an amazingly good state of repair--undoubtedly because it was located so far from the coastal cities that it had escaped destruction during the invasion. then, too, the village was too close to the nevada compound for the earth people to have looted it. tchassen tapped on drein's shoulder and ordered him to stop the sedan. "we need warmer clothing," the captain explained, "before we start up the grade." "i suppose we might pick up something here," sergeant briggan conceded. "this place is called reno. it was one of the few communities still intact after the invasion." "i'm scared," tynia said. "the prisoners may be hiding here, waiting for us." "they have better sense than to face a dispersal ray without any protection." tchassen's tone was crisp with an assurance he didn't feel, but it satisfied her. drein opened the door and stood on the sidewalk, waiting for tchassen to hand out one of the weapons. but tchassen couldn't be sure drein was not an earthman; nor, on the other hand, could he ask the corporal to explore an enemy town unarmed. as a sort of compromise, tchassen said, "we'll stick together; i'll carry all the weapons, corporal." it wasn't satisfactory, but both drein and briggan were too well-disciplined to protest. tchassen felt foolish with six dispersal rays and a heat beam slung over his shoulders, but he couldn't risk leaving anything in the sedan, either. * * * * * the survivors spent a good part of an hour searching the downtown stores, but reno had been stripped of native artifacts; the buildings were empty shells filled with dust. the only chance they had of finding clothing was to look in the private homes closer to the outskirts. they went back to the sedan and drove to a residential street. by that time the sun was setting. tchassen did not relish the prospect of being caught in an enemy town after dark, but the search could be speeded up only if they separated. for a second time the captain compromised. he issued dispersal rays to the others, but insisted that they work in pairs. if one of them was an enemy, that arrangement would more or less tie his hands. tynia volunteered to go with drein; tchassen felt a pang of envy and jealousy, but he had better sense than to use his authority to force her to come with him. tchassen and the sergeant searched through half a dozen houses before they found one that had not been looted. their luck was unbelievable, for they found shelves of canned food as well as clothing sealed in plastic bags. from an open window the captain fired a dispersal ray toward the sky, a signal prearranged with the others. as the needle of light arched above the village, tchassen heard a distant blast of explosions and tynia's shrill scream of terror. "it's a bandit raid!" briggan cried. he turned to run toward the street. tchassen's hand shot out and caught the sergeant's shoulder. "not so fast. i said we'd stay in pairs." "but tynia's in trouble! the earth people are barbarians, sir. they give no quarter. they--" "i'm still in command, sergeant." briggan stiffened. "yes, sir." the two men walked toward the source of the sound. tchassen couldn't allow himself to run, even to help tynia; the exertion would have been too much for him. there was another clatter of shots and tchassen recognized the gunfire of the primitive earth weapons. in the darkness it was vaguely disturbing, but not frightening. both tynia and drein were armed with dispersal rays; they would have no trouble defending themselves. sudden footsteps pelted toward them. tynia ran from a dark side street and threw herself into the captain's arms. she clung to him, trembling and panting for breath. "where's drein?" he demanded. "the corporal--he took my gun. he tried to kill me!" "tynia, do you understand what you're saying? the accusation--" "you told us to stay together. i did my best. i was going through a house when i realized suddenly that i was alone. i saw drein outside; i thought he was talking to someone. i ran out and--" she bit her lip and hid her eyes against his shoulder. in a flat, emotionless voice, tchassen asked, "drein was with earthmen?" "i don't know! someone sprang at me and knocked the ray out of my hands. i saw people--i thought i saw people--in the shadows behind corporal drein. i began to run. i don't want to accuse him of--of anything, captain. i can't be sure. if he's an earthman, we have to--we have to dispose of him, and i wouldn't want--" her voice trailed off in a gasp of terror as they heard a new burst of gunfire, very close. tchassen dodged aside, pulling tynia behind a tree. sergeant briggan fired blindly into the night. his dispersal beam danced across the face of a frame building and the house exploded into flame. in the red glare of the fire, tchassen saw a band of savages, dressed in animal hides--no that was impossible!--fleeing into the darkness beyond the village. corporal drein staggered toward them. blood spilled from a gash torn in his chest. he saw tchassen, tynia and the sergeant standing together. like a man in a daze, he began to raise his dispersal ray. in tchassen's mind there was no longer any room for doubt; the truth was clear. drein was an earthman; drein had betrayed the station; drein now intended to kill off the only survivors. the captain acted with military decision. he pressed the firing stud of his weapon. drein screamed in agony as he died. tynia buried her face in her hands. briggan put his arm around her. in the flickering light, tchassen saw the sergeant grin. "you didn't have to kill him, captain," tynia whispered. "after what you told me--" "don't blame me; i didn't do anything!" "he was going to fire at us, wasn't he?" "you don't know that for sure. maybe he was asking for help!" tchassen shrugged; there was no accounting for the emotional inconsistencies of a woman. "what did you expect to prove by murdering drein?" briggan asked. "i saved us from--" "if he was an earthman, why were the bandits firing at him? why had they wounded him?" "to make it look good," tchassen replied, no longer really believing it himself. "they wanted our weapons; they have to use trickery to get them away from us." tchassen slid the weapon out of drein's lifeless fingers and half-heartedly searched the street for tynia's dispersal ray. he didn't expect to find it. the earth people had it now. the loss of the weapon was, in one sense, more serious than the destruction of the nevada station. a prison compound could be rebuilt and restaffed. but if the earth ever faced the conqueror with equal firepower, earthmen would recapture their world--and more. we've failed; we have no right to be here--the captain fought a burning nausea as the fear washed over his mind. what had they accomplished by the occupation? the earth was neither enslaved nor destroyed. hatred made the natives savages. they would never be content until they had revenge. they never conceded defeat; they never would. corporal drein seemed to be typical of their fanaticism, and that was why tchassen had killed him--that, and the hysterical story tynia had told. on calmer reflection, tchassen knew he had no proof of drein's disloyalty--which meant that either briggan or tynia could be earth natives. that problem was unsolved; the danger was undiminished. * * * * * tchassen wasted very little time looking for the weapon tynia had lost. after twenty minutes, the three survivors returned to the house where tchassen and briggan had found food and clothing. they packed the canned goods into the sedan and put on warm coats and jackets. although the woolens and the cottons fell to pieces when they touched the cloth, the synthetic fabrics were still relatively sound, particularly when they had been sealed in mothproof plastic. tchassen took over the driving when they left reno. for greater warmth, tynia and the sergeant crowded into the front seat beside him. as they ascended the grade toward the pass, the air turned much colder. tchassen's hands felt numb on the wheel and the altitude made his mind swim in a haze of vague nausea. there was no moon and the headlights of the sedan had been smashed long ago. the captain drove very slowly, concentrating on the curves of the highway. three times the machine narrowly missed going over the edge; the guard rail saved them. tchassen knew he was risking their lives to drive at night, but he had no alternative. they would not be really safe again until they reached the base on the coast, and the earth people would try to prevent that. they would try to make sure that no survivors lived to report what had happened at the nevada station. briggan fished three cans of food out of the back of the car and blasted them open with his dispersal ray. the can he handed tchassen contained a fruit in a heavy, sickly sweet syrup. tchassen made himself empty the tin. tynia had a pinkish meat which she was totally unable to choke down. the civilized galaxy had been vegetarian for two thousand years; a clear indication of the savagery of the earth culture was the fact that the natives still ate animal flesh. briggan opened another can for tynia. after a brief hesitation, he began to eat the meat himself. tynia gagged and looked away. "i don't see how you can do it, sergeant." "we may be on the road longer than we think," he answered. "we can't afford to waste anything; we aren't likely to find another food cache." tchassen glanced at briggan suspiciously. it was possible that he could force himself to stomach the meat, if he were starving, but how was he able to eat it now? an earthman could do it; yet if briggan were a native, wasn't he too clever to give himself away with anything so trivial? "tell me, captain," briggan asked, "what chance do we have of getting through this alive?" "we're armed; we have transportation; we--" "and the natives will risk everything to stop us. they have to. this attack on the nevada station was the beginning of the revolution. if they plan the rest of it as carefully, they stand a good chance of throwing us off the earth." "no!" tynia cried. "now that they know the civilized galaxy exists, they'll build space ships and come after us. with our weapons--" "plus their fanaticism," tchassen put in, "the galaxy doesn't stand a chance." "but we invaded the earth to prevent that; we came here to teach them to live civilized lives." "how much teaching have we actually done in the compounds?" the sergeant demanded. "how many earth people have listened to us?" "they're human beings; they have brains like ours. surely when we have explained our ways to them logically and sanely--" "the trouble is," tchassen said thoughtfully, "it's our logic, not theirs. if you look at this from the point of view of an earthman, you see us as savage invaders of their world." "our purpose makes it different." "we say that, but the earth people wouldn't understand us." "it's very strange," sergeant briggan said quietly, "that you understand the earthman's point of view so well, captain tchassen. let's see. you've been here--how many days?" "five." "but you set yourself up as an authority on these people." "come now, sergeant. i didn't say that. i'm simply trying to understand them reasonably." "to think like an earthman: that's rather difficult for us to do, captain." briggan paused briefly before he snapped out a rapid question, "where were you stationed before you came here, captain?" "at security headquarters." "assigned to what staff?" "well, i was--" tchassen glanced at tynia. it would do no good, now, to explain why he had been assigned to the nevada post. all that was finished because the station staff died in the explosion. "i wasn't on any staff," he said. "i was working on my own." "that's a pity, sir. you wouldn't remember the name of your commanding officer, then; i could have checked up on that." tynia gasped; only then did tchassen realize what briggan's questions implied. he said coldly, "you're way off the track, briggan. i'm the only one of you who couldn't be an earthman; i haven't become acclimated yet--that's obvious, isn't it?" "of course you're right, sir. it wouldn't be the sort of thing you could put over by playing a part, would it? besides, drein was the earthman and you killed him. we've no reason to be suspicious of each other now, have we?" there was no way tchassen could reply. he gritted his teeth and said nothing. from the expression on tynia's face, he realized that briggan's insinuation had been rather effective. and suppose briggan actually believed it himself. didn't that rule out the sergeant as an earthman? and it left only tynia. tchassen eyed the dark-haired woman on the seat beside him. what did he really know about her?--only that she had been married to a station commander; and had flirted outrageously with other post officers. she may have done it simply because she was bored; on the other hand, it could have been a deliberate attempt to create friction--exactly the sort of thing an earth woman might try to do. perhaps she was a native. when tchassen was given the security assignment, he hadn't checked into her background; it didn't seem necessary. he realized suddenly that tynia was the only witness against drein. because of what she had said, tchassen had killed the corporal. tynia's hysteria had set the stage for murder. * * * * * as the sedan climbed higher into the pass, it moved more slowly. the motor coughed and wheezed; once or twice it seemed ready to stop altogether. when they reached the summit, the tenuous crescent of a new moon emerged above the pines. in the pale glow of light, tchassen saw that the highway was covered with a treacherous sheet of ice. the metal rims found no traction. when the machine began to skid, the captain found he could neither control it nor stop it. in spite of the cold, his body was covered with sweat. at a point four or five miles beyond the summit, they came to a place where thick trees on both sides of the highway shaded the road so the sun never reached it. the ice was continuous for a hundred feet or more, and it was covered with three inches of unmelted snow. the sedan skidded out of control. tynia screamed and hid her face in her hands. tchassen fought the wheel futilely. the car spun toward the shoulder, banged against a tree, and slid across the road into a clearing in front of an abandoned building. in the sudden silence tchassen heard nothing but the whisper of icy wind in the trees. he opened the door and looked at the deserted building. the roofs of the smaller structures nearby had collapsed under the pressure of winter snows, but the main building, sheltered by tall pines, was in good repair. "we'd be warmer inside," tchassen suggested. "in the morning after the sun comes out--" "captain!" briggan broke in. "we must reach the coast!" "--after the sun comes out, the ice on the road should begin to melt; the driving will be much easier." "don't you realize, sir--these mountains are enemy territory?" "we're still well-armed, sergeant." "we had the rays in reno, too, but drein's dead." "i tell you we'll be safe here. i remember a trick i saw demonstrated at the school of tactics." "you security men have the advantage. i'm just an enlisted non-com. i never went to the military schools and learned any fancy tricks, but i know i have a duty to reach the coast and report what's happened." tynia took briggan's arm. "the sedan won't run, sergeant. surely you aren't saying we have to walk--" "it's interesting, isn't it, that the car stopped right here--in front of a place where it would be so convenient for us to spend the night?" "what do you mean, briggan?" "i wasn't doing the driving, tynia." a hard knot of anger exploded in tchassen's mind, but he held his temper. it was easier to ignore briggan than to answer his suspicion. in a tone that concealed his feelings, the captain said, "let me show you what i saw them do in the demonstration, sergeant." he slid out of the sedan. with numb fingers, he opened the firing box of the portable heat ray and took out one of the two thermal coils. breaking the seal, he began to unwind the thin thread of wire. "we have our own alarm system right here," he explained, trying to convey more enthusiasm than he really felt. "nearly a quarter mile of wire. we'll string it in a circle around this clearing, six inches above the ground. the natives will never notice it. if they attack us, they'll snap the wire and set off the thermal reaction. we'll be surrounded for a second or two in a blazing ring of fire." "maybe it'll work, captain." * * * * * the two men strung the wire while tynia lugged the weapons and the canned goods into the abandoned building. when the sergeant and tchassen went inside, they found that she had started a fire in a pot-bellied stove. the captain stood holding his hands over the flames and gradually he began to feel warm again. he knew that the pillar of smoke rising from the chimney might invite an attack by the natives, but there was also a good chance that the smoke would disperse before it could be spotted. the warmth of the fire acted like an opiate, but tchassen realized he didn't dare risk falling asleep. tynia or briggan might be earth people, waiting for the chance to finish the job they had begun when the nevada station was destroyed. after a brief hesitation, the captain took another shock capsule from his belt pouch and choked it down. the drug would keep him awake, although it was dangerous to take a second capsule so soon after the first; there were sometimes emotional side-affects which were unpleasant. "one of us should stay on guard," briggan said. "we could take turns at it, captain--two hour stints until dawn." "good idea, briggan. i'll stand the first watch." "i was going to volunteer--" "no; you're tired; you and tynia need your sleep." "you're too considerate of us, captain." the overtone in briggan's voice suggested far more than he actually said. he lay back on his blankets, but he did not shut his eyes, and he put his dispersal ray across his belly with his hand on the firing stud. tchassen stood up, sliding a weapon over each shoulder. he went through a connecting hall into a narrow room. a few scattered dishes, overlooked by the looters, and built-in cooking machines indicated that this had been a restaurant. the room gave him an excellent vantage point, for the windows, still unbroken, provided a broad view of the highway and the clearing in front of the building. the restaurant was bitterly cold. tchassen pulled the rough, fibrous clothing tight around his shoulders, but it felt irritating rather than warm. he looked out on the ice and the snow and the pines, and he was acutely conscious of the savage alienness of earth. snow he knew as a scientific curiosity; he had seen it created in laboratory experiments. nowhere in the civilized galaxy did it exist as a natural phenomenon. the teeming billions of people crowding every world could not survive unless every square inch of soil was occupied and exploited. science regimented the temperatures in the same way that it controlled rainfall. for more than twenty centuries neither deserts nor arctic wastes had existed. all animal species had disappeared. trees survived only as ornamental growths in city parks. the earth was a relic of the past, a barbaric museum piece. the strong, individualistic genius of its people had evolved in no other society; and that genius had created a technology which mushroomed far beyond the capacity to control it. it gave this savage world atomic power before it had planetary unity. for that reason, the civilized galaxy had invaded the earth. they could do nothing else. the decision had been made long before tchassen was born. the galactic council of scientists studied the earth and argued the meaning of their observations for a quarter of a century before they ordered the invasion. war, to the civilized galaxy, was unthinkable; yet the government had no alternative. for, with even their primitive form of atomic power, the earth people could blow their world to dust. the planet had to be occupied to save the natives from the consequences of their own folly. but what does it matter, tchassen thought bitterly, if our intentions were noble and unselfish? it's what earth thinks we meant to do that counts. and by that standard we've failed. we have no right to be here. alone in the cold darkness of the abandoned restaurant, tchassen faced the fear gnawing at his soul. the drug he had taken warped his depression into a crushing weight of melancholy. the occupation of the earth had gone wrong--or so it seemed to him--because the council of scientists misjudged the native mentality. true, these people had created a brilliant technology, but it didn't follow that they would comprehend the social forces at work in the civilized galaxy. their emotional reactions were at best on an adolescent level; intelligence alone would not lift them up to maturity. the prisoners in the compounds learned nothing but hatred; they lived for nothing but revenge. vividly tchassen saw the nightmare of the future: the time when the savages on the earth had weapons to match the dispersal ray; the time when they would be able to build ships that could invade the civilized galaxy. * * * * * the captain paced the dusty floor in front of the serving counter. briggan did not come in two hours to take over the watch; and he made no attempt to call the sergeant. it was long after midnight, perhaps less than an hour before dawn, when something outside triggered the thermal-wire alarm. simultaneously, as the blaze of white glared against the restaurant windows, tynia screamed. tchassen heard the explosive blast of a dispersal ray slashing into wood. a split-second later tynia burst through the connecting hall and flung herself into tchassen's arms. "they're attacking!" she screamed. "you saw them? where?" "briggan. at the window. i--i shot him." his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her arm. "take it easy, tynia. tell me how it happened." "i saw him when the alarm went off. he was lifting his dispersal ray, as if he meant to shoot you. i remembered how he had eaten meat last night, and i--i thought--" she shuddered. "i knew he was an earthman. he was the one who blew up the supply robot; now he wants to kill us." "you were sure drein was an earthman, too." "what do you mean by that?" "it's obvious, isn't it?" "obvious?" she shrank back against the counter. he ignored her but kept her within the range of his peripheral vision while he glanced through the window, trying to locate what had set off the alarm. the circle of heat had melted all the snow and ice in the clearing; the trunks of the pines were smoldering and a corner of the building was beginning to burn. tchassen saw a chunk of flesh lying on the road--an animal of some sort which had blundered into the alarm wire. then they had not been attacked by natives. the dead animal made it very clear that wild beasts still survived on the earth. no wonder the natives were meat eaters! and, since they were, that meant they could live indefinitely in the remote mountain areas. they did not depend upon hidden caches of food; starvation would never drive them back to the prison compounds. the occupation policy was based upon a false assumption; more than ever it was vitally imperative for tchassen to reach the coast and report the truth to his superiors. tchassen shifted his weapon so that his fingers lay on the firing stud. tynia stared at him, her eyes wide with terror. in a tight whisper, she said, "then you--you're the earthman, captain!" he grinned, admiring her skillful use of emotion. if he hadn't known better, he would have taken her fear for the real thing. maybe it was; he couldn't be sure, but the facts seemed to add up to only one answer. tynia laid the groundwork for the killing of corporal drein; she herself shot briggan. and who had been in a better position to tamper with the landing beam for the supply rocket? who else had a better opportunity to destroy the transmitter in the emergency pillbox? yet, even in the face of so much evidence, tchassen gave her the benefit of the doubt! his reasoning might have been colored by the drug he had taken. with the mouth of his weapon, he nudged her toward the hall. "go back and pick up the food, tynia. we're leaving here now." she clenched her fist over her mouth. "don't turn me over to them, captain. let me go. i've never done you earth people any harm." magnificent acting! no wonder they had sent her to the nevada station. "we're heading for the coast," he explained. "the sedan wouldn't go last night; it won't now, either." "we'll push the car back to the highway. the downgrade is steep enough to make the machine run without power. if that doesn't work, we can always walk." "it'll be warmer if we wait until daylight." "and the natives would be here by that time, too, wouldn't they? the glare of the thermal explosion was visible for miles." "i didn't sleep at all last night, captain. i don't have the energy to--" with the dispersal ray, he pushed her along the hall toward the room where she and briggan had slept in front of the pot-bellied stove. naturally she would try to keep him there, he thought; he didn't need much more proof of her disloyalty. flames from the burning wall lit the room. as they entered, tynia screamed and fell back against tchassen. "the sergeant's gone!" she gasped. "along with the weapons you left in here." "then he--he's the earthman, captain; you aren't!" "you said you'd shot him." "i fired at him. i saw him fall. i thought he was dead." tchassen wanted to believe her, but the husky, deep-throated appeal in her voice couldn't quite destroy the hard core of his doubt. this could be an alibi which she could have contrived for herself. she might have hidden the weapons as well as briggan's body. if tchassen believed her, if he let himself trust her, it would be easier later on for her to dispose of him. "pack up the food, tynia; i'm going to see if i can start the car." * * * * * when he went outside, the dawn was brightening the eastern sky. the snow and ice, melted by the thermal fire, made a slushy sheet of water in the clearing; it ate at the drifts, sluggishly washing the snow into the highway. tchassen waded through the water toward the sedan. his boots kept him dry, but the cold penetrated and made his feet numb. hidden by the water were tiny, unmelted puddles of ice which made very treacherous footing. twice the captain slipped and nearly went down. he was twenty feet from the car when he heard the door of the building bang open behind him. he glanced back, calling tynia a warning to be careful of the hidden ice. at the same time she screamed. tchassen swung aside instinctively. he slipped and fell. from the back of the sedan a thread of energy snaked toward him. tchassen felt the momentary pain stab at his shoulder; then nothing. he lay flat in the icy water, fighting the red haze that hung over his mind. if the dispersal ray had come half an inch closer to his heart, it would have cut the artery and killed him. sergeant briggan opened the door of the sedan and stood leaning against it, holding a dispersal ray in his left hand. the sergeant was badly wounded. his right arm was an unrecognizable, bleeding pulp; he was too weak to stand alone. so tynia had told the truth, tchassen thought; she actually had shot him. the captain felt a surge of relief and hope. perhaps he could rely on tynia, after all. but now it was too late! the blast from the sergeant's weapon had paralyzed tchassen's motor control; he was helpless. the sergeant, obviously, assumed that tchassen was dead. ignoring him, he ordered tynia to pile the canned food in the back of the sedan. she moved toward him slowly. "you're the earthman," she said dully. "and i thought captain tchassen--" "the farce is over, tynia. you and tchassen made a fine game of it for a while, but i've been in the service long enough to spot a fake security officer." "the captain and i?" she repeated. "do i have to draw you a blueprint? you two are in this together. you're both natives." for a moment she seemed to recover her self-assurance. "so that's how you're going to play it, sergeant. just who do you think you'll take in with such nonsense?" "i'm through batting words around with you, tynia. put the food in the car. help me push the machine out to the road." "why bother, sergeant? if you stay right here, the natives will be along soon enough." "i'm glad you admit that, tynia." briggan laughed sourly. "but it's my duty to get through to the base--just as it's your duty, i suppose, to try to stop me." "why do you still want to make me believe that, sergeant? what difference does it make now?" tchassen, paralyzed and unable to speak, suddenly realized the truth. each of them feared the other. all four survivors had assumed that one of the others had to be an earthman. we put our faith in machines, he thought; we were too certain that the robot ship couldn't crash simply because something had gone wrong with the beam. our real trouble is we have no faith in ourselves. none of us was an earthman; the earth people had nothing to do with the destruction of the nevada station. he wanted desperately to shout that out. after a supreme effort, he was able to make his lips move a fraction of an inch; and that was all. tynia put the canned food in the sedan. briggan waved her to the back of the car with his weapon. he held the beam leveled at her while she pushed the sedan toward the road. the clearing was built on a slight slant and she had no trouble moving the heavy vehicle. as the wheels began to turn, tynia pretended to slip and fall into the slushy water. briggan was distracted by the motion of the sedan. tynia rolled toward tchassen and snatched up his dispersal ray. the sergeant realized what she intended to do and lifted his weapon awkwardly in his left hand. no! stop! don't be fools! the words sang through tchassen's mind, but he could not speak. briggan and tynia fired simultaneously. the beam caught the sergeant squarely in the face. he died in a blaze of energy. the sedan rolled into the road and tynia fell unconscious beside tchassen. he wanted to help her, but he was still not able to move. in another half hour the paralysis would be gone, but by that time it would be too late to do anything for tynia. furiously he drove his body to respond and he managed to turn on his side. the exertion was too much for him. the haze swam in painful waves across his mind. just before unconsciousness came, he saw a band of natives on the edge of the clearing. * * * * * the swaying motion of the stretcher shook him awake. the earthmen were carrying him along a narrow mountain trail, past deep drifts of snow. his wound, where briggan's beam had hit him, was neatly bandaged; he could smell the odor of a disinfectant. it surprised him that the earth people knew so much about medicine; but it surprised him more that they had tried to save his life. he listened to his captors when they talked. he was able to understand a few phrases of the native dialect which every man assigned to the occupation had to learn, but what he had been taught was sadly inadequate. when one of his stretcher bearers saw that the captain was conscious, he spoke to him in the cultured language of the civilized galaxy. the syntax was awkwardly handled, yet tchassen was amazed that the earthman used it so well. "be no fear," the native said. "you get living again." "tynia. the girl with me--" "wound bad; she dead before we come. we follow from prison and try help all four you. you fight each other. you have evil weapons. we can save only you." "what are you going to do with me?" "make you well; send you back." the answer came as a shock to tchassen; it was what a civilized people would have said. but the earth natives were savages--brilliant, inventive individualists, but nonetheless social barbarians. it would have seemed much more logical if the native had said he was keeping tchassen for a religious ceremonial sacrifice. "as soon as my wounds are healed," tchassen repeated, "you'll let me go?" the native ran his hand over the captain's bandages. "this wound is a little thing, of no importance." he touched tchassen's head. "here is your real sickness, in the brain. we teach you how to think like a man; then you go home." "you're going to teach me? me? do you realize, i come from the civilized galaxy?" tchassen began to laugh; he wondered if he had been taken prisoner by a band of madmen. "we show you how to be human," the native answered blandly. "not fight and kill each other, the way you and the others did when the post blow up. we know meaning for civilization; you have none. it is easy secret. we learn after the invasion, when our world destroyed. real civilized people get along; live in peace; give help to each other. your people and ours: we can be brothers here on the earth, and on your other worlds, too." tchassen's laughter was touched with hysteria. have we failed? he knew the answer now: for the captives, the dispossessed men of the earth, would become the teachers of the conquerors--and teach them what the conquerors had come to build on the earth. no, we have not failed; we have simply misunderstood the strange genius of the quixotic earth. the defeated would one day rise up and conquer the galaxy. tchassen saw that clearly, but no longer in fear. he wanted to make their stamina, their grit, their ability to survive a part of himself. he wanted to make himself over--as an earthman. [illustration: dick in the desert james otis] sunshine library. the blind brother. by homer greene $0.50 the captain's dog. by louis énault .50 dear little marchioness. the story of a child's faith and love .50 dick in the desert. by james otis .50 the gold thread. by norman mcleod, d.d. .50 how tommy saved the barn. by james otis .50 j. cole. by emma gellibrand .50 jessica's first prayer. by hesba stretton .50 laddie. by the author of "miss toosey's mission" .50 little peter. by lucas malet .50 master sunshine. by mrs. c. f. fraser .50 miss toosey's mission. by the author of "laddie" .50 musical journey of dorothy and delia. by bradley gilman .50 a short cruise. by james otis .50 the wreck of the circus. by james otis .50 thomas y. crowell & company, new york and boston. dick in the desert by james otis author of "how tommy saved the barn," etc. new york: 46 east 14th street thomas y. crowell & company boston: 100 purchase street copyright, 1893, by thomas y. crowell & company. typography by c. j. peters & son, boston. presswork by s. j. parkhill & co. [illustration: "thanks to the timely attention, dick soon opened his eyes."--page 48.] for the lad to whom i have given the name of dick stevens this little story has been written, with the hope that he may enjoy the reading of it even as i did his modest manner of telling it. james otis. contents. chapter page i. dick's daddy 1 ii. a lonely vigil 17 iii. a sand-storm 34 iv. at antelope spring 52 v. dick "pulls through" 69 dick in the desert. chapter i. dick's daddy. between fox peak and smoke creek desert, on the western edge of the state of nevada, is a beautiful valley, carpeted with bunch grass, which looks particularly bright and green to the venturesome traveller who has just crossed either of the two deserts lying toward the east. "buffalo meadows" the indians named it, because of the vast herds of american bison found there before the white men hunted simply for the sport of killing; but those who halt at the last watercourse prior to crossing the wide stretches of sand on the journey east, speak of it as "comfort hollow." to a travel-stained party who halted at the water-pool nearest the desert on a certain afternoon in september two years ago, this last name seemed particularly appropriate. they had come neither for gold nor the sport of hunting; but were wearily retracing their steps, after having wandered and suffered among the foot-hills of the sierras in a fruitless search for a home, on which they had been lured by unscrupulous speculators. nearly two years previous richard stevens--"roving dick" his acquaintances called him--had first crossed the vast plain of sand, with his wife, son, and daughter. his entire worldly possessions consisted of a small assortment of household goods packed in a stout, long-bodied wagon, covered with canvas stretched over five poles bent in a half-circle, and drawn by two decrepit horses. the journey had been a failure, so far as finding a home in the wilds was concerned, where the head of the family could live without much labor; and now the homeless ones, decidedly the worse for wear, were returning to willow point, on the little humboldt river. the provisions had long since been exhausted; the wagon rudely repaired in many places; the cooking utensils were reduced to one pot and a battered dipper; the canvas covering was torn and decaying, and the horses presented a skeleton-like appearance. the family had suffered outwardly quite as much as the goods. young dick and his father wore clothing which had been patched and repatched with anything mrs. stevens could push a needle through, until it would have been impossible to say what was the original material; but to a boy thirteen years of age this seemed a matter of little consequence, while his father preferred such a costume rather than exert himself to tan deer-hides for one more serviceable. mrs. stevens and six-year-old margie were in a less forlorn condition as to garments; but they also needed a new outfit sadly, and nearly every day young dick told them confidentially that he would attend to the matter immediately after arriving at willow point, even if it became necessary for him to sell his rifle, the only article of value he owned. "once across the desert, mother," he said, as the sorry-looking team was drawn up by the side of the pool, and he began to unharness the horses while his father went in search of game for supper, "and then we shall be well on our way to the old home we had no business to leave." "it is this portion of the journey that worries me most, dick. you remember what a hard time we had when the animals were in good condition; and now that they are hardly able to drag their own bones along, the danger is great." "no more than when we crossed the river; and even though father did feel afraid there, we got along all right," was the cheerful reply. "there should be plenty of game here, and after a square feed things won't look so bad." mrs. stevens turned wearily away to make preparations for the evening meal in case the hunter should bring in a supply of meat, but made no reply. she understood why young dick spoke encouragingly, and felt proud that the boy displayed so much tenderness for her; yet the fact could not be disguised that dangers beset the little party on every hand. it required but a small amount of labor in order to make ready for the night. tired as the horses were, there was no likelihood of their straying very far; and dick simply removed the harness, allowing the animals to roam at will. the wagon served as a camp; and the most arduous task was that of gathering materials with which to make a fire, when nothing larger than a bush could be seen on either hand. then there was no more to be done save await the return of the hunter, and it was not until the shadows began to lengthen into the gloom of night that young dick felt seriously alarmed. he knew his father would not have gone very far from the camp in search of game, because he was on foot, and there was no more promising place for sport than within the radius of a mile from where they had halted. besides, when hunting took the form of labor which must be performed, richard stevens was not one who would continue it long, unless he was remarkably hungry. young dick's mother gave words to her anxiety several times; but the boy argued with her that no harm could have befallen the absent one in that vicinity, and for a time her fears were allayed. when another hour passed, however, and nothing was heard from his father, even dick lost courage, and believed that the culminating point in their troubles had been reached. his mother and margie had entered the wagon when night was fully come, knowing they must go supperless to bed unless the hunter returned; and to dick the thought that these two whom he loved so dearly were hungry, brought him almost as much sorrow as the unaccountable absence of his father. he believed, however, that it was his duty to appear unconcerned, as if confident his father's prolonged absence did not betoken danger. he trudged to and fro in the immediate vicinity of the vehicle, at times whistling cheerily to show there was no trouble on his mind; and again, when it was impossible to continue the melody because of the sorrow in his heart, repeated to his mother that nothing serious could have befallen the absent one, that probably he had unconsciously wandered a long distance from the camp on the trail of game. "it don't stand to reason he will try to make his way now it is dark, mother dear; but within an hour or two after sunrise he'll be here, and the breakfast we shall then have will make up for the loss of supper." mrs. stevens made no reply; and listening a moment, dick heard the sound of suppressed sobs. his mother was in distress, and he could do no more toward comforting her than repeat what he did not absolutely believe. he knew full well that unless some accident had befallen him, his father would have returned before dark; that he would not have allowed himself to be led so far away from the camping-place that he could not readily return; and the boy's sorrow was all the greater because it was impossible to console his mother. clambering into the wagon, he put his arms around her neck, pressing his cheek close against hers, and during what seemed a very long while the two remained silent, not daring to give words to their fears. then dick bethought himself of a plan which offered some slight degree of hope, and starting up suddenly, said,-"i ought to have done it before, an' it ain't too late now." "done what, dick dear?" "gone out in the direction father took, and fired the rifle two or three times. it may be he has lost his bearings, and the report of the gun would be enough to let him know where we are." "but you must not go now that it is dark, my boy. suppose you should lose your way? then what would become of margie and me?" "there's no danger of that, mother. i've been in the woods often enough to be able to take care of myself, surely." "your father would have said the same thing when he set out; but yet we know some accident must have befallen him." "let me go only a little way, mother." "of what avail would that be, my son? if the purpose is to discharge your rifle, hoping father may hear the report, why not do it here?" "i will, if you won't let me go farther." "i can't, dick dear. i might be braver under other circumstances, but now the thought of your leaving me is more than i can bear." "i won't go so far but that i can see the wagon," dick said, kissing his mother and little margie much as though bidding them good-by; and a few moments later the report of his rifle almost startled the occupants of the wagon. during the next hour dick discharged his weapon at least twelve times, but there was no reply of whatsoever nature. if his father was alive and within hearing, he was too badly disabled to give token of his whereabouts. the supply of cartridges was not so large that very many could be used without making a serious inroad upon the store; and realizing the uselessness of further efforts in this direction, dick went back to the wagon. margie had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in her mother's lap; and mrs. stevens, unwilling to disturb the child, was taking such rest as was possible while she leaned against the canvas covering of the wagon. dick seated himself beside her. it was not necessary he should speak of his failure, for she knew that already. he had thought it his duty to join her for a few moments, and then go outside again to act the part of sentinel, although such labor could be of little avail; but before he had been nestling by her side five minutes his eyes were closed in slumber; and the mother, her mind reaching out to the absent father, spent the hours of the night in wakefulness, watching over her children. the sun had risen before dick's eyes were opened; and springing to his feet quickly, ashamed of having slept while his mother kept guard, he said,-"i didn't mean to hang on here like a baby while you were awake, mother, but my eyes shut before i knew it." "it is well you rested, my son. nothing could have been done had you remained awake." "perhaps not; but i should have felt better, because if anything has happened to father, though i don't say it can be possible, i'm the one who must take care of you and margie." mrs. stevens kissed the boy, not daring to trust herself to speak; and he hurried out, for there was before him a full day's work, if he would do that which he had decided upon in his mind the evening previous. there was no reasonable hope any one would come that way for many days--perhaps months. they were alone, and whatever was done must be accomplished by this thirteen-year-old boy. "i'm going after something for breakfast, mother, and then count on trying to follow father's trail," dick said, after looking around in every direction, even though he knew there was no possibility of seeing any human being. "there is no reason why you should spend the time in trying to get food for us, dick dear. margie and i can get on very well without breakfast, and you will have the more time to hunt for your father; but remember, my boy, that you are the only one we can depend upon now, and without you we might remain here until we starved." "i'll take good care not to go so far from the wagon but that i can find my way back; for surely i'll be able to follow on my own trail, if there's no other. hadn't i better do a little hunting first?" "not unless you are very, very hungry, dick. food would choke me just now, and there is enough of the bread we baked yesterday morning to give you and margie an apology for a breakfast." "i can get along without; you shall eat my share. now, don't worry if i'm not back until near sunset. the horses are close at hand, and you may be certain they won't stray while the feed is plentiful. stay in the wagon, even though there is nothing to harm you if you walk around. we must be careful that no more trouble comes upon us; so keep under cover, mother dear, and i'll be here again before night comes." dick was not as confident he could follow his father's trail as he would have it appear to his mother; but he decided upon the direction in which he would search, and set bravely out heading due west, knowing he could hold such a course by aid of the sun's position, as his father had often explained to him. dick was hungry, but scorned to let his mother know it, and tried to dull the edge of his appetite by chewing twigs and blades of grass. after walking rapidly ten minutes, more careful as to direction than he ever had been, because of the responsibility that rested upon him, he stopped and shouted his father's name; then listened, hoping to hear a reply. save for the hum of insect life, no sound came to his anxious ears. once more he pressed forward, and again shouted, but without avail. he continued on until, seeing the trail made by the wagon when they had come in from the stream, he knew he was very near to the border of the valley. surely his father would not have gone outside, because he had said before they arrived that only in the buffalo meadows were they likely to find game. then dick turned, pushing on in a northerly direction at right angles with the course he had just been pursuing, and halting at five-minute intervals to shout. his anxiety and hunger increased equally as the day grew older. try as he might, he could not keep the tears from over-running his eyelids. the sun was sinking toward the west before he heard aught of human voice save his own; and then a cry of joy and relief burst from his lips as he heard faintly in the distance his own name spoken. "i'm coming! i'm coming!" he cried at the full strength of his lungs, as he dashed forward, exultant in the thought that his father was alive, for he had begun to believe that he would never see him again in this world. mr. stevens continued to call out now and then to guide the boy on the way, and as he drew nearer dick understood from the quavering tones that his father was in agony. "i'm coming, daddy! i'm coming!" he shouted yet louder, as if believing it was necessary to animate the sufferer, for he now knew that some painful accident had befallen his father; and when he finally ended the search his heart literally ceased beating because of his terror and dismay. dick believed he had anticipated the worst, but yet was unprepared for that which he saw. lying amid the blood-stained sage-grass, his shirt stripped into bandages to tie up a grievously injured limb, lay "roving dick," his face pallid, his lips bloodless, and his general appearance that of one whom death has nearly overtaken. "daddy! daddy!" dick cried piteously, and then he understood that consciousness had deserted the wounded man. he had retained possession of his faculties until aid was near at hand, and then the long strain of physical and mental agony had brought about a collapse. dick raised his father's head tenderly, imploring him to speak--to tell him what should be done; but the injured man remained silent as if death had interposed to give him relief. looking about scrutinizingly, as those born and bred on the frontier learn to do early in life, dick saw his father's rifle twenty feet or more away, and between it and him a trail of blood through the sage-brush, then a sinister, crimson blotch on the sand. mr. stevens's right leg was the injured member, and it had been wrapped so tightly with the improvised bandages that the boy could form no idea as to the extent of the wound; but he knew it must indeed be serious to overcome so thoroughly one who, though indolent by nature, had undergone much more severe suffering than he could have known since the time of leaving the wagon to search for game. it seemed to dick as if more than ten minutes elapsed before his father spoke, and then it was to ask for water. he might as well have begged for gold, so far as dick's ability to gratify the desire was concerned. "to get any, daddy, i may have to go way back to the wagon, for i haven't come upon a single watercourse since leaving camp this morning." "your mother and margie?" "i left them at the camp. how did you get here?" "it was just before nightfall. i had been stalking an antelope; was crawling on the ground dragging my rifle, when the hammer must have caught amid the sage-brush; the weapon was discharged, and the bone of my leg appears to be shattered." "poor, poor daddy!" and dick kissed him on the forehead. "we must be four miles from the camp," mr. stevens said, speaking with difficulty because of his parched and swollen tongue. "i should say so; but i went toward the west, and after travelling until noon struck across this way, so have no idea of the distance." "i shall die for lack of water, dick, even though the wound does not kill me." "how shall i get it, daddy?" the boy cried piteously. "i can't leave you here alone, and i don't believe there's a drop nearer than where we are camped." "you _must_ leave me, dick; for you can do no good while staying here, and the thought that help is coming, even though there may be many hours to wait, will give me strength. can you find your way to the camp and back after nightfall?" "i'll do it somehow, daddy! i'll do it!" "then set out at once, and bring one of the horses back with you. i should be able to ride four miles, or even twice that distance, since it is to save my life." "but you'll keep up a brave heart, daddy dear, won't you? don't think you are going to die; but remember that mother and i, and even little margie, will do all we can to pull you through." "i know it, dick, i know it. you are a good lad--far better than i have been father; and if it should chance that when you come back i've gone from this world, remember that you are the only one to whom the mother and baby can look for protection." "you know i'd always take care of them; but i am going to save you, daddy dear. people have gotten over worse wounds than this, and once you are at the camp we will stay in buffalo meadows till it is possible for you to ride. i'll look out for the whole outfit, and from this on you sha'n't have a trouble, except because of the wound." "give me your hand, my boy, and now go; for strong as may be my will, i can't stand the loss of much more blood. god bless you, dick, and remember that i always loved you, even though i never provided for you as a father should have done." dick hastily cleared the mist from his eyes, and without speaking darted forward in the direction where he believed the wagon would be found, breaking the sage-brush as he ran in order that he might make plain the trail over which he must return. chapter ii. a lonely vigil. it was not yet dark when dick arrived within sight of the wagon, and shouted cheerily that those who were so anxiously awaiting his coming might know he had been fortunate in the search. as soon as his voice rang out, startlingly loud because of the almost oppressive stillness, mrs. stevens appeared from beneath the flap of the canvas covering, and an expression of most intense disappointment passed over her face as she saw that dick was alone. "it's all right, mother!" he cried, quickening his pace that she might the sooner be relieved from her suspense. "it's all right!" "did you find your father?" "yes; an' i've come back for one of the horses. he's been hurt, an' can't walk." "thank god he is alive!" she cried, and then for the first time since the previous evening she gave way to tears. dick did all he could toward comforting her without making any delay in setting out on the return journey. while he filled the canteen with fresh water he repeated what his father had bidden him to say; and when his mother asked concerning the wound, he spoke as if he did not consider it serious. "of course it's bad, for he thinks one of the bones has been splintered; but i don't see why he shouldn't come 'round all right after a spell. we've known of people who had worse hurts and yet got well." "but they were where at least something of what might be needed could be procured, while we are here in the desert." "not quite so bad as that, mother dear. we have water, and i should be able to get food in plenty. after i've supplied the camp, i'm goin' on foot to antelope spring, where we can buy whatever daddy may need." "across the desert alone!" "a boy like me ought to be able to do it, and"-"your father hasn't a penny, dick dear." "i know that, mother; but i'll sell my rifle before he shall suffer for anything. now don't worry, and keep up a good heart till i come back." "can't i be of some assistance if i go too?" "you'd better stay here with margie. father and i can manage it alone, i reckon." then dick set about catching one of the horses; and as he rode the sorry-looking steed up to the wagon, his mother gave him such articles from her scanty store as the wounded man might need. "you're a good boy, dick," she said, as he stooped over to kiss her; "and some day you shall have your reward." "i'll get it now, mother, if i see you looking a little more jolly; and indeed things ain't quite so bad as they seem, for i can pull our little gang through in great shape, though i'm afraid after it's been done i sha'n't be able to get you and margie the new outfit i promised." "we should be so thankful your father is alive as not to realize that we need anything else." "but you do, just the same, whether you realize it or not; an' i'll attend to everything if i have time enough. don't trouble yourself if we're not back much before morning, for i reckon daddy can't stand it to ride faster than a walk." then, without daring to stop longer, lest he should betray some sign of weakness, dick rode away, waving his hand to margie, who was looking out of the rear end of the wagon, but giving vent to a sigh which was almost a sob when they could no longer see him. young though he was, dick understood full well all the dangers which menaced. although he had spoken so confidently of being able to "pull the gang through," he knew what perils were before them during the journey across the desert; and it must be made within a reasonably short time, otherwise they might be overtaken by the winter storms before arriving at their old home. the beast he rode, worn by long travelling and scanty fare, could not be forced to a rapid pace; and when night came dick was hardly more than two miles from the wagon. he could have walked twice the distance in that time; but the delay was unavoidable, since only on the horse's back could his father be brought into camp. when it was so dark that he could not see the broken sage-brush which marked the trail, it was necessary he should dismount, and proceed even at a slower pace; but he continued to press forward steadily, even though slowly, until, when it seemed to him that the night was well-nigh spent, he heard a sound as of moaning a short distance in advance. "i've come at last, daddy. it's been a terrible long while, i know; but it was the best i could"-he ceased speaking very suddenly as he stood by the side of the sufferer, whom he could dimly see by the faint light of the stars. from the broken and uprooted sage-brush around him, it was evident the wounded man had, most likely while in a delirium of fever, attempted to drag himself on in the direction of the camp, and had ceased such poor efforts only when completely exhausted. he was lying on his back, looking straight up at the sky as he alternately moaned and talked at random, with now and then a mirthless laugh which frightened the boy. "don't, daddy, don't!" he begged, as he raised the sufferer's head. "see, it's dick come back; and now you can ride into camp!" "mother is dying of thirst, and i'm--see that stream! come, boys, we'll take a header into it--i'm on fire--fire!" frightened though he was, dick knew water was the one thing his father most needed; and laying the poor head gently back on the sand, he took the canteen from a bag which had served instead of a saddle. "drink this, daddy, and you'll feel better," he said coaxingly, much as if speaking to a child. the wounded man seized the tin vessel eagerly, and it required all dick's strength to prevent him from draining it at once. "i'm afraid to give you more now, my poor old man; but wait, like a dear, and i'll let you take it again when you're on the horse." not until after a violent struggle, which frightened dick because it seemed almost as if he was raising his hand against his father, did he regain possession of the canteen, and then a full half of the contents had been consumed. when his thirst was in a measure quenched, mr. stevens lay quietly on the sand, save now and then as he moaned in unconscious agony, heeding not the boy's pleading words. "try to help yourself a bit, daddy," he urged. "if you'll stand on one foot i can manage to lift you onto the horse's back." again and again did dick try by words to persuade his father to do as he desired, and then he realized how useless were his efforts. he had heard of this delirium which often follows neglect of gun-shot wounds, but had no idea how he should set about checking it. after understanding that words were useless, and knowing full well he could not lift unaided such a weight onto the horse's back, he crouched by his father's side in helpless grief. never before had he known what it was to be afraid, however far he might be from others of his kind; but now, as he listened to the meaningless words, or the piteous moans, terror took possession of him, and the soft sighing of the gentle wind sounded in his ears like a menace. the horse strayed here and there seeking food, but he gave no heed. such garments as his mother had given him, dick spread over the sufferer; and that done there was nothing for him save to wait. it seemed to the anxious boy as if the night would never end. now and then he rose to his feet, scanning the eastern sky in the hope of seeing some signs of coming dawn; but the light of the stars had not faded, and he knew the morning was yet far away. finally, when it seemed to him as if he could no longer remain idle listening to a strong man's childish prattle, the eastern heavens were lighted by a dull glow, which increased steadily until he could see the horse feeding on the dry bunch-grass an hundred yards away, and his long vigil was nearly at an end. his father called for water from time to time, and dick had given him to drink from the canteen till no more than a cupful remained. now he asked again, but in a voice which sounded more familiar; and a great hope sprang up in the boy's heart as he said,-"there's only a little left, you poor old man, and we can't get more this side the camp. shall i give it to you now?" "let me moisten my lips, dick dear. they are parched, and my tongue is swollen until it seems ready to burst." dick handed him the canteen; and his father drank sparingly, in marked contrast to his greedy swallowing of a few moments previous. "it tastes sweet, my boy; and when we are at the camp i'll need only to look at the brook in order to get relief. are you soon going for the horse?" "i went, an' have got back, daddy dear. you've been talking mighty queer--on account of the wound, i suppose." "how long have you been with me, child?" "i must have got here before midnight, and the morning is just coming now." "you're a good boy, dick." "that's what mother said before i left, and between the two of you i'm afraid you'll make me out way beyond what i deserve. we must get back as soon as we can, you poor old man; for she'll be crying her eyes sore with thinking we've both knocked under. will we have a try at getting on horseback?" "yes; and i reckon it can be done. lead the beast up here, and then help me on my feet--i've grown as weak as a baby, dick." "and i don't wonder at it. according to the looks of this sage-brush you must have lost half of all the blood you had at this time yesterday." now that his father was conscious once more, all dick's reasonless terror fled, and again he was the manly fellow he had always shown himself to be. the horse was led to mr. stevens's side; and dick raised the nearly powerless body until, at the expense of most severe pain, but without sign of it by even so much as a groan, his father stood on the uninjured limb. fortunately the horse was too weary to make much protest at what followed; with a restive steed it would have been impossible for the boy to half lift, half push his father up until he was seated on the bag that served as saddle. "how is it now, you poor old man? can you hold on there a couple of hours?" "i must, my boy; and if it so be i show signs of losing my reason again, you must contrive to lash me here, for unless this wound is attended to in better shape than it is just now, i'll go under." "for mother's sake you must keep a good grip on yourself. it'll come tough, i know; but once we're in camp you shall live on the fat of the land." dick took up his father's rifle,--his own he had left in the wagon when he went after the horse,--and, leading the animal by the bridle, marched on, glancing back every few seconds to learn how the rider was faring. although he struggled to repress any evidence of pain, mr. stevens could not prevent the agony from being apparent on his face; and dick, who had neither eaten nor slept during the past twenty-four hours, did all a boy could have done to cheer the sufferer, without thought of his own necessities. "we'll soon be in camp, daddy, when you're to have everything you need," he said from time to time; and then, fancying this was not sufficient encouragement, he finally added, "you know i'm going over to antelope spring to get some doctor's stuff as soon as i've found game enough to keep the camp supplied while i'm away." "antelope spring!" mr. stevens cried, aroused from his suffering for an instant by the bold assertion. "you shall never do it, dick, not if i had twenty wounds! it's as much as a man's life is worth to cross the desert on foot, and these horses of ours are worse than none at all." "by the time we've been in camp a couple of weeks where the feed is good, they'll pick up in great shape, and be fit to haul the old wagon home. won't it be prime to see the town once more? and there'll be no more hunting 'round for a place where we can get a livin' easy, eh, daddy?" "no, dickey; once we're there we'll stay, and i'm going to turn over a new leaf if my life is spared. i'll do more work and less loafing. but you're not to cross the desert alone, my boy." "it may be travellers will come our way, an' i can go with them," dick replied, taking good care not to make any promises; for he understood from what his mother had said that it would be absolutely necessary that aid should be had from the nearest settlement. fortunately, as it then seemed to the boy, the pain which his father was enduring prevented him from dwelling upon the subject; and as dick trudged on, trying to force the horse into a more rapid gait, he turned over in his mind all he had heard regarding such a journey. there were many times when it seemed certain mr. stevens must succumb to the suffering caused by the wound; but he contrived to "keep a good grip" on himself, as dick had suggested, and after what seemed the longest and most painful journey the boy had ever experienced, the two came upon landmarks which told they were nearing the encampment. his father was ghastly pale. the big drops of sweat on his forehead told of intense pain; and, in order to revive his courage yet a little longer, dick shouted loudly to warn the dear ones who were waiting. "they'll soon come running to meet us; and you must put on a bold front, daddy, else mother will think you're near dead. hold hard a little while longer, and then we'll have you in the wagon, where all hands of us can doctor you in great shape." it is more than probable that, had he been alone, with no one to cheer him, mr. stevens might never have been able to endure the agony which must have been his. thanks to dick's cheering words, however, he not only kept his seat, but remained conscious until his wife and son lifted him from the horse to the bed hastily prepared in the vehicle. then nature asserted herself; and he speedily sank into unconsciousness accompanied by delirium, as when dick had watched by his side. "he was just that way all night, and it frightened me, mother. what can we do for him?" "i don't know, dick dear; indeed i don't. unless he can have proper attention death must soon come, and i am ignorant of such nursing as he needs. if we were only where we could call in a doctor!" "wouldn't it do almost as well if we had medicine for him?" "perhaps so; but if we could get such things it would also be possible to at least find out what we should do." "the horses wouldn't pull us across the desert until after they've rested a spell," dick said half to himself. "and even if they could, we must have food." "see here, mother; you fix up daddy's leg the best you know how, and i'll look around for something that'll fill the pot. there are rabbits here in plenty, though it's mighty hard luck when you have to waste a cartridge on each one. i'll have enough in the way of meat by the time you've washed the wound. i've heard the poor old man himself say that plenty of cool water was needed on a bullet-hole." mrs. stevens could not be hopeful under the circumstances, for she knew better than did dick how slight was the chance that the injured man could live where it was impossible to care properly for the wound; but she would not deprive the boy of hope, and turned to do as he suggested. although weary and footsore, dick did not spend many moments in camp. he waited only long enough to get his rifle and ammunition, and then trudged off; for meat must be had, even at the expense of cartridges, both for the wounded man and the remainder of the family. an hour later dick returned with two rabbits; and when these had been made ready for cooking, he clambered into the wagon to see his father. the invalid looked more comfortable, even though nothing had been done for his relief save to cleanse the wound, and dress it in such fashion as was possible; but he was still in the delirium, and after kissing the pale forehead, dick went to where his mother was making ready for the long-delayed meal. "i don't reckon there's a bit of anything to eat, mother?" "i shall soon have these rabbits cooked." "but i must be off after larger game, and don't want to wait till dinner is ready." "you need the food, dickey, and there is only a tiny bit of bread." "give me that, mother dear. it will stop the hole in my stomach for a spell, and when i come back there'll be plenty of time to eat meat." had the circumstances been one whit less grave, mrs. stevens would not have consented to his setting out before having eaten a hearty meal; but she knew that more meat would soon be needed, since they had no other food, and two rabbits would hardly provide the famishing ones with enough to stay their hunger for the time being. the piece of bread, baked the day previous from the last of their store of flour, was brought out; and, munching it slowly that it might seem to be more, dick started off again. not until nearly nightfall did he return; but he had with him such portion of a deer's carcass as he could drag, and all fear of starvation was banished from camp. the wounded man was resting more comfortably, if such term can be applied properly when one is suffering severest pain; and after hanging the meat beneath the wagon, dick questioned his mother as to what might be done if they were within reach of a physician. "if we could see one, dickey, your father's life might be saved, for such a wound should not be exceedingly dangerous. if i knew how to treat it, and had the proper washes, we ought to nurse him back to life; but as it is, i haven't even that which would check the fever." "if you could talk to a doctor would it be all right?" "i believe so, dickey." "would the medecine you want cost very much?" "it is the same to us whether the price be much or little, since we haven't the opportunity to get what is needed, nor the money with which to pay for it if a shop were near at hand." dick ceased his questioning, and set about performing such work around the camp as might well have been left undone until the next day. a generous supply of broiled venison was made ready, and the boy ate heartily; after which he went into the wagon, telling his mother he would play the part of nurse until dark, when she could take his place. once in the vehicle, partially screened from view, dick, after much search for the bit of a lead-pencil his father owned, wrote on a piece of brown paper that had contained the last ten pounds of flour mr. stevens had purchased, the following words,- dear mother,--i know you won't let me go to antelope spring if i tell you about what i'm minded to do, so i shall slip off the first thing in the morning. i'll take my rifle with me, and by selling it, get what stuff daddy needs. i can talk with a doctor too; and when i come back we'll fix the poor old man up in great shape. don't worry about me, for i can get across without any bother. i'm going to take the canteen and some slices of meat, so i sha'n't be hungry or thirsty. i count on being back in three days; but if i'm gone five you mustn't think anything has gone wrong, for it may be a longer trip than i'm reckonin' on. i love you, and daddy, and margie mighty well; and this footing it across the desert ain't half as dangerous as you think for. your son, dickey. when this had been done, he kissed his father twice, smoothed the hair back from the pale, damp forehead, and whispered,-"i'm going so's you'll get well, my poor old man; and you mustn't make any kick, 'cause it's _got_ to be done." then he came out as if tired of playing the nurse, and proposed that he sleep under the wagon that night. "with all hands inside, daddy would be crowded; and i'm as well off out-of-doors. kiss me, mother, for i'm mighty tired." chapter iii. a sand-storm. in this proposal to retire thus early mrs. stevens saw nothing to excite her suspicions regarding dick's real intentions. he had worked for thirty-six hours almost incessantly; and it would not be strange if this unusual exertion, together with the weariness caused by excitement, had brought him to the verge of exhaustion. his mother would have insisted upon bringing out one of the well-worn blankets, but that dick was decidedly opposed to taking anything from the wagon which might in the slightest degree contribute to his father's comfort. "i'm very well off on the bare ground, and with the wagon to shelter me from the dew i couldn't be better fixed. our poor old man needs all we've got, mother; and you may be sure i won't lay awake thinking of the feather-beds we had at willow point, 'cause it's about as much as i can do to keep my eyes open." "you are a dear good boy, and god will reward you. in addition to saving your father's life, for that is what you've done this day, you have lightened my burden until it would be wicked to repine." "i'll risk your ever doing anything very wicked, mother; and if the time comes when it seems to you as though i don't do exactly as you want me to, just remember all you've said about my being a good boy, an' let it be a stand-off, will you?" "i am certain you will never do anything to cause me sorrow, dickey, dear. don't get up until you have been thoroughly rested; for now that we have food in camp, i can do all that will be necessary." then dick's mother kissed him again, not leaving him until he had stretched out at full length under the wagon; and so tired was the boy that mrs. stevens had hardly got back to take up her duties as nurse when his loud breathing told that he was asleep. when dick awakened it was still dark; but he believed, because he no longer felt extremely weary, that the night was nearly spent; and for the success of his plan it was of the utmost importance he should set out before his mother was astir. it was his purpose to travel on foot to antelope spring, a distance in an air-line of about forty-five miles, fifteen of which would be across the upper portion of smoke creek desert. in this waste of sand lay all the danger of the undertaking. the number of miles to be travelled troubled him but little, for more than once had he walked nearly as far in a single day while hunting; and he proposed to spend thirty-six hours on each stage of the journey. creeping cautiously out from under the wagon, he fastened his letter to the flap of the canvas covering in such a manner that his mother could not fail to see it when she first came out; and then he wrapped in leaves several slices of broiled venison, after which he stowed them in his pocket. the canteen was filled at a spring near-by. he saw to it that his ammunition belt contained no more than half a dozen cartridges, and then took up his rifle, handling it almost lovingly; for this, his only valuable possession, he intended to part with in order to secure what might be necessary for his father's relief and comfort. the weapon was slung over his back where it would not impede his movements; and with a single glance backward he set out with a long, swinging stride such as he knew by experience he could maintain for many hours. it was still dark when he had crossed the fertile meadows, and arrived at the border of an apparently limitless expanse of yellow sand. here it would not be possible to maintain the pace at which he had started, because of the loose sand in which his feet sank to the depth of an inch at each step. having set out at such an early hour, this boy, who was perilling his life in the hope of aiding his father, believed the more dangerous portion of the journey might be accomplished before the heat of the day should be the most severe. when the sun rose dick had travelled, as nearly as he could estimate, over three miles of desert; and his courage increased with the knowledge that one-fifth of the distance across the sands had already been traversed. at the end of the next hour he said to himself that he must be nearly midway on the road of sand; and although the labor of walking was most severe, his heart was very light. "once across, i'll push on as fast as any fellow can walk," he said aloud, as if the sound of his own voice gave him cheer. "by making an extra effort i ought to be in antelope spring before midnight, and have plenty of time to sleep between now and morning. half a day there to sell the rifle, an' buy what is needed, an' by sunset i should be at the edge of the desert again, ready to make this part of the tramp after dark." he walked quickly, and like one who intends to go but a short distance. the forty-five-mile tramp seemed to him but a trifle as compared with what was to be gained by the making of it. he thought of his mother as she read the note he had left on the flap of the wagon-covering, and wondered if she looked upon his departure as an act of disobedience, which, in fact, it was, since both his parents had insisted he should not attempt it. then his thoughts went out to his father, and he told over in his mind all the questions he would ask of the doctor at antelope spring; for he had no doubt but that he should find one of that profession there. he took little heed to the monotonous view around him, until suddenly he saw in the distance what appeared to be a low-hanging cloud; then he said to himself that if a shower should spring up the sun's face would be covered, and the heat, which was now very great, must be lessened. as this cloud advanced, descending to the sands while it rose toward the heavens, it grew more black; and on either side were long columns of seeming vapor rising, and as rapidly disappearing. then across the darkness on that portion of the horizon something bright moved swiftly, as if a flash of lightning had passed over the face of the cloud; and in an instant the sun and the sky were shut out from view. now the clouds took on the appearance of a dense black fog, coming up from the southward over the desert, until dick was seemingly looking at a gigantic wall, over the face of which shone now and then bright flashes of light. there was a shrieking and moaning in the air, so it seemed to the startled boy; and he failed to understand the meaning of this strange scene, until, the impenetrable wall having come so near, he could see that what appeared like flashes of light were gigantic columns of sand springing high in the air with fantastic shapes, and glinted by the sun from above the apparent vapor, until they were swallowed up in the enormous bank of cloud behind them. then it was dick knew the meaning of this terrible danger which threatened him. it was a storm of sand. "dancing giants" some have termed it, and others speak of it as the "hot blizzard." as if in an instant the dancing, swirling columns and the rushing cloud of sand, which swayed to and fro in fantastic movements, surrounded him. he was in the centre of a cyclone freighted with particles of sand. the wind roared until one might have believed he heard the crash of thunder. dick halted, terrified, bewildered; and as he came to a standstill, it seemed to him that the clouds on every hand lowered until he could see the blue sky above. then with a shriek from the wind the very sand beneath his feet rose and fell like billows of the sea. the tempest was upon him. he shielded his eyes with his arm; but the stinging, heated particles sought out every inch of his body, and his clothing afforded but little protection. the sand penetrated his ears and nostrils, and burned his lips until they bled. he had heard it said that to remain motionless in such a tempest means death; for wherever the wind meets with an obstruction, there it piles the sand in huge mounds, and his father had told of more than one hunter who had thus been buried alive. it was death to remain motionless, and yet to move seemed impossible. whether he turned to the right or the left the whirlwind struck him with a fury which it was difficult to withstand. it was as if the wind swept in upon him from every point of the compass--as if he was the centre of this whirling, dancing, blinding, murderous onrush of sand. the boy's throat was dry. he was burning with thirst. the dust-laden air seemed to have literally filled his lungs, and it was with difficulty he could breathe. despite the protection he sought to give, his eyes were inflamed, and the lids cruelly swollen. he sank ankle-deep at every step, and above him and around him the wild blasts shrieked, until there were times when he feared lest he should be thrown from his feet. pulling his hat down over his aching eyes, the bewildered, terrified boy tried to gain some relief from the thirst which assailed him. he understood that the contents of his canteen must be guarded jealously; for if he lived there were still several miles of the desert journey to be traversed, and the walking would be even more difficult than before the storm set in, because of the shifting sand. his distress rendered him reckless; and regardless of the future, he drank fully half the water in the canteen, bathing his eyes with a small quantity poured in the hollow of his hand. it would have been better if he had not tried to find relief by this last method, for the flying particles of sand adhered to such portions of his face as were wet, forming a coating over the skin almost instantly. he attempted to brush it off, and the gritty substance cut into his flesh as if he had rubbed it with emery-paper. then came into dick's mind the thought that he should never more see his parents on this earth, and for the instant his courage so far deserted him that he was on the point of flinging himself face downward upon the sand. fortunately there appeared before his mental vision a picture of his father lying in the wagon with the certainty that death would come unless his son could bring relief, and this nerved the boy to yet greater exertion. with his arms over his face, he pushed forward once more, not knowing whether he might be retracing his steps, or proceeding in the proper direction. every inch of advance was made against the fierce wind and drifting sand which nearly overthrew him. every breath he drew was choked with dust. how long he thus literally fought against the elements it was impossible for him so much as to conjecture. he knew his strength was spending rapidly; and when it seemed as if he could not take another step, he stumbled, and fell against a mound of sand. it had been built by the "dancing giants" when some obstruction had been found in the path of the storm; and as dick fell prostrate at the foot of this slight elevation, there instantly came a sense of deepest relief. the sand was no longer thrown against him by the blast; the wind had ceased to buffet him; he was in comparative quiet, and for an instant he failed to understand the reason. then he realized that this mound, which had thrown him from his feet, was affording a shelter against the tempest, which was now coming from one direction instead of in a circle as heretofore; and a fervent prayer of thanksgiving went up from his heart, for he believed his life had been saved that he might aid his father. after recovering in a measure from the exhaustion consequent upon his battle with the elements, he proceeded with infinite care to brush the particles of sand from his face; and this done, his relief was yet greater. overhead the air was full of darkness; the wind still screamed as it whirled aloft the spiral columns of dust; the wave-like drift of the sand surged on either side; but for the moment he was safe. he had been told that such tempests were of but short duration, and yet it seemed to him as if already half a day had been spent in this fight for life. then he said to himself that he could remain where he was in safety until the wind had subsided; but even as the words were formed in his mind he was conscious of a weight upon his limbs as if something was bearing him down, and for the first time he realized that he was being rapidly buried alive. to remain where he was ten minutes longer must be fatal; and perhaps even that length of time would not be allowed him, for if the wind so shifted as to cut off the top of the mound, then he would be overwhelmed as if in a landslide. there was nothing for it but to go into the conflict once more; and in this second effort the odds would be still greater against him, because his courage was lessened. he knew the danger which menaced, and the suffering he would have to endure the instant he rose from behind the poor shelter; yet it was necessary, and the boy staggered to his feet. there was nothing to guide him in the right direction, for all around was blackness and flying grit; yet he believed his way lay directly in the teeth of the storm, and because of such belief pressed onward, resolving that he would continue as long as was possible. as he said to himself so he did, staggering this way and that, but ever pressing forward on the course which he believed to be the true one, blinded, choking, bewildered by the swirling particles until he was dimly conscious of falling, and then he knew no more. at the moment dick fell vanquished, hardly more than a quarter of a mile distant were two men mounted on indian ponies, and leading three burros laden with a miner's outfit for prospecting. to them the sand-storms of the desert were not strange; and with the knowledge born of experience they made preparations for "riding out the gale," when the low, dark cloud first appeared in the eastern horizon. the animals were fastened with their heads together; the riders bending forward in the saddles, and, as well as it could be accomplished, throwing over all the heads a number of blankets. the two horsemen had taken the precaution while assuming this position to present their backs to the wind, and each had tied one end of his blanket around his waist in such manner that it could not be stripped off by the tempest. two or three blankets were fastened to the heads of the animals, and thus the faces of all were protected. when the sand had whirled around them until the animals were buried nearly to their bellies, the riders forced the bunch onward ten or fifteen paces, continuing to make this change of location at least every five minutes during the entire time the tempest raged; and thus it was they escaped being buried in the downpour of sand. from the time the first blast struck dick, until the "dancing giants" whirled away to the westward, leaving the sky unclouded and the yellow sands shimmering in the sunlight, no more than thirty minutes had passed; yet in that short interval one human life on which others depended would have been sacrificed, unless these two travellers who were uninjured should chance to reach that exact spot where lay the boy partially covered by the desert's winding-sheet. "you can talk of a gale at sea where the sailors are half drowned all the time; but it ain't a marker alongside of these 'ere red-hot blizzards, eh, parsons?" one of the horsemen said as he threw off the blanket from his head with a long-drawn sigh of relief. "drownin' must be mighty pleasant kind of fun alongside of chokin' to death on account of bein' filled plum full with dry sand," parsons replied. "i allow there ain't no call for us to stay here braggin' about our nevada hurricanes, tom robinson, more especially since we'll make less headway now the sand has been stirred up a bit." "there's nothin' to hold me here," robinson replied with a laugh. straightway the two men turned their ponies' heads toward the west; and as they advanced the patient burros, laden with a miscellaneous assortment of goods until little else than their heads and tails could be seen, followed steadily in the rear. five minutes after they had resumed their journey parsons cried, as he raised himself in the stirrups, shading his eyes with his hands as he peered ahead,-"what's that 'ere bit of blue out there? part of somebody's outfit? or was there a shipwreck close at hand?" "it's a man--most likely a tenderfoot, if he tried to walk across this 'ere desert." the two halted, and dick stevens's life was saved. had the storm lasted two or three minutes longer, or these prospectors gone in any other direction, he must have died where he had fallen. now he was dragged out from beneath the weight of sand, and laid upon a blanket, while the men, knowing by experience what should be done in such cases, set about restoring the boy to consciousness. thanks to the timely attention, dick soon opened his eyes, stared around him for an instant in bewilderment, and then exclaimed as he made a vain attempt to rise,-"i come pretty near knockin' under, didn't i? the last i remember was of fallin'." "i allow it was the closest shave you'll ever have agin," parsons replied grimly; "an' i'm free to say that them as are sich fools as to cross this 'ere sand-barren afoot oughter stay on it, like as you were in a fair way of doin' before we come along." "an' that's what daddy would say, i s'pose. if he'd known what i was goin' to do, there would have been a stop put to it, even though it was to save his life i came." "how can you save anybody's life by comin' out in sich a tom-fool way as this? less than a quart of water, and not so much as a blanket with which to protect yourself." "i can do it by goin' to antelope spring an' findin' a doctor," dick replied. "you see, daddy shot himself in the leg--stove a bone all to pieces; and mother don't know what to do, so i slid off this mornin' without tellin' anybody." "countin' on footin' it to antelope spring?" parsons asked as if in surprise. "yes; it ain't more'n forty-five miles the way we've reckoned it." "where did you start from?" "buffalo meadows." "and when did you count on makin' that forty-five miles?" "i allowed to get there before midnight." "where's your camp?" "well, we haven't got anything you can rightly call a camp; but we're located in a prairie schooner near by the spring in the valley." "how many in the party?" "daddy, mother, an' margie." the two men looked at dick an instant, and then glanced at each other, after which parsons said emphatically,-"the boy has got grit; but the old man must have been way off to come through this section of the country in a wagon." dick explained how it was they chanced to be travelling, and then, eager to gain all the information possible, asked,-"do you know anything about antelope spring?" "nothin' good. there's a settlement by that name; but it's a no-account place." "i s'pose i'll find a doctor?" "i reckon they've got somethin' of the kind hangin' 'round. but are you countin' on draggin' one down to buffalo meadows?" "i don't expect to be so lucky. but mother seemed to have the idea that if somebody who knew all about it would tell her how to take care of daddy's wound, she'd get along with such stuff as i could fetch to help him out in the fever. say, i don't reckon either of you wants to buy a good rifle? there ain't a better one on humboldt river;" and as he spoke dick unslung the weapon which hung at his back. "what's your idea in sellin' the gun? it strikes me, if you're countin' on pullin' through from buffalo meadows to willow point, you'll need it." "of course i shall; but it's got to go. you see, daddy's dead broke, an' i must have money to pay for the doctor's stuff. i don't s'pose you want it; but if you did, here's a good chance. if you don't buy i reckon there'll be some one up to antelope spring who'll take it off my hands." "haven't you got anything else you can put up, instead of lettin' the rifle go? in this section of the country a tool like that will stand a man good agin starvation." "it's all i own that's worth anything, an' i'll be mighty sorry to lose it; but she's got to go." again the men looked at the boy, then at each other; and parsons motioned for his companion to follow him a short distance away, where, to dick's great surprise, they began an animated conversation. chapter iv. at antelope spring. dick was perplexed by the behavior of these two strangers. he failed utterly to understand why they should have anything of such a private nature to discuss that it was necessary to move aside from him; for in a few moments they would be alone on the desert, after he had gone his way. the discussion, or conversation, whichever it may have been, did not occupy many moments; but brief as was the time, dick had turned to continue his journey at the instant when the men rejoined him. "what do you allow you ought to get for that rifle?" parsons asked abruptly. "that's what i don't know. you see, i didn't buy it new, but traded for her before we left home. it seems to me she ought to be a bargain at--at--ten dollars." "an' if you get the cash you're goin' to blow it right in for what the doctor can tell you, an' sich stuff as he thinks your old man ought to have eh?" "that's what i'll do if it costs as much." "s'posen it don't? allow that you've got five dollars left, what then?" "i'll buy flour, an' bacon, an' somethin' for mother an' margie with the balance." "do you mean to tell me your father was sich a tenderfoot as to come down through this way without any outfit?" robinson asked sternly. "he had plenty at the time we started; but you see we struck bad luck all the way along, and when we pulled into buffalo meadows we had cooked the last pound of flour. there wasn't even a bit of meat in the camp when he got shot. i knocked over a deer last night, an' that will keep 'em goin' till i get back." "an' a kid like you is supportin' a family, eh?" parsons asked in a kindly tone. "i don't know what kind of a fist i'm goin' to make of it; but that's what i'll try to do till daddy gets on his feet again. say, how long do you s'pose it'll take a man to get well when one leg is knocked endways with a bullet plum through the bone of it?" "it'll be quite a bit, i'm thinkin'--too long for you to stay in buffalo meadows at this time of the year. two months ought to do it, eh, parsons?" "well, yes; he won't get 'round any quicker than that." "i don't know as it makes much difference if he can't walk a great deal, 'cause after the horses have had plenty of grass for a couple of weeks we'll pull across this place; an' once on the other side i sha'n't worry but what i can take 'em through all right." "look here, my son," robinson said, as he laid his hand on the lad's shoulder. "you've got plenty of sand, that's a fact. i allow there ain't a kid within a thousand miles of here that would tackle the contract you've taken this mornin'. if we wasn't bound to the winnemucca range, an it wasn't quite so late in the season, we'd help you out by goin' down to camp an' straightenin' things a bit; but it can't be done now. we'll buy your rifle though, an' that's what we've agreed on. ten dollars ain't sich a big pile for the gun; but yet it's plenty enough--leastways, it's all we can afford to put out just now." "i'll be mighty glad to sell it for that if you need a rifle; an' it'll be better to make the trade now than wait till i get into antelope spring, 'cause there's no dead certainty i'll find anybody there who'll buy it." parsons took from a buckskin bag a small roll of bills, and when he had counted out ten dollars there was but little of the original amount remaining. he handed the money to dick; and the latter, after the briefest hesitation, held the rifle toward him. "sorry to give it up, eh?" robinson asked. "well, i ain't when it comes to gettin' the money for daddy; if it wasn't for that i'd be. you see, it's the first one i ever owned, an' the way things look now, it'll be a good while before i get another." "i'll tell you how we'll fix it, son. my partner an' i ain't needin' an extra rifle just now; an' more than as likely as not--in fact, i may say it's certain--we'll be up 'round your way before the winter fairly sets in. now, if you could keep it for us till then, it would be the biggest kind of a favor, 'cause you see we're prospecting an' have got about all the load the burros can tackle." "you're--you're--sure you want to buy this gun, eh?" "well, if we wasn't, there wouldn't have been much sense in makin' the talk." "but if you're prospectors, there isn't any show of your gettin' 'round to willow point." "oh, we drift up an' down, here an' there, just as the case may be. there ain't any question about our trailin' all over the state in time, and you shall keep the rifle in good shape till we call for it. so long, my son. it's time for you to be hoofin' it, if you count on gettin' to antelope spring this side of to-morrow mornin'." as he spoke, parsons mounted his pony, robinson following the example; and in another moment the two were on their way once more, leaving dick in a painful state of uncertainty regarding their purpose in purchasing the gun. during two or three minutes the boy stood where they had left him, and then cried,-"hello there! hold on a minute, will you?" "what's the matter now?" and parsons looked over his shoulder, but neither he nor his partner reined in their steeds. "are you buyin' this rifle? or are you makin' believe so's to give me the ten dollars?" "s'posen we was makin' believe?" "why then i wouldn't take the money, 'cause i ain't out begging." "don't fret yourself, my son. we've bought the gun all right; an' the next time we meet, you can hand it over. i wish our pile had been bigger so's we could have given twenty, 'cause a kid like you deserves it." the horsemen continued on, and by this time were so far away that dick would have been unwise had he attempted to overtake them. he stood irresolutely an instant as if doubtful of the genuineness of this alleged business transaction. it was as if the men feared he might attempt to overtake them; for despite the heavy loads on the burros they urged the beasts forward at their best pace, and dick was still revolving the matter in his mind when they were a mile or more away. "well, it's no use for me to stand here tryin' to figure out whether they've given me this money or really mean to buy the rifle, for i've got to strike antelope spring between this time an' midnight. now that there are ten dollars in my pocket, i'll be a pretty poor stick if i don't do it; but the sand-storm came mighty near windin' me up. it was the toughest thing i ever saw." then dick set forward once more, toiling over the loose surface into which his feet sank three or four inches at every step; and when he finally stood on the firm soil east of this waste of shifting sand, it was two hours past noon. as he had reckoned, there were more than thirty miles yet to be traversed; but the distance troubled him little. he had in his possession that which would buy such knowledge and such drugs as his father might need, and he believed it would be almost a sin to rebel even in his thoughts against the labor which must be performed. now he advanced, whistling cheerily, with a long stride and a swinging gait that should have carried him over the trail at the rate of four miles an hour; and not until late in the afternoon did he permit himself to halt, and partake of the broiled venison. then he ate every morsel, and, the meal finished, said aloud with a low laugh of perfect content:-"it's lucky i didn't bring any more; for i should eat it to a dead certainty, an' then i wouldn't be in as good trim for walkin'. daddy always says that the less a fellow has in his stomach the easier he can get over the ground, and the poor old man never struck it truer." after this halt of fifteen minutes dick pressed forward without more delay until he came upon the settlement, at what time he knew not, but to the best of his belief it was hardly more than an hour past midnight. there was no thought in his mind of spending any portion of the money for a bed. the earth offered such a resting-place as satisfied him; and since the day his father departed from willow point in the hope of finding a location where he could earn a livelihood with but little labor, dick had more often slept upon the ground than elsewhere. now he threw himself down by the side of a storehouse, or shed, where he would be protected from the night wind; and there was hardly more than time to compose himself for rest before his eyes were closed in slumber. no person in antelope spring was awake at an earlier hour next morning than dick stevens; for the sun had not yet shown himself when the boy arose to his feet, and looked around as if to say that he was in fine condition. "a tramp of forty-five miles ain't to be sneezed at, an' when you throw in fifteen miles of desert an' a sand-storm to boot, it's what i call a pretty good day's work; yet i'm feelin' fine as a fiddle," he said in a tone of satisfaction, after which he made an apology for a toilet at the stream near-by. dick had no idea in which direction a physician might be found; therefore he halted in front of the first store he saw to wait until the proprietor came, half an hour later, to attend to customers. it was such a shop as one would naturally expect to find in a settlement among the mountains of nevada. from molasses to perfumery, and from ploughs to fish-hooks, the assortment ran, until one would say all his wants might be supplied from the stock. cheese was what dick had decided upon for his morning meal; and after purchasing two pounds, together with such an amount of crackers as he thought would be necessary, he set about eating breakfast at the same time that he gained the desired information. "i've come from the other side of smoke creek desert," he began, speaking indistinctly because of the fulness of his mouth, "an' want to find a doctor." "ain't sick, are yer?" the shopkeeper asked with mild curiosity. "daddy shot himself in the leg, an' mother don't know what to do for him; so i've come up to hire a doctor to tell me, an' buy whatever he says is needed." "a kid like you come across the desert! where's your pony?" "i haven't got any. daddy's horses are so nearly played out that they've got to be left to grass two or three weeks, if we count on doin' anything with 'em." "did you walk across?" the shopkeeper asked incredulously. "that's what i did;" and dick told of his sufferings during the sand-storm, not in a boastful way, but as if it were his purpose to give the prospectors the praise they deserved. when he had concluded, the proprietor plunged his hands deep in his pockets, surveyed the boy from head to foot much as parsons and robinson had, saying not a word until dick's face reddened under the close scrutiny, when he exclaimed,-"well, i'll be jiggered! a kid of your size--say, how old are you, bub?" "thirteen." "well, a baby of thirteen lightin' out across smoke creek desert, an' all for the sake of helpin' your dad, eh? do you reckon you can bite out of dr. manter's ear all you want to know, an' then go back an' run the business?" "it seems as if he ought to tell me what mother needs to do, an' i can remember every word. then she said there would have to be some medicine to stop the fever; an' that's what i'm countin' on buyin', if he gives me the name of it." "when are you goin' back?" "i'm in hopes to get away this noon, an' then i'll be in camp by to-morrow mornin'." "say, sonny, do you want to stuff me with the yarn that you've travelled forty-five miles in less'n thirty-six hours, an' count on doin' the same thing right over agin, which is ninety miles in less'n three days?" "i've done the first half of the journey, an' it couldn't have been more'n two hours past midnight when i got here. with such a lay-out as this for breakfast i'll be in good shape for goin' back; an' it would be a mighty poor boy who couldn't get there between this noon an' to-morrow mornin', 'cause i'll go across the desert after dark, an' it ain't likely there'll be another sand-storm." "well, look here, sonny, stand right there for a minute, will you, while i go out? i won't be gone a great while, an' you can finish up your breakfast." "but i want to see the doctor as soon as i can, you know." "that'll be all right. i'll make it in my way to help you along so you sha'n't be kept in this town a single hour more'n 's necessary." having said this, and without waiting to learn whether his young and early customer was willing to do as he had requested, the proprietor of the store hurriedly left the building, and dick had finished his meal before he returned. the boy was stowing the remainder of the cheese and crackers into his pockets when the shopkeeper, accompanied by two men, who looked as if they might have been hunters or miners, entered. "is this the kid?" one of the strangers asked, looking as curiously at the boy as had the proprietor. "that's the one; an' the yarn he tells must be pretty nigh true, 'cause he met parsons an' robinson, an' accordin' to his story they bought his rifle, leavin' it with him till such time as they want to claim it." the newcomers questioned dick so closely regarding the journey and its purpose that he began to fear something was wrong, and asked nervously,-"what's the reason i shouldn't have come up here? when a feller's father is goin' to die if he can't get a doctor afoul of him, it's a case of hustlin' right sharp." "an' accordin' to the account you've given, that's about what you've been doin'," one of the strangers said with an approving nod, which reassured the boy to such an extent that he answered without hesitation the further questions which were asked. when the curiosity of the men had been satisfied, one of those whom the landlord had brought in, and who was addressed by his companions as "bob mason," said to dick, as he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder,-"we'll take care of you, my bold kid, an' see that you get all your father needs. if it wasn't that the doctor in this 'ere town is worked mighty hard, i'd make it my business to send him right down to your camp. but i reckon, if it's nothin' more'n a bullet through your dad's leg, he'll pull 'round all right with sich things as you can carry from here. now come on, an' we'll find out what the pill-master thinks of the case." dick was thoroughly surprised that so much interest in his affairs should be manifested by strangers, and it pleased him that he was to have assistance in this search for medical knowledge. he followed this new friend readily, and in a few moments was standing before the doctor, listening to mr. mason's highly colored version of the journey. when he would have corrected the gentleman as to some of the points which had been exaggerated, he was kindly bade to "hold his tongue." "i've heard all your yarn, my boy, an' can imagine a good many things you didn't tell. there's precious few of us in this section of the country that was ever overtook, while on foot, by the dancin' giants, an' lived to tell the story." "i wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for mr. parsons an' mr. robinson." "what they did don't cut any figger. it's what you went through with that i'm talkin' about, an' the doctor is bound to hear the whole story before he gives up what he knows." not until mr. mason had concluded the recital after his own fashion did he give the professional gentleman an opportunity to impart the information which dick had worked so hard to obtain; and then the physician, after telling him in a general way how the patient should be treated, wrote out in detail instructions for mrs. stevens to follow. then from his store of drugs, pills, and nauseous potions he selected such as might be needed in the case, writing on each package full directions, at the expense of at least an hour's time; and when he had finished, dick believed that his father would suffer for nothing in the way of medicine. "there, lad," dr. manter said as he concluded his labors, and tied in the smallest possible compass the articles he had set out, "i allow your mother should be able to do all that is necessary; and unless the bone is so shattered that the leg must be amputated, it is possible you will get along as well without a physician as with one." "do you mean there's a chance my poor old man might have to let his leg be cut off?" "if you have described the wound correctly, i should say there was every danger. i have written, however, to your mother, so that she may be able to decide if anything of the kind is probable, and then you may be obliged to make another journey up here. at all events, if your father's life should be in danger, you may depend upon it i will come to the camp; although i am free to admit that a ride across smoke creek desert isn't one that i hanker for, although you seem to have made the journey on foot and thought little of it." "that's 'cause i was doin' it on daddy's account. how much is your price for this stuff?" mr. mason instantly plunged his hand in his pocket; and before he could withdraw it the physician replied,-"you have earned all i've given you, lad; and i'd be ashamed to take even a dollar from a plucky little shaver like you." "but i've got ten dollars, an' can pay my way. if i'd thought the prospectors meant to give me the money instead of buyin' the rifle, i'd got along without it; but they said twice over that they wanted the gun, an' i believed 'em." "no one can accuse you of being a beggar; but if it's the same to you, i'd rather let this go on account, and some day perhaps, when you've struck it rich, come around and we'll have a settlement." "doctor, you're a man, every inch of you!" mr. mason said in a loud tone, as he slapped the physician on the shoulder with a force that caused him to wince with absolute pain. "you're a man; an' if the people in this town don't know it already, they shall find it out from yours truly. i reckon we can ante up a little something in this 'ere matter, so the kid won't go home empty-handed; for i tell you there's nothin' in antelope spring too good for him." again dick looked about him in surprise that such praise should be bestowed for what seemed to him a very simple act. the kindly manner in which the physician bade him good-by, with the assurance that he would himself go to buffalo meadows if it should become necessary, served to increase the boy's astonishment; and instead of thanking the gentleman, he could only say, because of his bewilderment,-"i did it for daddy, sir; an' it would be a mean kind of fellow who wouldn't do as much." then mr. mason hurried him away, and despite dick's protests insisted on leading him from one place to another, until it was as if he had been introduced to every citizen in the settlement. he was not called upon to tell his story again, because his conductor did that for him; and the details of the narrative were magnified with each repetition, until dick believed it absolutely necessary he should contradict certain portions wherein he was depicted as a hero of the first class. when mr. mason had shown the boy fully around the town, he said by way of parting,-"now you go down to mansfield's, an' wait there till i come." "where's mansfield's?" "that's the store where i found you." "but i can't wait a great while, mr. mason. you know i've got to be back by to-morrow mornin'; an' i ought to be leavin' now, 'cause it's pretty near noon." "don't worry your head about that, my son. you shall get to camp before sunrise to-morrow mornin', an' without so very much work on your part, either. now go down to mansfield's, an' wait there till i come. mind you don't leave this town till i'm back there." mr. mason hurried away as he ceased speaking; and dick walked slowly down the street, debating in his mind whether he must obey this order. chapter v. dick "pulls through." when dick had retraced his steps to mansfield's he found no less than ten of the citizens there, several of whom he had already met; and all were evidently eager to talk with the boy who had walked across smoke creek desert. there were but few in that section of the country who would have dared to make the venture, although it was by no means a dangerous or difficult journey for a horseman; and dick's bravery, in connection with all the circumstances, pleased the citizens of antelope spring wonderfully well. the package dick carried told that he had been successful in finding a physician, and mr. mansfield was curious to learn how much the medical gentleman had charged for his services. "he wouldn't take a cent," dick said in reply to the question. "it seems to me the folks in this town are mighty good." "i don't reckon we'll ever be hung for our goodness," the proprietor of the shop said with a grin; "but it is considerable of a treat to see a kid with so much sand as you've shown. dr. manter knew which side his bread was buttered on when he wouldn't take your money; an' if your father don't get better with what you're takin' to him, you can count on manter seein' the thing through. you've got quite a load, my son." "yes; an' i'm countin' on carryin' more, if you'll take money for what i buy. i don't want to set myself up for a beggar, 'cause i've got the stuff to pay for everything." "what do you want?" "about ten pounds of flour, and the same weight in bacon or salt pork, with a little pepper and salt, will be as much as i can carry." "it's a good deal more'n i'd want to tote forty-five miles 'twixt now and sunset," one of the visitors remarked; and dick replied cheerily,-"it wouldn't seem very heavy if you was carryin' it to your folks who'd had nothin' but fresh meat to eat for the last month. mother and margie will be wild when i bring in that much." "i'll put up twenty-five pounds in all, for i reckon there are other things that would come handy," mr. mansfield said as he began to weigh out the articles, and dick asked quickly,-"you're to let me pay for 'em?" "sure," the proprietor replied as he winked at the loungers. "you shall give all the stuff is worth." "i didn't want to hang 'round here very long; but mr. mason said i was to wait for him." "if bob mason give sich orders it'll be worth your while to stop a spell; for he's as cross-grained as a broncho when matters don't go to his likin', an' might make trouble for you." dick was considerably disturbed by this remark, which had much the sound of a threat, and looked out of the door uneasily. the citizens had been exceedingly kind to him; but he had had no little experience with inhabitants of frontier towns, and knew that friendship might be changed to enmity very suddenly. the shopkeeper had not finished filling the small order when bob mason rode up on a wiry-looking broncho, and after tying the beast to a hitching-post, entered the store. "i had an idea that was what you were up to," one of the loungers said; and mason replied with a laugh,-"when we have sich a visitor as this 'ere kid, i reckon we're called on to make things pleasant for him." then turning to dick he added, "if it so be your daddy pulls through all right for the next week or ten days, he should be in condition to ride this far?" "after the horses have rested a little i counted on starting for willow point." "it strikes me that would be too rough a journey for the old man at this time of the year. we're needin' kids like you in this town, an' i allow you'll find a shelter here till spring. then, if the settlement don't suit you, it'll be only a case of goin' on when the travellin' is easier." "do you mean that we'd better live here?" dick asked in surprise. "that's the way some of us have figgered it." "can i find work enough to pay our way? you see, daddy won't be in shape to do anything for quite a spell." "i'll give you a job on my ranch, an' pay fair wages." "then we'll be glad to stop." "all right, my son. you shall take your own time about comin', and i'll hold the job open till you get here. now i'm allowin' to lend you that broncho, so you can get back in case the old man grows worse. he's a tricky beast; but i reckon you'll handle him without any too much trouble. the only drawback is that i can't furnish a saddle." "if you can spare the pony, i'll get along without the fixings," dick replied, his eyes gleaming with delight; for with such a steed he would be able to visit the town at short notice, if it should become necessary. "i'm allowin' that i've got a saddle he can have for a spell," mr. mansfield replied thoughtfully; and although dick insisted that there was really no need of one, it was brought out. the loungers took it upon themselves to see that the broncho was properly harnessed; and now that it was no longer necessary to limit the weight of the supplies, the shopkeeper suggested that the amount of flour and bacon be doubled. "will ten dollars be enough to pay for it?" dick asked. "we'll make a charge of it, seein's you're goin' to work for bob mason. you can give me an order on him after you've been here a spell, an' it'll be the same thing as cash." "now you're doin' the square thing, mansfield," mason said approvingly; and despite dick's protests that he preferred to pay his way so long as he had the money, the matter was thus arranged. "you are sure i can earn enough to pay for what we'll need to eat between now and spring?" the boy asked doubtfully. "i'm allowing from what i've seen, that you'll earn a man's wages, an' that'll be thirty dollars a month. if your father is anything like you, i'll guarantee he can find work enough to support the family; an' antelope spring is needin' settlers mighty bad." the supply of provisions and the medicines were packed in a bag, divided into two portions of equal weight that they might be carried over the saddle, and then dick was ready to mount. he realized fully how kind the people of the town had been to him, and was eager to say that which should give token of the gratitude in his heart; but the words refused to come at his bidding. he stammered in the attempt to speak, cleared his throat nervously, and tried again,-"you've been mighty good, all hands, an' i'm thinkin' it'll help daddy pull through. i wish--i wish"-"that's all right, my son," bob mason interrupted. "we've got a good idea of what you want to say, an' you can let it go at that. as a general thing we don't get stuck on kids; but when one flashes up in the style you have, we cotton to him mightily. you can push that 'ere broncho right along, for forty-five miles ain't any terrible big job for him, an' canter into camp this side of midnight with considerable time to spare." "i thank you all, an' so will mother an' daddy when they get here," he said in a husky tone, as he mounted; and then waving his cap by way of adieu, he rode away, the happiest boy to be found on either side of the rocky mountains. night had not fully come when he halted at the eastern edge of the desert to give the broncho water and grass; and here he remained an hour, the crackers and cheese left from breakfast affording an appetizing supper to a lad who had known but little variation in his bill of fare from fresh meat, broiled or stewed, more often without salt or pepper. the stars guided him on the course across the waste of sand, and the pony made his way over the yielding surface at a pace which surprised the rider. "he can walk four miles an hour, according to this showing, and i should be in camp before ten o'clock." in this he was not mistaken. the broncho pushed ahead rapidly, proving that he had traversed deserts before, and was eager to complete the journey; and when dick came within sight of the wagon, his mother was standing in front of the camp-fire, so intent on broiling a slice of venison that she was ignorant of his coming until he shouted cheerily,-"here i am, mother dear, coming along with a good bit of style, and so many fine things that you'll open your eyes mighty wide when this bag is emptied. how is my poor old man?" he had dismounted as he ceased speaking, and was instantly clasped in his mother's arms. "o dick, dick, how sore my heart has been! your father said you could not get across the desert on foot, and i have pictured you lying on the sands dying." "you've made your pictures all wrong, dearie; for here i am in prime condition, and loaded down with good things. the people up at antelope spring have shown themselves to be mighty generous. how is daddy?" "he is resting comfortably just now, although he has suffered considerable pain. did you see a doctor?" "yes; an' am loaded way up to the muzzle with directions as to what must be done. let's go in and see the poor old man, an' then i'll tell you both the story." mr. stevens's voice was heard from the inside of the wagon as he spoke dick's name; margie clambered out, her big brown eyes heavy with slumber, to greet her brother, and the boy was forced to receive her caresses before it was possible to care for the broncho. then, as soon as might be, dick entered the wagon, and the hand-clasp from his father was sufficient reward for all his sufferings in the desert. it was midnight before he finished telling of his journey, and reception by the men of antelope spring. he would have kept secret the peril which came to him with the sand-storm; but his father questioned him so closely that it became necessary to go into all the details, and more than once before the tale was concluded did his mother press him lovingly to her as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "you mustn't cry now it is all over," he said with a smile, as he returned the warm pressure of her hand. "i'm none the worse for havin' been half buried, an' we're rich. i'm countin' on pullin' out of here as soon as the horses are in condition; an' we'll stay at the town till spring--perhaps longer." although he claimed that he was not hungry, his mother insisted on preparing supper from the seemingly ample store of provisions; and when the meal had been eaten it was so nearly morning that dick would have dispensed with the formality of going to bed, but that his mother declared it was necessary he should gain some rest. his heart was filled with thankfulness when he lay down under the wagon again, covered with a blanket; and perhaps for the first time in his life dick did more than repeat the prayer his mother taught him, for he whispered very softly,-"you've been mighty good to me, god, an' i hope you're goin' to let my poor old man have another whack at livin'." dick had repeated to his mother all the instructions given him by the physician, and before he was awake next morning mrs. stevens set about dressing the wound in a more thorough manner than had ever been possible before. she was yet engaged in this task when the boy opened his eyes, and learning to his surprise that the day was at least an hour old, sprang to his feet like one who has been guilty of an indiscretion. "what! up already?" he cried in surprise, as looking through the flap of the wagon-covering, he saw what his mother was doing. "yes, dick dear, and i have good news for you. both your father and i now think he was mistaken in believing the bone was shattered by the bullet. perhaps it is splintered some, but nothing more serious." "then you won't be obliged to have it cut off, daddy, an' should be able to get round right soon." "there's this much certain, dick, whether the bone is injured or not, my life has been saved through your efforts; for i know enough about gun-shot wounds to understand that i couldn't have pulled through without something more than we were able to get here." "yet you would have prevented me from leaving if i had told you what was in my mind." "i should for a fact; because if one of us two must go under, it would be best for mother an' margie that i was that one." "why, daddy! you have no right to talk like that!" "it's true, dick. i've been a sort of ne'er-do-well, otherwise i wouldn't have been called roving dick, while you are really the head of the house." "i won't listen to such talk, daddy; for it sounds as if you were out of your head again, as when we were alone that night. you'll perk up after we're at antelope spring, an' show the people there what you can do." "i shall be obliged to work very hard in order to make a good showing by the side of you." dick hurried away, for it pained him to hear his father talk in such fashion; yet at the same time he hoped most fervently that there would be no more roaming in search of a place where the least possible amount of labor was necessary, and it really seemed as if "roving dick" had made up his mind to lead a different life. there was little opportunity for the boy to remain idle. the supplies he had brought from mr. mansfield's shop would not suffice to provide the family with food many days unless it was re-enforced by fresh meat; and as soon as dick had seen to it that the horses and the broncho were safe, he made preparations for a hunting-trip. when breakfast had been eaten, and how delicious was the taste of bacon and flour-bread to this little party, which had been deprived of such food so long, he started off, returning at night-fall with a small deer and half a dozen rabbits. the greater portion of the venison he cut up ready for smoking; and when his mother asked why he was planning so much labor for himself, he replied cheerily,-"we're likely to lay here ten days at the very least, for the horses won't be in condition to travel in much less time; and now is my chance to put in a stock of provisions for the winter. it never'll do to spend all my wages for food; because you and margie are to be fitted out in proper shape, and now i haven't even the rifle to sell, for that belongs to the prospectors." not an idle hour did dick stevens spend during the time they remained encamped at buffalo meadows; and when the time came that his father believed they might safely begin the journey to antelope spring, he had such a supply of smoked meat as would keep the family in food many days. mr. stevens's wound had healed with reasonable rapidity, thanks to the materials for its dressing which dick had risked his life to procure; and on the morning they decided to cross the desert the invalid was able to take his place on the front seat of the wagon to play the part of driver. dick rode the broncho, as a matter of course; and to him this journey was most enjoyable. not until the second day did the family arrive at their destination, and dick received such a reception as caused his cheeks to redden with joy. bob mason chanced to be in front of mansfield's store when the party rode up, and insisted on their remaining there until he could summon the inhabitants of the settlement to give them welcome. "we're glad you've come," mr. mason said when he believed the time had come for him to make a speech. "we've seen the kid, an' know how much sand he's got; so if the rest of the family are anything like him, and i reckon they must be, we're gettin' the kind of citizens we hanker after. i've pre-empted the boy, an' allow he'll look out for things on the ranch as well as any man i could hire, an' a good deal better'n the average run. we've got a house here for the rest of you, an' stevens will find plenty of work if he's handy with tools. now then, kid, we'll get the old folks settled, an' after that i'll yank you off with me." mason led the way to a rude shanty of boards, which was neither the best nor the worst dwelling in the town; and to mrs. stevens and margie it seemed much like a palace, for it was a place they could call home, a pleasure they had not enjoyed since leaving willow point two years ago. dick observed with satisfaction that there was a sufficient amount of furniture in the shanty to serve his parents until money could be earned with which to purchase more; and then he rode away with bob mason, leading the team-horses to that gentleman's corral. he had brought his family to a home, and had before him a good prospect of supplying them with food, even though his father should not be able to do any work until the coming spring; therefore dick stevens was a very happy boy. here we will leave him; for he is yet in mason's employ, and it is said in antelope spring to-day, or was a few months ago, that when "bob mason hired that kid to oversee his ranch, he knew what he was about." it is hard to believe that a boy only fifteen years of age (for dick has _now_ been an overseer, or "boss puncher" as it is termed in nevada, nearly two years) could care for a ranch of six hundred acres; yet he has done it, as more than one can testify, and in such a satisfactory manner that next year he is to have an interest in the herds and flocks on the "mason place." mr. stevens recovered from the wound in due time; and early in the spring after his arrival at the settlement, he joined messrs. parsons & robinson in prospecting among the ranges. his good fortune was even greater than dick's; for before the winter came again the firm had struck a rich lead of silver, which has been worked with such profit that "roving dick's" home is one of the best and the cosiest to be found in the state. mr. stevens would have been glad had young dick decided to give up his work on the ranch; but the latter has declared again and again that he will leave mining strictly alone, because "cattle are good enough for him." the end. [transcriber's note: * pg 24 added opening quotes before "i went, an' have got back". * otherwise, archaic and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation retained.] bruvver jim's baby by philip verrill mighels new york and london harper & brothers publishers mcmiv copyright, 1904, by harper & brothers. _all rights reserved._ published may, 1904. this volume is dedicated, with much affection, to my mother contents i. a mighty little hunter ii. jim makes discoveries iii. the way to make a doll iv. planning a new celebration v. visitors at the cabin vi. the bell for church vii. the sunday happenings viii. old jim distraught ix. the guilty miss doc x. preparations for christmas xi. troubles and discoveries xii. the making of a christmas-tree xiii. their christmas-day xiv. "if only i had the resolution" xv. the gold in borealis xvi. arrivals in camp xvii. skeezucks gets a name xviii. when the parson departed xix. old jim's resolution xx. in the toils of the blizzard xxi. a bed in the snow xxii. cleaning their slate xxiii. a day of joy bruvver jim's baby chapter i a mighty little hunter it all commenced that bright november day of the indian rabbit drive and hunt. the motley army of the piute tribe was sweeping tremendously across a sage-brush valley of nevada, their force two hundred braves in number. they marched abreast, some thirty yards apart, and formed a line that was more than two miles long. the spectacle presented was wonderful to see. red, yellow, and indigo in their blankets and trappings, the hunters dotted out a line of color as far as sight could reach. through the knee-high brush they swept ahead like a firing-line of battle, their guns incessantly booming, their advance never halted, their purpose as grim and inexorable as fate itself. indeed, death, the reaper, multiplied two-hundred-fold and mowing a swath of incredible proportions, could scarcely have pillaged the land of its conies more thoroughly. before the on-press of the two-mile wall of red men with their smoking weapons, the panic-stricken rabbits scurried helplessly. soon or late they must double back to their burrows, soon or late they must therefore die. behind the army, fully twenty indian ponies, ridden by the youngster-braves of the cavalcade, were bearing great white burdens of the slaughtered hares. the glint of gun-barrels, shining in the sun, flung back the light, from end to end of the undulating column. billows of smoke, out-puffing unexpectedly, anywhere and everywhere along the line, marked down the tragedies where desperate bunnies, scudding from cover and racing up or down before the red men, were targets for fiercely biting hail of lead from two or three or more of the guns at once. and nearly as frightened as the helpless creatures of the brush was a tiny little pony-rider, back of the army, mounted on a plodding horse that was all but hidden by its load of furry game. he was riding double, this odd little bit of a youngster, with a sturdy indian boy who was on in front. that such a timid little dot of manhood should have been permitted to join the hunt was a wonder. he was apparently not more than three years old at the most. with funny little trousers that reached to his heels, with big brown eyes all eloquent of doubt, and with round, little, copper-colored cheeks, impinged upon by an old fur cap he wore, pulled down over forehead and ears, he appeared about as quaint a little man as one could readily discover. but he seemed distressed. and how he did hang on! the rabbits secured upon the pony were crowding him backward most alarmingly. at first he had clung to the back of his fellow-rider's shirt with all the might and main of his tiny hands. as the burden of the rabbits had increased, however, the indian hunters had piled them in between the timid little scamp and his sturdier companion, till now he was almost out on the horse's tail. his alarm had, therefore, become overwhelming. no fondness for the nice warm fur of the bunnies, no faith in the larger boy in front, could suffice to drive from his tiny face the look of woe unutterable, expressed by his eyes and his trembling little mouth. the indians, marching steadily onward, had come to the mountain that bounded the plain. already a score were across the road that led to the mining-camp of borealis, and were swarming up the sandy slope to complete the mighty swing of the army, deploying anew to sweep far westward through the farther half of the valley, and so at length backward whence they came. the tiny chap of a game-bearer, gripping the long, velvet ears of one of the jack-rabbits tied to his horse, felt a horrid new sensation of sliding backward when the pony began to follow the hunters up the hill. not only did the animal's rump seem to sink beneath him as they took the slope, but perspiration had made it amazingly smooth and insecure. the big fat rabbits rolled against the desperate little man in a ponderous heap. the feet of one fell plump in his face, and seemed to kick, with the motion of the horse. then a buckskin thong abruptly snapped in twain, somewhere deep in the bundle, and instantly the ears to which the tiny man was clinging, together with the head and body of that particular rabbit, and those of several others as well, parted company with the pony. gracefully they slid across the tail of the much-relieved creature, and, pushing the tiny rider from his seat, they landed with him plump upon the earth, and were left behind. unhurt, but nearly buried by the four or five rabbits thus pulled from the load by his sudden descent from his perch, the dazed little fellow sat up in the sand and solemnly noted the rapid departure of the indian army--pony, companion, and all. not only had his fall been unobserved by the marching braves, but the boy with whom he had just been riding was blissfully unaware of the fact that something behind had dismounted. the whole vast line of piute braves pressed swiftly on. the shots boomed and clattered, as the hill-sides were startled by the echoes. red, yellow, indigo--the blankets and trappings were momentarily growing less and less distinct. more distant became the firing. onward, ever onward, swung the great, long column of the hunters. dully, then even faintly, came the noise of the guns. at last the firing could be heard no more. the two hundred warriors, the ponies, the boys that rode--all were gone. even the rabbits, that an hour before had scampered here and there in the brush with their furry feet, would never again go pattering through the sand. the sun shone warmly down. the great world of valley and mountains, gray, severe, unpeopled, was profoundly still, in that wonderful way of the dying year, when even the crickets and locusts have ceased to sing. clinging in silence to the long, soft ears of his motionless bunny, the timid little game-bearer sat there alone, big-eyed and dumb with wonder and childish alarm. he could see not far, unless it might be up the hill, for the sage-brush grew above his head and circumscribed his view. miles and miles away, however, the mountains, in majesty of rock and snow, were sharply lifting upward into blue so deep and cloudless that its intimate proximity to the infinite was impressively manifest. the day was sweet of the ripeness of the year, and virginal as all that mighty land itself. with two of the rabbits across his lap, the tiny hunter made no effort to rise. it was certainly secure to be sitting here in the sand, for at least a fellow could fall no farther, and the good, big mountain was not so impetuous or nervous as the pony. an hour went by and the mere little mite of a man had scarcely moved. the sun was slanting towards the southwest corner of the universe. a flock of geese, in a great changing v, flew slowly over the valley, their wings beating gold from the sunlight, their honk! honk! honk! the note of the end of the year. how soon they were gone! then indeed all the earth was abandoned to the quiet little youngster and his still more quiet company of rabbits. there was no particular reason for moving. where should he go, and how could he go, did he wish to leave? to carry his bunny would be quite beyond his strength; to leave him here would be equally beyond his courage. but the sun was edging swiftly towards its hiding place; the frost of the mountain air was quietly sharpening its teeth. already the long, gray shadow of the sage-brush fell like a cooling film across the little fellow's form and face. homeless, unmissed, and deserted, the tiny man could do nothing but sit there and wait. the day would go, the twilight come, and the night descend--the night with its darkness, its whispered mysteries, its wailing coyotes, cruising in solitary melancholy hither and thither in their search for food. but the sun was still wheeling, like a brazen disk, on the rim of the hills, when something occurred. a tall, lanky man, something over forty years of age, as thin as a hammer and dusty as the road itself--a man with a beard and a long, gray, drooping mustache, and with drooping clothes--a man selected by shiftlessness to be its sign and mark--a miner in boots and overalls and great slouch hat--came tramping down a trail of the mountain. he was holding in his dusty arms a yellowish pup, that squirmed and wriggled and tried to lap his face, and comported himself in pup-wise antics, till his master was presently obliged to put him down in self-defence. the pup knew his duty, as to racing about, bumping into bushes, snorting in places where game might abide, and thumping everything he touched with his super-active tail. almost immediately he scented mysteries in plenty, for indian ponies and hunters had left a fine, large assortment of trails in the sand, that no wise pup could consent to ignore. with yelps of gladness and appreciation, the pup went awkwardly knocking through the brush, and presently halted--bracing abruptly with his clumsy paws--amazed and confounded by the sight of a frightened little red-man, sitting with his rabbits in the sand. for a second the dog was voiceless. then he let out a bark that made things jump, especially the tiny man and himself. "here, come here, tintoretto," drawlingly called the man from the trail. "come back here, you young tenderfoot." but tintoretto answered that he wouldn't. he also said, in the language of puppy barks, that important discoveries demanded not only his but his master's attention where he was, forthwith. there was nothing else for it; the mountain was obliged to come to mohammed--or the man to the pup. then the miner, no less than tintoretto, was astonished. to ward off the barking, the red little hunter had raised his arm across his face, but his big brown eyes were visible above his hand, and their childish seriousness appealed to the man at once. "well, cut my diamonds if it ain't a kid!" drawled he. "injun pappoose, or i'm an elk! young feller, where'd you come from, hey? what in mischief do you think you're doin' here?" the tiny "injun" made no reply. tintoretto tried some puppy addresses. he gave a little growl of friendship, and, clambering over rabbits and all, began to lick the helpless child on the face and hands with unmistakable cordiality. one of the rabbits fell and rolled over. tintoretto bounded backward in consternation, only to gather his courage almost instantly upon him and bark with lusty defiance. "shut up, you anermated disturbance," commanded his owner, mildly. "you're enough to scare the hair off an elephant," and, squatting in front of the wondering child, he looked at him pleasantly. "what you up to, young feller, sittin' here by yourself?" he inquired. "scared? needn't be scared of brother jim, i reckon. say, you 'ain't been left here for good? i saw the gang of injuns, clean across the country, from up on the ridge. it must be the last of their drives. that it? and you got left?" the little chap looked up at him seriously and winked his big, brown eyes, but he shut his tiny mouth perhaps a trifle tighter than before. as a matter of fact, the miner expected some such stoical silence. the pup, for his part, was making advances of friendship towards the motionless rabbits. "wal, say, piute," added jim, after scanning the country with his kindly eyes, "i reckon you'd better go home with me to borealis. the injuns wouldn't look to find you now, and you can't go on settin' here a waitin' for pudding and gravy to pass up the road for dinner. what do you say? want to come with me and ride on the outside seat to borealis?" considerably to the man's amazement the youngster nodded a timid affirmative. "by honky, tintoretto, i'll bet he savvies english as well as you," said jim. "all right, borealis or bust! i reckon a man who travels twenty miles to git him a pup, and comes back home with you and this here young piute, is as good as elected to office. injun, what's your name?" the tiny man apparently had nothing to impart by way of an answer. "'ain't got any, maybe," commented jim. "what's the matter with me namin' you, hey? suppose i call you aborigineezer? all in favor, ay! contrary minded? carried unanimously and the motion prevails." the child, for some unaccountable reason, seemed appalled. "we can't freight all them rabbits," decided the miner. "and, tintoretto, you are way-billed to do some walkin'." he took up the child, who continued to cling to the ears of his one particular hare. as all the jacks were tied together, all were lifted and were dangling down against the miner's legs. "huh! you can tell what some people want by the way they hang right on," said jim. "wal, no harm in lettin' you stick to one. we can eat him for dinner to-morrow, i guess, and save his hide in the bargain." he therefore cut the buckskin thong and all but one of the rabbits fell to the earth, on top of tintoretto, who thought he was climbed upon by half a dozen bears. he let out a yowp that scared himself half into fits, and, scooting from under the danger, turned about and flung a fearful challenge of barking at the prostrate enemy. "come on, unlettered ignoramus," said his master, and, holding the wondering little foundling on his arm, with his rabbit still clutched by the ears, he proceeded down to the roadway, scored like a narrow gray streak through the brush, and plodded onward towards the mining-camp of borealis. chapter ii jim makes discoveries it was dark and there were five miles of boot-tracks and seven miles of pup-tracks left in the sand of the road when jim, tintoretto, and aborigineezer came at length to a point above the small constellation of lights that marked the spot where threescore of men had builded a town. from the top of the ridge they had climbed, the man and the pup alone looked down on the camp, for the weary little "injun" had fallen asleep. had he been awake, the all to be seen would have been of little promise. great, sombre mountains towered darkly up on every side, roofed over by an arch of sky amazingly brilliant with stars. below, the darkness was the denser for the depth of the hollow in the hills. vaguely the one straight street of borealis was indicated by the lamps, like a thin milky way in a meagre universe of lesser lights, dimly glowing and sparsely scattered on the rock-strewn acclivities. from down there came the sounds of life. half-muffled music, raucous singing, blows of a hammer, yelpings of a dog, hissing of steam escaping somewhere from a boiler--all these and many other disturbances of the night furnished a microcosmic medley of the toiling, playing, hoping, and fearing, where men abide, creating that frailest and yet most enduring of frailties--a human community. the sight of his town could furnish no novelties to the miner on top of the final rise, and feeling somewhat tired by the weight of his small companion, as well as hungry from his walking, old jim skirted the rocky slope as best he might, and so came at length to an isolated cabin. this dark little house was built in the brush, quite up on the hill above the town, and not far away from a shallow ravine where a trickle of water from a spring had encouraged a straggling growth of willows, alders, and scrub. some four or five acres of hill-side about the place constituted the "babylonian glory" mining-claim, which jim accounted his, and which had seen about as much of his labor as might be developed by digging for gold in a barrel. "nobody home," said the owner to his dog, as he came to the door and shouldered it open. "wal, all the more for us." that any one might have been at home in the place was accounted for simply by the fact that certain worthies, playing in and out of luck, as the wheel of fate might turn them down or up, sometimes lived with jim for a month at a time, and sometimes left him in solitude for weeks. one such transient partner he had left at the cabin when he started off to get the pup now tagging at his heels. this house-partner, having departed, might and might not return, either now, a week from now, or ever. the miner felt his way across the one big room which the shack afforded, and came to a series of bunks, built like a pantry against the wall. into one of these he rolled his tiny foundling, after which he lighted a candle that stood in a bottle, and revealed the smoky interior of the place. three more of the bunks were built in the eastern end of the room; a fireplace occupied a portion of the wall against the hill; a table stood in the centre of the floor, and a number of mining tools littered a corner. cooking utensils were strewn on the table liberally, while others hung against the wall or depended from hooks in the chimney. this was practically all there was, but the place was home. tintoretto, beholding his master preparing a fire to heat up some food, delved at once into everything and every place where a wet little nose could be thrust. having snorted in the dusty corners, he trotted to the bench whereon the water-bucket stood, and, standing on his hind legs, gratefully lapped up a drink from the pail. his thirst appeased, he clambered ambitiously into one of the bunks, discovered a nice pair of boots, and, dragging one out on the floor, proceeded to carry it under the table and to chew it as heartily as possible. there was presently savory smoke, sufficient for an army, in the place, while sounds of things sizzling made music for the hungry. the miner laid bare a section of the table, which he set with cups, plates, and iron tools for eating. he then dished up two huge supplies of steaming beans and bacon, two monster cups of coffee, black as tar, and cut a giant pile of dun-colored bread. "aborigineezer," he said, "the banquet waits." thereupon he fetched his weary little guest to the board and attempted to seat him on a stool. the tiny man tried to open his eyes, but the effort failed. had he been awake and sitting erect on the seat provided for his use, his head could hardly have come to the level of the supper. "can't you come to, long enough to eat?" inquired the much-concerned miner. "no? wal, that's too bad. couldn't drink the coffee or go the beans? h'm, i guess i can't take you down to show you off to the boys to-night. you'll have to git to your downy couch." he returned the slumbering child to the bunk, where he tucked him into the blankets. tintoretto did ample justice to the meal, however, and filled in so thoroughly that his round little pod of a stomach was a burden to carry. he therefore dropped himself down on the floor, breathed out a sigh of contentment, and shut his two bright eyes. old jim concluded a feast that made those steaming heaps of food diminish to the point of vanishing. he sat there afterwards, leaning his grizzled head upon his hand and looking towards the bunk where the tiny little chap he had found was peacefully sleeping. the fire burned low in the chimney; the candle sank down in its socket. on the floor the pup was twitching in his dreams. outside the peace, too vast to be ruffled by puny man, had settled on all that tremendous expanse of mountains. when his candle was about to expire the miner deliberately prepared himself for bed, and crawled in the bunk with his tiny guest, where he slept like the pup and the child, so soundly that nothing could suffice to disturb his dreams. the arrows of the sun itself, flung from the ridge of the opposite hills, alone dispelled the slumbers in the cabin. the hardy old jim arose from his blankets, and presently flung the door wide open. "come in," he said to the day. "come in." the pup awoke, and, running out, barked in a crazy way of gladness. his master washed his face and hands at a basin just outside the door, and soon had breakfast piping hot. by then it was time to look to aborigineezer. to jim's delight the little man was wide awake and looking at him gravely from the blankets, his funny old cap still in place on his head, pulled down over his ears. "time to wash for breakfast," announced the miner. "but i don't guarantee the washin' will be the kind that mother used to give," and taking his tiny foundling in his arms he carried him out to the basin by the door. for a moment he looked in doubt at the only apology for a wash-rag the shanty afforded. "wal, it's an awful dirty cloth that you can't put a little more blackness on, i reckon," he drawled, and dipping it into the water he rubbed it vigorously across the gasping little fellow's face. then, indeed, the man was astounded. a wide streak, white as milk, had appeared on the baby countenance. "pierce my pearls!" exclaimed the miner, "if ever i saw a rag in my shack before that would leave a white mark on anything! say!" and he took off the youngster's old fur cap. he was speechless for a moment, for the little fellow's hair was as brown as a nut. "i snum!" said jim, wiping the wondering little face in a sort of fever of discovery and taking off color at every daub with the rag. "white kid--painted! ain't an injun by a thousand miles!" and this was the truth. a timid little paleface, fair as dawn itself, but smeared with color that was coming away in blotches, emerged from the process of washing and gazed with his big, brown eyes at his foster-parent, in a way that made the miner weak with surprise. such a pretty and wistful little armful of a boy he was certain had never been seen before in all the world. "i snum! i certainly snum!" he said again. "i'll have to take you right straight down to the boys!" at this the little fellow looked at him appealingly. his lip began to tremble. "no-body--wants--me," he said, in baby accents, "no-body--wants--me--anywhere." chapter iii the way to make a doll for a moment after the quaint little pilgrim had spoken, the miner stared at him almost in awe. had a gold nugget dropped at his feet from the sky his amazement could scarcely have been greater. "what's that?" he said. "nobody wants you, little boy? what's the matter with me and the pup?" and taking the tiny chap up in his arms he sat in the doorway and held him snugly to his rough, old heart and rocked back and forth, in a tumult of feeling that nothing could express. "little pard," he said, "you bet me and tintoretto want you, right here." for his part, tintoretto thumped the house and the step and the miner's shins with the clumsy tail that was wagging his whole puppy body. then he clambered up and pushed his awkward paws in the little youngster's face, and licked his ear and otherwise overwhelmed him with attentions, till his master pushed him off. at this he growled and began to chew the big, rough hand that suppressed his demonstrations. in lieu of the ears of the rabbit to which he had clung throughout the night, the silent little man on the miner's knee was holding now to jim's enormous fist, which he found conveniently supplied. he said nothing more, and for quite a time old jim was content to watch his baby face. "a white little kid--that nobody wants--but me and tintoretto," he mused, aloud, but to himself. "where did you come from, pardner, anyhow?" the tiny foundling made no reply. he simply looked at the thin, kindly face of his big protector in his quaint, baby way, but kept his solemn little mouth peculiarly closed. the miner tried a score of questions, tenderly, coaxingly, but never a thing save that confident clinging to his hand and a nod or a shake of the head resulted. by some means, quite his own, the man appeared to realize that the grave little fellow had never prattled as children usually do, and that what he had said had been spoken with difficulties, only overcome by stress of emotion. the mystery of whence a bit of a boy so tiny could have come, and who he was, especially after his baby statement that nobody wanted him, anywhere, remained unbroken, after all the miner's queries. jim was at length obliged to give it up. "do you like that little dog?" he said, as tintoretto renewed his overtures of companionship. "do you like old brother jim and the pup?" solemnly the little pilgrim nodded. "want some breakfast, all pretty, in our own little house?" once more the quaint and grave little nod was forthcoming. "all right. we'll have it bustin' hot in the shake of a crockery animal's tail," announced the miner. he carried the mite of a man inside and placed him again in the bunk, where the little fellow found his rabbit and drew it into his arms. the banquet proved to be a repetition of the supper of the night before, except that two great flapjacks were added to the menu, greased with fat from the bacon and sprinkled a half-inch thick with soft brown sugar. when the cook fetched his hungry little guest to the board the rabbit came as well. "you ought to have a dolly," decided jim, with a knowing nod. "if only i had the ingenuity i could make one, sure," and throughout the meal he was planning the manufacture of something that should beat the whole wide world for cleverness. the result of his cogitation was that he took no time for washing the dishes after breakfast, but went to work at once to make a doll. the initial step was to take the hide from the rabbit. sadly but unresistingly the little pilgrim resigned his pet, and never expected again to possess the comfort of its fur against his face. with the skin presently rolled up in a nice light form, however, the miner was back in the cabin, looking for something of which to fashion a body and head for the lady-to-be. there seemed to be nothing handy, till he thought of a peeled potato for the lady's head and a big metal powder-flask to supply the body. unfortunately, as potatoes were costly, the only tuber they had in the house was a weazened old thing that parted with its wrinkled skin reluctantly and was not very white when partially peeled. however, jim pared off enough of its surface on which to make a countenance, and left the darker hide above to form the dolly's hair. he bored two eyes, a nose, and a mouth in the toughened substance, and blackened them vividly with soot from the chimney. after this he bored a larger hole, beneath the chin, and pushed the head thus created upon the metal spout of the flask, where it certainly stuck with firmness. with a bit of cord the skin of the rabbit was now secured about the neck and body of the lady's form, and her beauty was complete. that certain particles of powder rattled lightly about in her graceful interior only served to render her manners more animated and her person more like good, lively company, for jim so decided himself. "there you are. that's the prettiest dolly you ever saw anywhere," said he, as he handed it over to the willing little chap. "and she all belongs to you." the mite of a boy took her hungrily to his arms, and jim was peculiarly affected. "do you want to give her a name?" he said. slowly the quaint little pilgrim shook his head. "have you got a name?" the miner inquired, as he had a dozen times before. this time a timid nod was forthcoming. "oh," said jim, in suppressed delight. "what is your nice little name?" for a moment coyness overtook the tiny man. then he faintly replied, "nu-thans." "nuisance?" repeated the miner, and again he saw the timid little nod. "but that ain't a name," said jim. "is 'nuisance' all the name the baby's got?" his bit of a guest seemed to think very hard, but at last he nodded as before. "well, string my pearls," said the miner to himself, "if somebody 'ain't been mean and low!" he added, cheerfully, "wal, it's easier to live down a poor name than it is to live up to a fine one, any day, but we'll name you somethin' else, i reckon, right away. and ain't that dolly nice?" the two were in the midst of appreciating the charms of her ladyship when the cabin door was abruptly opened and in came a coatless, fat, little, red-headed man, puffing like a bellows and pulling down his shirtsleeves with a great expenditure of energy, only to have them immediately crawl back to his elbows. "hullo, keno," drawled the lanky jim. "i thought you was mad and gone away and died." "me? not me!" puffed the visitor. "what's that?" and he nodded himself nearly off his balance towards the tiny guest he saw upon a stool. with a somewhat belated bark, tintoretto suddenly came out from his boot-chewing contest underneath the table and gave the new-comer an apoplectic start. "hey!" he cried. "hey! by jinks! a whole menajry!" "that's the pup," said jim. "and, keno, here's a poor little skeezucks that i found a-sittin' in the brush, 'way over to coyote valley. i fetched him home last night, and i was just about to take him down to camp and show him to the boys." "by jinks!" said keno. "alive!" "alive and smart as mustard," said the suddenly proud possessor of a genuine surprise. "you bet he's smart! i've often noticed how there never yet was any other kind of a baby. that's one consolation left to every fool man livin'--he was once the smartest baby in the world," "alive!" repeated keno, as before. "i'm goin' right down and tell the camp!" he bolted out at the door like a shot, and ran down the hill to borealis with all his might. aware that the news would be spread like a sprinkle of rain, the lanky jim put on his hat with a certain jaunty air of importance, and taking the grave little man on his arm, with the new-made doll and the pup for company, he followed, where keno had just disappeared from view, down the slope. a moment later the town was in sight, and groups of flannel-shirted, dusty-booted, slouchily attired citizens were discernible coming out of buildings everywhere. running up the hill again, puffing with added explosiveness, keno could hardly contain his excitement. "i've told em!" he panted. "they know he's alive and smart as mustard!" chapter iv planning a new celebration the cream, as it were, of the population of the mining-camp were ready to receive the group from up on the hill. there were nearly twenty men in the delegation, representing every shade of inelegance. indeed, they demonstrated beyond all argument that the ways of looking rough and unkempt are infinite. there were tall and short who were rough, bearded and shaved who were rougher, and washed and unwashed who were roughest. and there were still many denizens of borealis not then on exhibition. webber, the blacksmith; lufkins, the teamster; bone, the "barkeep"; dunn, the carpenter, and field, who had first discovered precious ore at borealis, and sold out his claims for a gold watch and chain--which subsequently proved to be brass--all these and many another shining light of the camp could be counted in the modest assemblage gathered together to have a look at the "kid" just reported by keno. surprise had been laid on double, in the town, by the news of what had occurred. in the first place, it was almost incredible that old "if-only" jim had actually made his long-threatened pilgrimage to fetch his promised pup, but to have him back here, not only with the dog in question, but also with a tiny youngster found at the edge of the wilderness, was far too much to comprehend. in a single bound, old jim had been elevated to a starry firmament of importance, from wellnigh the lowest position of insignificance in the camp, attained by his general worthlessness and shiftlessness--of mind and demeanor--which qualities had passed into a proverb of the place. procrastination, like a cuckoo, had made its nest in his pockets, where the hands of jim would hatch its progeny. labor and he abhorred each other mightily. he had never been known to strike a lick of work till larder and stomach were both of them empty and credit had taken to the hills. he drawled in his speech till the opening parts of the good resolutions he frequently uttered were old and forgotten before the remainders were spoken. he loitered in his walk, said the boys, till he clean forgot whether he was going up hill or down. "hurry," he had always said, by way of a motto, "is an awful waste of time that a feller could go easy in." yet in his shambling, easy-going way, old jim had drifted into nearly every heart in the camp. his townsmen knew he had once had a good education, for outcroppings thereof jutted from his personality even as his cheek-bones jutted out of his russet old countenance. not by any means consenting to permit old jim to understand how astonishment was oozing from their every pore, the men brought forth by keno's news could not, however, entirely mask their incredulity and interest. as jim came deliberately down the trail, with the pale little foundling on his arm, he was greeted with every possible term of familiarity, to all of which he drawled a response in kind. not a few in the group of citizens pulled off their hats at the nearer approach of the child, then somewhat sheepishly put them on again. with stoical resolutions almost immediately upset, they gathered closely in about the miner and his tiny companion, crowding the red-headed keno away from his place of honor next to the child. the quaint little pilgrim, in his old, fur cap and long, "man's" trousers, looked at the men in a grave way of doubt and questioning. "it's a sure enough kid, all the same," said one of the men, as if he had previously entertained some doubts of the matter. "and ain't he white!" "of course a white kid's white," answered the barkeep, scornfully. "awful cute little shaver," said another. "by cracky, jim, you must have had him up yer sleeve for a week! he don't look more'n about one week old." "aw, listen to the man afraid to know anything about anything!" broke in the blacksmith. "one week! he's four or five months, or i'm a woodchuck." "you kin tell by his teeth," suggested a leathery individual, stroking his bony jaw knowingly. "i used to be up on the game myself, but i'm a little out of practice jest at present." "shut up, you scare him, shaky," admonished the teamster. "he's a pretty little chipmunk. jim, wherever did you git him?" jim explained every detail of his trip to fetch the pup, stretching out his story of finding the child and bringing him hither, with pride in every item of his wonderful performance. his audience listened with profound attention, broken only by an occasional exclamation. "old if-only jim! old son-of-a-sea-cook!" repeated one, time after time. meanwhile the silent little man himself was clinging to the miner's flannel collar with all his baby strength. with shy little glances he scanned the members of the group, and held the tighter to the one safe anchorage in which he seemed to feel a confidence. a number of the rough men furtively attempted a bit of coquetry, to win the favor of a smile. "you don't mean, jim, you found him jest a-settin' right in the bresh, with them dead jack-rabbits lyin' all 'round?" insisted the carpenter. "that's what," said jim, and reluctantly he brought the tale to its final conclusion, adding his theory of the loss of the child by the indians on their hunt, and bearing down hard on the one little speech that the tiny foundling had made just this morning. the rough men were silenced by this. one by one they took off their hats again, smoothed their hair, and otherwise made themselves a trifle prettier to look upon. "well, what you goin' to do with him, jim?" inquired field, after a moment. "oh, i'll grow him up," said jim. "and some day i'll send him to college." "college be hanged!" said field. "a lot of us best men in borealis never went to college--and we're proud of it!" "so the little feller said nobody wanted him, did he?" asked the blacksmith. "well, i wouldn't mind his stayin' 'round the shop. where do you s'pose he come from first? and painted like a little piute injun! no wonder he's a scared little tike." "i ain't the one which scares him," announced a man whose hair, beard, and eyes all stuck out amazingly. "if i'd 'a' found him first he'd like me same as he takes to jim." "speakin' of catfish, where the little feller come from original is what gits to me," said field, the father of borealis, reflectively. "you see, if he's four or five months old, why he's sure undergrowed. you could drink him up in a cupful of coffee and never even cough. and bein' undergrowed, why, how could he go on a rabbit-drive along with the injuns? i'll bet you there's somethin' mysterious about his origin." "huh! don't you jump onto no little shaver's origin when you 'ain't got any too much to speak of yourself," the blacksmith commanded. "he's as big as any little skeezucks of his size!" "kin he read an' write?" asked a person of thirty-six, who had "picked up" the mentioned accomplishments at the age of thirty-five. "he's alive and smart as mustard!" put in keno, a champion by right of prior acquaintance with the timid little man. "wal, that's all right, but mustard don't do no sums in 'rithmetic," said the bar-keep. "i'm kind of stuck, myself, on this here pup." tintoretto had been busily engaged making friends in any direction most handily presented. he wound sinuously out of the barkeep's reach, however, with pup-wise discrimination. the attention of the company was momentarily directed to the small dog, who came in for not a few of the camp's outspoken compliments. "he's mebbe all right, but he's homely as aunt marier comin' through the thrashin'-machine," decided the teamster. the carpenter added: "he's so all-fired awkward he can't keep step with hisself." "wal, he ain't so rank in his judgment as some i could indicate," drawled jim, prepared to defend both pup and foundling to the last extent. "at least, he never thought he was smart, abscondin' with a little free sample of a brain." "what kind of a mongrel is he, anyway?" inquired bone. "thorough-breed," replied old jim. "there ain't nothing in him but dog." the blacksmith was still somewhat longingly regarding the pale little man who continued to cling to the miner's collar. "what's his name?" said he. "tintoretto," answered jim, still on the subject of his yellowish pup. "tintoretto?" said the company, and they variously attacked the appropriateness of any such a "handle." "what fer did you ever call him that?" asked bone. "wal, i thought he deserved it," jim confessed. "poor little kid--that's all i've got to say," replied the compassionate blacksmith. "that ain't the kid's name," corrected jim, with alacrity. "that's what i call the pup." "that's worse," said field. "for he's a dumb critter and can't say nothing back." "but what's the little youngster's name?" inquired the smith, once again. "yes, what's the little shaver's name?" echoed the teamster. "if it's as long as the pup's, why, give us only a mile or two at first, and the rest to-morrow." "i was goin' to name him 'aborigineezer,'" jim admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "but he ain't no piute injun, so i can't." "hard-hearted ole sea-serpent!" ejaculated field. "no wonder he looks like cryin'." "oh, he ain't goin' to cry," said the blacksmith, roughly patting the frightened little pilgrim's cheek with his great, smutty hand. "what's he got to cry about, now he's here in borealis?" "well, leave him cry, if he wants to," said the fat little keno. "i 'ain't heard a baby cry fer six or seven years." "go off in a corner and cry in your pocket, and leave it come out as you want it," suggested bone. "jim, you said the little feller kin talk?" "like a greasy dictionary," said jim, proudly. "well, start him off on somethin' stirrin'." "you can't start a little youngster off a-talkin' when you want to, any more than you can start a turtle runnin' to a fire," drawled jim, sagely. "then, kin he walk?" insisted the bar-keep. jim said, "what do you s'pose he's wearin' pants for, if he couldn't?" "put him down and leave us see him, then." "this ain't no place for a child to be walkin' 'round loose," objected the gray old miner. "he'll walk some other time." "aw, put him down," coaxed the smith. "we'd like to see a little feller walk. there's never bin no such a sight in borealis." "yes, put him down!" chorused the crowd. "we'll give him plenty of elbow-room," added webber. "git back there, boys, and give him a show." as the group could be satisfied with nothing less, and jim was aware of their softer feelings, he disengaged the tiny hand that was closed on his collar and placed his tiny charge upon his feet in the road. how very small, indeed, he looked in his quaint little trousers and his old fur cap! instantly he threw the one little arm not engaged with the furry doll about the big, dusty knee of his known protector, and buried his face in the folds of the rough, blue overalls. "aw, poor little tike!" said one of the men. "take him back up, jim. anyway, you 'ain't yet told us his name, and how kin any little shaver walk which ain't got a name?" jim took the mere little toy of a man again in his arms and held him close against his heart. "he 'ain't really got any name," he confessed. "if only i had the poetic vocabulary i'd give him a high-class out-and-outer." "what's the matter with a good old home-made name like si or hank or zeke?" inquired field, who had once been known as hank himself. "they ain't good enough," objected jim. "if only i can git an inspiration i'll fit him out like a barn with a bran'-new coat of paint." "well, s'pose--" started keno, but what he intended to say was never concluded. "what's the fight?" interrupted a voice, and the men shuffled aside to give room to a well-dressed, dapper-looking man. it was parky, the gambler. he was tall, and easy of carriage, and cultivated a curving black mustache. in his scarf he wore a diamond as large as a marble. at his heels a shivering little black-and-tan dog, with legs no larger than pencils and with a skull of secondary importance to its eyes, followed him mincingly into the circle and stood beside his feet with its tail curved in under its body. "what have you got? huh! nothing but a kid!" said the gambler, in supreme contempt. "and a pup!" said keno, aggressively. the gambler ignored the presence of the child, especially as tintoretto bounded clumsily forward and bowled his own shaking effigy of a canine endways in one glad burst of friendship. the black-and-tan let out a feeble yelp. with his boot the gambler threw tintoretto six feet away, where he landed on his feet and turned about growling and barking in puppywise questioning of this sudden manoeuvre. with a few more staccato yelps, the shivering black-and-tan retreated behind the gambler's legs. "of all the ugly brutes i ever seen," said parky, "that's the worst yellow flea-trap of the whole caboose." "wal, i don't know," drawled jim, as he patted his timid little pilgrim on the back in a way of comfort. "all dogs look alike to a flea, and i reckon tintoretto is as good flea-feed as the next. and, anyhow, i wouldn't have a dog the fleas had deserted. when the fleas desert a dog, it's the same as when the rats desert a ship. about that time a dog has lost his doghood, and then he ain't no better than a man who's lost his manhood." "aw, i'd thump you and the cur together if you didn't have that kid on deck," sneered the gambler. "you couldn't thump a drum," answered jim, easily. "come back here, tintoretto. don't you touch that skinny little critter with the shakes. i wouldn't let you eat no such a sugar-coated insect." the crowd was enjoying the set-to of words immensely. they now looked to parky for something hot. but the man of card-skill had little wit of words. "don't git too funny, old boy," he cautioned. "i'd just as soon have you for breakfast as not." "i wish the fleas could say as much for you or your imitation dog," retorted jim. "there's just three things in borealis that go around smellin' thick of perfume, and you and that little two-ounce package of dog-degeneration are maybe some worse than the other." parky made a belligerent motion, but webber, the blacksmith, caught his arm in a powerful grip. "not to-day," he said. "the boys don't want no gun-play here this mornin'." "you're a lot of old women and babies," said parky, and pushing through the group he walked away, a certain graceful insolence in his bearing. "speakin' of catfish," said field, "we ought to git up some kind of a celebration to welcome jim's little skeezucks to the camp." "that's the ticket," agreed bone. "what's the matter with repeatin' the programme we had for the fourth of july?" "no, we want somethin' new," objected the smith. "it ought to be somethin' we never had before." "why not wait till christmas and git good and ready?" said jim. the argument was that christmas was something more than four weeks away. "we've got to have a rousin' big christmas fer little skeezucks, anyhow," suggested bone. "what sort of a celebration is there that we 'ain't never had in borealis?" "church," said keno, promptly. this caused a silence for a moment. "guess that's so, but--who wants church?" inquired the teamster. "we might git up somethin' worse," said a voice in the crowd. "how?" demanded another. "it wouldn't be so far off the mark for a little kid like him," tentatively asserted field, the father of the camp, "s'pose we give it a shot?" "anything suits me," agreed the carpenter. "church might be kind of decent, after all. jim, what you got to say 'bout the subject?" jim was still patting the timid little foundling on the back with a comforting hand. "who'd be preacher?" said he. they were stumped for a moment. "why--you," said keno. "didn't you find little skeezucks?" "kerrect," said bone. "jim kin talk like a steam fire-engine squirtin' languages." "if only i had the application," said jim, modestly, "i might git up somethin' passable. where could we have it?" this was a stumper again. no building in the camp had ever been consecrated to the uses of religious worship. bone came to the rescue without delay. "you kin have my saloon, and not a cent of cost," said he. "bully fer bone!" said several of the men. "y-e-s, but would it be just the tip-toppest, tippe-bob-royal of a place?" inquired field, a little cautiously. "what's the matter with it?" said bone. "when it's church it's church, and i guess it would know the way to behave! if there's anything better, trot it out." "you can come to the shop if it suits any better," said the blacksmith. "it 'ain't got no floor of gold, and there ain't nothing like wings, exceptin' wheels, but the fire kin be kept all day to warm her up, and there's plenty of room fer all which wants to come." "if i'm goin' to do the preachin',' i'd like the shop first rate," said jim. "what day is to-day?" "friday," replied the teamster. "all right. then we'll say on sunday we celebrate with church in webber's blacksmith shop," agreed old jim, secretly delighted beyond expression. "we won't git gay with anything too high-falootin', but we'd ought to git shorty hobb to show up with his fiddle." "certain!" assented the barkeep. "you kin leave that part of the game to me." "if we've got it all settled, i reckon i'll go back up to the shack," said jim. "the little feller 'ain't had a chance yet to play with his doll." "is that a doll?" inquired the teamster, regarding the grave little pilgrim's bundle of fur in curiosity. "how does he know it's a doll?" "he knows a good sight more than lots of older people," answered jim. "and if only i've got the gumption i'll make him a whole slough of toys and things." "well, leave us say good-bye to him 'fore you go," said the blacksmith. "does he savvy shakin' hands?" he gave a little grip to the tiny hand that held the doll, and all the others did the same. little skeezucks looked at them gravely, his quaint baby face playing havoc with their rough hearts. "softest little fingers i ever felt," said webber. "i'd give twenty dollars if he'd laugh at me once." "awful nice little shaver," said another. "i once had a mighty touchin' story happen to me, myself," said keno, solemnly. "what was it?" inquired a sympathetic miner. "couldn't bear to tell it--not this mornin'," said keno. "too touchin'." "good-bye fer just at present, little skeezucks," said field, and, suddenly divesting himself of his brazen watch and chain, he offered it up as a gift, with spontaneous generosity. "want it, skeezucks?" said he. "don't you want to hear it go?" the little man would relax neither his clutch on jim's collar nor his hold of his doll, wherefore he had no hand with which to accept the present. "do you think he runs a pawn-shop, field?" said the teamster. "put it back." the men all guffawed in their raucous way. "keeps mighty good time, all the same," said field, and he re-swung the chain, like a hammock, from the parted wings of his vest, and dropped the huskily ticking guardian of the minutes back to its place in his pocket. "watches that don't keep perfect time," drawled jim, "are scarcer than wimmin who tell their age on the square." "better come over, jim, and have a drink," suggested the barkeep. "you're sure one of the movin' spirits of borealis." "no, i don't think i'll start the little feller off with the drinkin' example," replied the miller. "you'll often notice that the men who git the name of bein' movin' spirits is them that move a good deal of whiskey into their interior department. i reckon we'll mosey home the way we are." "i guess i'll join you up above," said the fat little keno, pulling stoutly at his sleeves. "you'll need me, anyway, to cut some brush fer the fire." with tiny skeezucks gravely looking backward at the group of men all waving their hats in a rough farewell, old jim started proudly up the trail that led to the babylonian glory claim, with tintoretto romping awkwardly at his heels. suddenly, webber, the blacksmith, left the groups and ran quickly after them up the slope. "say, jim," he said. "i thought, perhaps, if you reckoned little skeezucks ought to bunk down here in town--why--i wouldn't mind if you fetched him over to the house. there's plenty of room." "wal, not to-day i won't," said jim. "but thank you, webber, all the same." "all right, but if you change your mind it won't be no trouble at all," and, not a little disappointed, the smith waved once more to the little pilgrim on the miner's arm and went back down the hill. then up spoke keno. "bone and lufkins both wanted me to tell you, jim, if you happen to want a change fer little skeezucks, you can fetch him down to them," he said. "but of course we ain't agoin' to let 'em have our little kid in no great shakes of a hurry." chapter v visitors at the cabin when jim and his company had disappeared from view up the rock-strewn slope, the men left below remained in a group, to discuss not only the marvellous advent of a genuine youngster in borealis, but likewise the fitness of old if-only jim as a foster-parent. "i wouldn't leave him raise a baby rattlesnake of mine," said field, whose watch had not been accepted by the foundling. "in fact, there ain't but a few of us here into camp which knows the funderments of motherhood, anyhow." "i don't mind givin' jim a few little pointers on the racket," responded bone. "never knew jim yet to chuck out my advice. "he's too lazy to chuck it," vouchsafed the teamster. "he just lets it trickle out and drip." "well, we'll watch him, that's all," field remarked, with a knowing squint in his eyes, and employing a style he would not have dared to parade in the hearing of jim. "borealis has come to her formaline period, and she can't afford to leave this child be raised extraneous. it's got to be done with honor and glory to the camp, even if we have to take the kid away from jim complete." "he found the little skeezucks, all the same," the blacksmith reminded them. "that counts for somethin'. he's got a right to keep him for a while, at least, unless the mother should heave into town." "or the dad," added lufkins. "shoot the dad!" answered bone. "a dad which would let a little feller small as him git lost in the brush don't deserve to git him back." "mysterious case, sure as lizards is insects," said an individual heretofore silent. "i guess i'll go and tell miss doc dennihan." "'ain't miss doc bin told--and her the only decent woman in the camp?" inquired field. "i'll go along and see you git it right." "no miss doc in mine," said the smith. "i'll git back and blow my fire up before she's plump dead out. fearful vinegar miss doc would make if ever she melted." miss dennihan, sister of "doc" dennihan, was undeniably if-only jim's exact antithesis--a scrupulously tidy, exacting lady, so severe in her virtues and so acrid in denunciations of the lack of down-east circumspection that nearly every man in camp shied off from her abode as he might have shied from a bath in nitric acid. six months prior to this time she had come to borealis from the east, unexpectedly plumping down upon her brother "doc" with all her moral fixity of purpose, not only to his great distress of mind, but also to that of all his acquaintances as well. she had raided the ethical standing of miners, teamsters, and men-about-town; she had outwardly and inwardly condemned the loose and indecorous practices of the camp; she had made herself an accusing hand, as it were, pointing out the road to perdition which all and sundry of the citizens of borealis, including "doc," were travelling. if-only jim had promptly responded to her natural antipathy to all that he represented, and the strained relations between the pair had furnished much amusement for the male population of the place. it was now to this lady that field and his friend proposed a visit. the group of men broke up, and the news that each one had to tell of the doings of jim was widely spread; and the wonder increased till it stretched to the farthest confines of the place. then as fast as the miners and other laborers, who were busy with work, could get away for a time sufficiently long, they made the pilgrimage up the slope to the cabin where the tiny foundling had domicile. they found the timid little man seated, with his doll, on the floor, from which he watched them gravely, in his baby way. half the honors of receiving the groups and showing off the quaint little skeezucks were assumed by keno, with a grace that might have been easy had he not been obliged to pull down his shirt-sleeves with such exasperating frequency. but jim was the hero of the hour, as he very well knew. time after time, and ever with thrilling new detail and added incident, he recounted the story of his find, gradually robbing even tintoretto, the pup, of such of the glory as he really had earned. the pup, however, was recklessly indifferent. he could pile up fresh glories every minute by bowling the little pilgrim on his back and walking on his chest to lap his ear. this he proceeded to do, in his clumsy way of being friendly, with a regularity only possible to an enthusiast. and every time he did it anew, either keno or jim or a visitor would shy something at him and call him names. this, however, only served to incite him to livelier antics of licking everybody's face, wagging himself against the furniture, and dragging the various bombarding missiles between the legs of all the company. there were men, who apparently had nothing else to do, who returned to the cabin on the hill with every new visiting deputation. a series of ownership in and familiarity with the grave little chap and his story came upon them rapidly. field, the father of borealis, was the most assiduous guide the camp afforded. by afternoon he knew more about the child than even jim himself. for his part, the lanky jim sat on a stool, looking wiser than solomon and moses rolled in one, and greeted his wondering acquaintances with a calm and dignity that his oneness in the great event was magnifying hourly. that such an achievement as finding a lost little pilgrim in the wilderness might be expected of his genius every day was firmly impressed upon himself, if not on all who came. "speakin' of catfish, jim thinks he's hoein' some potatoes." said field to a group of his friends. "if one of us real live spirits of borealis had bin in his place, it's ten to one we'd 'a' found a pair of twins." all the remainder of the day, and even after dinner, and up to eight o'clock in the evening, the new arrivals, or the old ones over again, made the cabin on the hill their mecca. "shut the door, keno, and sit outside, and tell any more that come along, the show is over for the day," instructed jim, at last. "the boy is goin' to bed." "did he bring a nightie?" said keno. "forgot it, i reckon," answered jim, as he took the tired little chap in his arms. "if only i had the enterprise i'd make him one to-night." but it never got made. the pretty little armful of a boy went to sleep with all his baby garments on, the long "man's" trousers and all, and jim permitted all to remain in place, for the warmth thereof, he said. into the bunk went the tiny bundle of humanity, his doll tightly held to his breast. then jim sat down and watched the bunk, till keno had come inside and climbed in a bed and begun a serenade. at twelve o'clock the miner was still awake. he went to his door, and, throwing it open, looked out at the great, dark mountains and the brilliant sky. "if only i had the steam i'd open up the claim and make the little feller rich," he drawled to himself. then he closed the door, and, removing his clothing, got into the berth where his tiny guest was sleeping, and knew no more till the morning came and a violent knocking on his window prodded his senses into something that answered for activity. "come in!" he called. "come in, and don't waste all that noise." the pup awoke and let out a bark. in response to the miner's invitation the caller opened the door and entered. jim and keno had their heads thrust out of their bunks, but the two popped in abruptly at the sight of a tall female figure. she was homely, a little sharp as to features, and a little near together and piercing as to eyes. her teeth were prominent, her mouth unquestionably generous in dimensions, and a mole grew conspicuously upon her chin. nevertheless, she looked, as jim had once confessed, "remarkly human." on her head she wore a sun-bonnet. her black alpaca dress was as styleless and as shiny as a stovepipe. it was short, moreover, and therefore permitted a view of a large, flat pair of shoes on which polish for the stovepipe aforesaid had been lavishly coated. it was miss doc dennihan. having duly heard of the advent of a quaint little boy, found in the brush by the miner, she had come thus early in the morning to gratify a certain hunger that her nature felt for the sight of a child. but always one of the good woman's prides had been concealment of her feelings, desires, and appetites. she had formed a habit, likewise, of hiding not a few of her intentions. instead of inquiring now for what she sought, she glanced swiftly about the interior of the cabin and said: "ain't you lazy-joints got up yet in this here cabin?" "been up and hoisted the sun and went back to bed," drawled jim, while keno drew far back in his berth and fortified himself behind his blankets. "glad to see you, but sorry you've got to be goin' again so soon." "i 'ain't got to be goin'," corrected the visitor, with decision. "i jest thought i'd call in and see if your clothin' and kitchen truck was needin' a woman's hand. breakfast over to our house is finished and john has went to work, and everything has bin did up complete, so 'tain't as if i was takin' the time away from john; and this here place is disgraceful dirty, as i could see with nuthin' but a store eye. is these here over-halls your'n?" "when i'm in 'em i reckon they are," drawled jim, in some disquietude of mind. "but don't you touch 'em! them pants is heirlooms. wouldn't have anybody fool with them for a million dollars." "they don't look worth no such a figger," said miss dennihan, as she held them up and scanned them with a critical eye. "they're wantin' a patch in the knee. it's lucky fer you i toted my bag. i kin always match overhalls, new or faded." keno slyly ventured to put forth his head, but instantly drew it back again. jim, in his bunk, was beginning to sweat. he held his little foundling by the hand and piled up a barrier of blankets before them. that many another of the male residents of borealis had been honored by similar visitations on the part of miss doc was quite the opposite of reassuring. that the lady generally came as a matter of curiosity, and remained in response to a passion for making things glisten with cleanliness, he had heard from a score of her victims. he knew she was here to get her eyes on the grave little chap he was cuddling from sight, but he had no intention of sharing the tiny pilgrim with any one whose attentions would, he deemed, afford a trial to the nerves. "seems to me the last time i saw old doc his shirt needed stitchin' in the sleeve," he said. "how about that, keno?" keno was dumb as a clam. "you never seen nuthin' of the sort," corrected miss doc, with asperity, and, removing her bonnet, she sat down on a stool, jim's overalls in hand and her bag in her lap. "john's mended regular, all but his hair, and if soap-suds and bear's-grease would patch his top he wouldn't be bald another day." "he ain't exactly bald," drawled the uncomfortable miner. "his hair was parted down the middle by a stroke of lightnin'. or maybe you combed it yourself." "don't you try to git comical with me!" she answered. "i didn't come here for triflin'." her back being turned towards the end of the room wherein the redheaded keno was ensconced, that diffident individual furtively put forth his hand and clutched up his boots and trousers from the floor. the latter he managed to adjust as he wormed about in the berth. then silently, stealthily, trembling with excitement, he put out his feet, and suddenly bolting for the door, with his boots in hand, let out a yell and shot from the house like a demon, the pup at his heels, loudly barking. "keno! keno! come back here and stand your share!" bawled jim, lustily, but to no avail. "mercy in us!" miss doc exclaimed. "that man must be crazy." jim sank back in his bunk hopelessly. "it's only his clothes makes him look foolish," he answered. "he's saner than i am, plain as day." "then it's lucky i came," decided the visitor, vigorously sewing at the trousers. "the looks of this house is enough to drive any man insane. you're an ornary, shiftless pack of lazy-joints as ever i seen. why don't you git up and cook your breakfast?" perspiration oozed from the modest jim afresh. "i never eat breakfast in the presence of ladies," said he. "well, you needn't mind me. i'm jest a plain, sensible woman," replied miss dennihan. "i don't want to see no feller-critter starve." jim writhed in the blankets. "i didn't s'pose you could stay all day," he ventured. "i kin stay till i mend all your garmints and tidy up this here cabin," she announced, calmly. "so let your mind rest easy." she meant to see that child if it took till evening to do so. "maybe i can go to sleep again and dream i'm dead," said jim, in growing despair. "if you kin, and me around, you can beat brother john all to cream," she responded, smoothing out the mended overalls and laying them down on a stool. "now you kin give me your shirt." jim galvanically gathered the blankets in a tightened noose about his neck. "hold on!" he said. "hold on! this shirt is a bran'-new article, and you'd spoil it if you come within twenty-five yards of it with a needle." "where's your old one?" she demanded, atilt for something more to repair. her gaze searched the bunks swiftly, and jim was sure she was looking for the little man behind him. "where's your old one went?" she repeated. "i turned it over on a friend of mine," drawled jim, who meant he had deftly reversed it on himself. "it's a poor shirt that won't work both ways." "ain't there nuthin' more i kin mend?" she asked. "not unless it's somethin' of doc's down to your lovely little home." "oh, i ain't agoin' to go, if that's what you're drivin' at," she answered, as she swiftly assembled the soiled utensils of the cuisine. "i'll tidy up this here pig-pen if it takes a week, and you kin hop up and come down easy." "i wouldn't have you go for nothing," drawled jim, squirming with abnormal impatience to be up and doing. "angel's visits are comin' fewer and fewer in a box every day." "that's bogus," answered the lady. "i sense your oilin' me over. you git up and go and git a fresh pail of water." "i'd like to," jim said, convincingly, "but the only time i ever broke my arm was when i went out for a bucket of water before breakfast." "you ain't agoin' is what you mean, with all them come-a-long-way-round excuses," she conjectured. "you've got the name of bein' the laziest-jointed, mos' shiftless man into camp." "wal," drawled the helpless miner, "a town without a horrible example is deader than the spikes in adam's coffin. and the next best thing to being a livin' example is to hang around the house where one of 'em stays in his bunk all mornin'." "if that's another of them underhanded hints of your'n, you might as well save your breath," she replied. "i'll go and git the water myself, fer them dishes is goin' to git cleaned." she took up the bucket at once. outside, the sounds of some one scooting rapidly away brought to jim a thought of keno's recently demonstrated presence of mind. cautiously sitting up in the berth, so soon as miss doc had disappeared with the pail, he hurriedly drew on his boots. a sound of returning footsteps came to his startled ears. he leaped back up in the bunk, boots and all, and covered himself with the blanket, to the startlement of the timid little chap, who was sitting there to watch developments. both drew down as miss doc reappeared in the door. "i might as well tote a kettleful, too," she said, and taking that soot-plated article from its hook in the chimney she once more started for the spring. this time, like a guilty burglar, old jim crept out to the door. then with one quick resolve he caught up his trousers, and snatching his pale little guest from the berth, flung a blanket about them, sneaked swiftly out of the cabin, stole around to its rear, and ran with long-legged awkwardness down through a shallow ravine to the cover of a huge heap of bowlders, where he paused to finish his toilet. "hoot! hoot!" sounded furtively from somewhere near. then keno came ducking towards him from below, with tintoretto in his wake, so rampantly glad in his puppy heart that he instantly climbed on the timid little skeezucks, sitting for convenience on the earth, and bowled him head over heels. "here, pup, you abate yourself," said jim. "be solemnly glad and let it go at that." and he took up the gasping little chap, whose doll was, as ever, clasped fondly to his heart. "how'd you make it?" inquired keno. "has she gone for good?" "no, she's gone for water," answered the miner, ruefully. "she's set on cleanin' up the cabin. i'll bet when she's finished we'll have to pan the gravel mighty careful to find even a color of our once happy home." "well, you got away, anyhow," said keno, consolingly. "you can't have your cake and eat it too." "no, that's the one nasty thing about cake," said jim. he sat on a rock and addressed the wondering little pilgrim, who was watching his face with baby gravity. "did she scare the boy?" he asked. "is he gittin' hungry? does pardner want some breakfast?" the little fellow nodded. "what would little skeezucks like old brother jim to make for breakfast?" the quaint bit of a man drew a trifle closer to the rough old coat and timidly answered: "bwead--an'--milk." the two men started mildly. "by jinks!" said the awe-smitten keno. "by jinks!--talkin'!" "i told you so," said jim, suppressing his excitement. "bread and milk?" he repeated. "just bread and milk. you poor little shaver! wal, that's as easy as oyster stew or apple-dumplin'. baby want anything else?" the small boy shook a negative. "by jinks!" said keno, as before. "look at him go it!" "i'll make some bread to-day, if ever we git back into eden," said jim. "and i'll make him a lot of things. if only i had the stuff in me i'd make him a noah's ark and a train of cars and a fat mince-pie. would little skeezucks like a train of cars?" again the little pilgrim shook his head. "then what more would the baby like?" coaxed the miner. again with his shy little cuddling up the wee man answered, "moey--bwead--an'--milk." "by jinks!" repeated the flabbergasted keno, and he pulled at his sleeves with all his strength. "say, keno," said jim, "go find miss doc's goat and milk him for the boy." "miss doc may be home by now," objected keno, apprehensively. "well, then, sneak up and see if she has gone off real mad." "s'posen she 'ain't?" keno promptly hedged. "s'posen she seen me?" "you've got all out-doors to skedaddle in, i reckon." keno, however, had many objections to any manner of venture with the wily miss dennihan. it took nearly half an hour of argument to get him up to the brow of the slope. then, to his uncontainable delight, he beheld the disgusted and somewhat defeated miss doc more than half-way down the trail to borealis, and making shoe-tracks with assuring rapidity. "hoot! hoot!" he called, in a cautious utterance. "she's went, and the cabin looks just the same--from here." but jim, when he came there, with his tiny guest upon his arm, looked long at the well-scrubbed floor and the tidy array of pots, pans, plates, and cups. "we'll never find the salt, or nothin', for a week," he drawled. "it does take some people an awful long time to learn not to meddle with the divine order of things." chapter vi the bell for church what with telling little skeezucks of all the things he meant to make, and fondling the grave bit of babyhood, and trying to work out the story of how he came to be utterly unsought for, deserted, and parentless, jim had hardly more than time enough remaining, that day, in which to entertain the visiting men, who continued to climb the hill to the house. throughout that saturday there was never more than fifteen minutes when some of the big, rough citizens of borealis were not on hand, attempting always to get the solemn little foundling to answer some word to their efforts at baby conversation. but neither to them, for the strange array of presents they offered, nor to jim himself, for all his gentle coaxing, would the tiny chap vouchsafe the slightest hint of who he was or whence he had come. it is doubtful if he knew. by the hour he sat where they placed him, holding his doll with something more deep and hungry than affection, and looking at jim or the visitors in his pretty, baby way of gravity and questioning. when he sat on old jim's knee, however, he leaned in confidence against him, and sighed with a sweet little sound of contentment, as poignant to reinspire a certain ecstasy of sadness in the miner's breast as it was to excite an envy in the hearts of the others. next to jim, he loved tintoretto--that joyous, irresponsible bit of pup-wise gladness whose tail was so utterly inadequate to express his enthusiasm that he wagged his whole fuzzy self in the manner of an awkward fish. never was the tiny man seated with his doll on the floor that the pup failed to pounce upon him and push him over, half a dozen times. never did this happen that one of the men, or jim himself, did not at once haul tintoretto, growling, away by the tail or the ear and restore their tiny guest to his upright position. never did such a good samaritan fail to raise his hand for a cuff at the pup, nor ever did one of them actually strike. it ended nearly always in the pup's attack on the hand in question, which he chewed and pawed at and otherwise befriended as only a pup, in his freedom from worries and cares, can do. with absolutely nothing prepared, and with nothing but promises made and forgotten, old jim beheld the glory of sunday morning come, with the bite and crystalline sunshine of the season in the mountain air. god's thoughts must be made in nevada, so lofty and flawless is the azure sky, so utterly transparent is the atmosphere, so huge, gray, and passionless the mighty reach of mountains! man's little thought was expressed in the camp of borealis, which appeared like a herd of small, brown houses, pitifully insignificant in all that immensity, and gathered together as if for company, trustfully nestling in the hand of the earth-mother, known to be so gentle with her children. on the hill-sides, smaller mining houses stood, each one emphasized by the blue-gray heap of earth and granite--the dump--formed by the labors of the restless men who burrowed in the rock for precious metal. the road, which seemed to have no ending-place, was blazed through the brush and through the hills in either direction across the miles and miles of this land without a people. the houses of borealis stood to right and left of this path through the wilderness, as if by common consent to let it through. meagre, unknown, unimportant borealis, with her threescore men and one decent woman, shared, like the weightiest empire, in the smile, the care, the yearning of the ever all-pitiful, greeting the earth with another perfect day. intelligence of what could be expected, in the way of a celebration at the blacksmith-shop of webber, had been more than merely spread; it had almost been flooded over town. long before the hour of ten, scheduled by common consent for church to commence, webber was sweeping sundry parings of horse-hoof and scraps of iron to either side of his hard earth floor, and sprinkling the dust with water that he flirted from his barrel. he likewise wiped off the anvil with his leathern apron, and making a fire in the forge to take off the chill, thrust in a huge hunk of iron to irradiate the heat. many of the denizens of borealis came and laid siege to the barber-shop as early as six in the morning. hardly a man in the place, except parky, the gambler, had been dressed in extravagance so imposing since the 4th of july as was early apparent in the street. bright new shirts, red, blue, and even white, came proudly to the front. trousers were dropped outside of boots, and the boots themselves were polished. a run on bear's-grease and hair-oil lent a shining halo to nearly every head the camp could boast. then the groups began to gather near the open shop of the smith. "we'd ought to have a bell," suggested lufkins, the teamster. "churches always ring the bell to let the parson know it's time he was showin' up to start the ball." "well, i'll string up a bar of steel," said webber. "you can get a crackin' fine lot of noise out of that." he strung it up in a framework just outside the door, ordinarily employed for hoisting heavy wagons from the earth. then with a hammer he struck it sharply. the clear, ringing tone that vibrated all through the hills was a stirring note indeed. so the bell-ringer struck his steel again. "that ain't the way to do the job," objected field. "that sounds like scarin' up voters at a measly political rally." "can you do it any better?" said the smith, and he offered his hammer. "here comes doc dennihan," interrupted the barkeep. "ask doc how it's done. if he don't know, we'll have to wait for old if-only jim hisself." the brother of the tall miss doc was a small man with outstanding ears, the palest gray eyes, and the quietest of manners. he was not a doctor of anything, hence his title. perhaps the fact that the year before he had quietly shot all six of the bullets of his colt revolver into the body of a murderous assailant before that distinguished person could fall to the earth had invested his townsmen and admirers with a modest desire to do him a titular honor. howsoever that might have been, he had always subsequently found himself addressed with sincere respect, while his counsel had been sought on every topic, possible, impossible, and otherwise, mooted in all borealis. the fact that his sister was the "boss of his shack," and that he, indeed, was a henpecked man, was never, by any slip of courtesy, conversationally paraded, especially in his hearing. appealed to now concerning the method of ringing the bar of steel for worshipful purposes, he took a bite at his nails before replying. then he said: "well, i'd ring it a little bit faster than you would for a funeral and a little bit slower than you would for a fire." "that's the stuff!" said field. "i knowed that doc would know." but doc refused them, nevertheless, when they asked if he would deign to do the ringing himself. consequently field, the father of the camp, made a gallant attempt at the work, only to miss the "bell" with his hammer and strike himself on the knee, after which he limped to a seat, declaring they didn't need a bell-ringing anyhow. upon the blacksmith the duty devolved by natural selection. he rang a lusty summons from the steel, that fetched all the dressed-up congregation of the town hastening to the scene. still, old jim, the faithful keno, little skeezucks, and tintoretto failed to appear. a deputation was therefore sent up the hill, where jim was found informing his household that if only he had the celerity of action he would certainly make a sunday suit of clothing for the tiny little man. for himself, he had washed and re-turned his shirt, combed his hair, and put on a better pair of boots, which the pup had been chewing to occupy his leisure time. the small but impressive procession came slowly down the trail at last, jim in the lead, with the grave little foundling on his arm. "boys," said he, as at last he entered the dingy shop and sat his quaint bit of a man on the anvil, over which he had thoughtfully thrown his coat--"boys, if only i'd had about fifteen minutes more of time i'd have thought up all the tricks you ever saw in a church." the men filed in, awkwardly taking off their hats, and began to seat themselves as best they could, on anything they found available. webber, the smith, went stoutly at his bellows, and blew up a fire that flamed two feet above the forge, fountaining fiercely with sparks of the iron in the coal, and tossing a ruddy light to the darkest corners of the place. the incense of labor--that homely fragrance of the smithy all over the world--spread fresh and new to the very door itself. old jim edged closer to the anvil and placed his hand on the somewhat frightened little foundling, sitting there so gravely, and clasping his doll in fondness to his heart. outside, it was noted, field had halted the red-headed keno for a moment's whispered conversation. keno nodded knowingly. then he came inside, and, addressing them all, but principally jim, he said: "say, before we open up, miss doc would like to know if she kin come." a silence fell on all the men. webber went hurriedly and closed the ponderous door. "wal, she wouldn't be apt to like it till we get a little practised up," said the diplomatic jim, who knew the tenor of his auditors. "tell her maybe she kin--some other time." "this ain't no regular elemercenary institution," added the teamster. "why not now?" demanded field. "why can't she come?" "becuz," said the smith, "this church ain't no place for a woman, anyhow." a general murmur of assent came from all the men save field and doc dennihan himself. "leave the show commence," said a voice. "start her up," said another. "wal, now," drawled jim, as he nervously stroked his beard, "let's take it easy. which opening do all you fellers prefer?" no one answered. one man finally inquired. "how many kinds is there?" jim said, "wal, there's the methodist, the baptist, the graeco-roman, episcopalian, and--the catch-as-catch-can." "give us the ketch-and-kin-ketch-as-you-kin," responded the spokesman. "mebbe we ought to begin with sunday-school," suggested the blacksmith. "that would sort of get us ready for the real she-bang." "how do you do it?" inquired lufkins, the teamster. "oh, it's just mostly catechism," jim imparted, sagely. "and what's catechism?" said bone. "catechism," drawled the miner, "is where you ask a lot of questions that only the children can answer." "i know," responded the blacksmith, squatting down before the anvil. "little skeezucks, who made you?" the quaint little fellow looked at the brawny man timidly. how pale, how wee he appeared in all that company, as he sat on the great lump of iron, solemnly winking his big, brown eyes and clinging to his make-shift of a doll! "aw, say, give him something easy," said lufkins. "that's what they used to bang at me," said the smith, defending his position. "but i'll ask him the easiest one of the lot. baby boy," he said, in a gentle way of his own, "who is it makes everything?--who makes all the lovely things in the world?" shyly the tiny man leaned back on the arm he felt he knew, and gravely, to the utter astonishment of the big, rough men, in his sweet baby utterance, he said: "bruv-ver--jim." a roar of laughter instantly followed, giving the youngster a start that almost shook him from his seat. "by jinks!" said keno. "that's all right. you bet he knows." but the sunday-school programme was not again attempted. when something like calm had settled once more on the audience, if-only jim remarked that he guessed they would have to quit their fooling and get down to the business of church. chapter vii the sunday happenings but to open the service when quiet reigned again and expectation was once more concentrated upon him afforded something of a poser still to the lanky old jim, elected to perform the offices of leading. "where's shorty hobb with his fiddle?" said he. "parky wouldn't leave him come," answered bone. "he loaned him money on his vierlin, and he says he owns it and won't leave him play in no church that ever got invented." "parky, hey?" said jim, drawlingly. "wal, bless his little home'pathic pill of a soul!" "he says he's fed more poor and done more fer charity than any man in town," informed a voice. "does, hey?" said the miner. "i'll bet his belly's the only poor thing he feeds regular. his hand ain't got callous cutting bread for the orphans. but he ain't a subject for church. if only i'd 'a' known what he was agoin' to do i'd made a harp. but let it go. we'll start off with roll-call and follow that up with a song." he therefore began with the name of webber, who responded "here," and proceeding to note who was present, he drawled the name or familiar sobriquet of each in turn, till all had admitted they were personally in attendance. "ahem," said jim, at the end of this impressive ceremony. "now we'll sing a hymn. what hymn do you fellows prefer?" there was not a great confusion of replies; in fact, the confusion resulted from a lack thereof. "as no one indicates a preference," announced the miner, "we'll tackle 'darling, i am growing old.' are there any objections? all in favor?--contrary minded?--the motion prevails. now, then, all together--'darling--'why don't you all git in?" "how does she go?" inquired webber. "she goes like this," jim replied, clearing his throat: "'darling, i am growing o-old, silver bars among the gold; shine upon--te dum te dumpty- far from the old folks at home.'" "don't know it," said a voice. "neither do i." "nor i." "nor i." the sheep of the flock all followed in a chorus of "nor i's." "what's the matter with 'swing low, sweet cheery o'?" inquired lufkins. "suits me," jim replied. "steam up." he and the teamster, in duet, joined very soon by all the congregation, sang over and over the only lines they could conjure back to memory, and even these came forth in remarkable variety. for the greater part, however, the rough men were fairly well united on the simple version: "'swing low, sweet cheery o, comin' for to carry me home; swing low, sweet cheery o, comin' for to carry me home.'" this was sung no less than seven times, when jim at length lifted his hand for the end. "we'll follow this up with the lord's prayer," he said. laying his big, freckled hand on the shoulder of the wondering little pilgrim, seated so quietly upon the anvil, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. how thin, but kindly, was his rugged face as the lines were softened by his attitude! he began with hesitation. the prayer, indeed, was a stumbling towards the long-forgotten--the wellnigh unattainable. "'our father which art in heaven . . . our father which art in heaven--' "now, hold on, just a minute," and he paused to think before resuming and wiped his suddenly sweating brow. "'our father which art in heaven- if i should die before i wake . . . give us our daily bread. amen.'" the men all sat in silence. then keno whispered, so loudly that every one could hear; "by jinks! i didn't think he could do it!" "we'll now have another hymn," announced the leader, "there used to be one that went on something about, 'i'm lost and far away from the shack, and it's dark, and lead me--somewhere--kindly light.' any one remember the words all straight?" "i don't," replied the blacksmith, "but i might come in on the chorus." "seems to me," said bone, "a candle or just a plain, unvarnished light, would 'a' went out. it must have bin a lantern." "objection well taken," responded jim, gravely. "i reckon i got it turned 'round a minute ago. it was more like: "'lead me on, kindly lantern, for i am far from home, and the night is dark.'" "it don't sound like a song--not exactly," ventured lufkins. "why not give 'em 'down on the swanee river'?" "all right," agreed the "parson," and therefore they were all presently singing at the one perennial "hymn" of the heart, universal in its application, sweetly religious in its humanism. they sang it with a woful lack of its own original lines; they put in string on string of "dum te dums," but it came from their better natures and it sanctified the dingy shop. when it was ended, which was not until it had gone through persistent repetitions, old jim was prepared for almost anything. "i s'pose you boys want a regular sermon," said he, "and if only i'd 'a' had the time--wal, i won't say what a torch-light procession of a sermon you'd have got, but i'll do the best i can." he cleared his throat, struck an attitude inseparable from american elocution, and began: "fellow-citizens--and ladies and gentlemen--we--we're an ornary lot of backwoods fellers, livin' away out here in the mountains and the brush, but god almighty 'ain't forgot us, all the same. he sent a little youngster once to put a heartful of happiness into men, and he's sent this little skeezucks here to show us boys we ain't shut off from everything. he didn't send us no bonanza--like they say they've got in silver treasury--but i wouldn't trade the little kid for all the bullion they will ever melt. we ain't the prettiest lot of ducks i ever saw, and we maybe blow the ten commandants all over the camp with giant powder once in a while, lookin' 'round for gold, but, boys, we ain't throwed out complete. we've got the love and pity of god almighty, sure, when he gives us, all to ourselves, a little helpless feller for to raise. i know you boys all want me to thank the father of us all, and that's what i do. and i hope he'll let us know the way to give the little kid a good square show, for christ's sake. amen." the men would have listened to more. they expected more, indeed, and waited to hear old jim resume. "that's about all," he said, as no one spoke, "except, of course, we'll sing some more of the hymns and take up collection. i guess we'd better take collection first." the congregation stirred. big hands went down into pockets. "who gets the collection?" queried field. jim drawled, "when it ain't buttons, it goes to the parson; when it is, the parson's wife gits in." "you 'ain't got no wife," objected bone. "that's why there ain't goin' to be no buttons," sagely answered the miner. "on the square, though, boys, this is all for the little skeezucks, to buy some genuine milk, from miss doc dennihan's goat." "what we goin' to put our offerings into?" asked the blacksmith, as the boys made ready with their contributions. "they used to hand around a pie-plate when i was a boy." "we'll try to get along with a hat," responded jim, "and keno here can pass it 'round. i've often observed that a hat is a handy thing to collect things in, especially brains." so the hat went quickly from one to another, sagging more and more in the crown as it travelled. the men had come forward to surround the anvil, with the tiny little chap upon its massive top, and not one in all the groups was there who did not feel that, left alone with the timid bit of a pilgrim, he could get him to talking and laughing in the briefest of moments. the hymns with which old jim had promised the meeting should conclude were all but forgotten. two or three miners, whose hunger for song was not to be readily appeased, kept bringing the subject to the fore again, however, till at length they were heard. "we're scarin' little skeezucks, anyhow," said the brawny smith, once more reviving the fire in the forge. "let's sing 'in the sweet by-and-by,' if all of us know it," suggested a young fellow scarcely more than a lad. "it's awful easy." "wal, you start her bilin'," replied the teamster. the young fellow blushed, but he nerved himself to the point and sang out, nervously at first, and then, when his confidence increased, in a clear, ringing tenor of remarkable purity, recalling the old-time words that once were so widely known and treasured: "'there's a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar, for the father waits over the way to prepare us a dwelling-place there.'" then the chorus of voices, husky from neglect and crude from lack of culture, joined in the chorus, with a heartiness that shook the dingy building: "'in the sweet by-and-by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore; in the sweet by-and-by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.'" they followed this with what they knew of "home, sweet home," and so at last strolled out into the sunshine of the street, and surrounded the quaint little foundling, as he looked from one to another in baby gravity and sat in his timid way on the arm of "bruvver jim." "i'll tell you what," said the blacksmith, "now that we've found that we can do the job all right, we'll get up a christmas for little skeezucks that will lift the mountains clean up off the earth!" "good suggestion," jim agreed. "but the little feller feels tired now. i am goin' to take him home." and this he did. but after lunch no fewer than twenty of the men of borealis climbed up the trail to get another look at the quiet little man who glorified the cabin. but the darkness had only begun to creep through the lowermost channels of the canyons when skeezucks fell asleep. by then old jim, the pup, and keno were alone with the child. "keno, i reckon i'll wander quietly down and see if doc will let me buy a little milk," said jim. "you'd better come along to see that his sister don't interfere." keno expressed his doubts immediately, not only as to the excellence of goat's milk generally, but likewise as to any good that he could do by joining jim in the enterprise suggested. "anyway," he concluded, "doc has maybe went on shift by this time. he's workin' nights this week again." jim, however, prevailed. "you don't get another bite of grub in this shack, nor another look at the little boy, if you don't come ahead and do your share." therefore they presently departed, shutting tintoretto in the cabin to "watch." in half an hour, having interviewed doc dennihan himself on the hill-side quite removed from his cabin, the two worthies came climbing up towards their home once again, jim most carefully holding in his hands a large tin cup with half an inch of goat's milk at the bottom. while still a hundred yards from the house, they were suddenly startled by the mad descent upon them of the pup they had recently left behind. "huh! you young galoot," said jim. "you got out, i see!" when he entered the cabin it was dark. keno lighted the candle and jim put his cup on the table. then he went to the berth to awaken the tiny foundling and give him a supper of bread and milk. keno heard him make a sound as of one in terrible pain. the miner turned a face, deadly white, towards the table. "keno," he cried, "he's gone!" chapter viii old jim distraught for a moment keno failed to comprehend. then for a second after that he refused to believe. he ran to the bunk where jim was desperately turning down the blankets and made a quick examination of that as well as of the other beds. they were empty. hastening across the cabin, the two men searched in the berths at the farther end with parental eagerness, but all in vain, the pup meantime dodging between their legs and chewing at their trousers. "tintoretto!" said jim, in a flash of deduction. "he must have got out when somebody opened the door. somebody's been here and stole my little boy!" "by jinks!" said keno, hauling at his sleeves in excess of emotion. "but who?" "come on," answered jim, distraught and wild. "come down to camp! somebody's playin' us a trick!" again they shut the pup inside, and then they fairly ran down the trail, through the darkness, to the town below. a number of men were standing in the street, among them the teamster and field, the father of borealis. they were joking, laughing, wasting time. "boys," cried jim, as he hastened towards the group, "has any one seen little skeezucks? some one's played a trick and took him off! somebody's been to the cabin and stole my little boy!" "stole him?" said field. "why, where was you and keno?" "down to doc's to get some milk. he wanted bread and milk," jim explained, in evident anguish. "you fellows might have seen, if any one fetched him down the trail. you're foolin'. some of you took him for a joke!" "it wouldn't be no joke," answered lufkins, the teamster. "we 'ain't got him, jim, on the square." "of course we 'ain't got him. we 'ain't took him for no joke," said field. "nobody'd take him away like that." "why don't we ring the bar of steel we used for a bell," suggested one of the miners. "that would fetch the men--all who 'ain't gone back on shift." "good idea," said field. "but i ought to get back home and eat some dinner." he did not, however, depart. that jim was in a fever of excitement and despair they could all of them see. he hastened ahead of the group to the shop of webber. and taking a short length of iron chain, which he found on the earth, he slashed and beat at the bar of steel with frantic strength. the sharp, metallic notes rang out with every stroke. the bar was swaying like a pendulum. blow after blow the man delivered, filling all the hollows of the hills with wild alarm. out of saloons and houses men came sauntering, or running, according to the tension of their nerves. many thought some house must be afire. at least thirty men were presently gathered at the place of summons. with five or six informers to tell the news of jim's bereavement, all were soon aware of what was making the trouble. but none had seen the tiny foundling since they bade him good-bye in the charge of jim himself. "are you plum dead sure he's went?" said webber, the smith. "did you look all over the cabin?" "everywhere," said jim. "he's gone!" "wal, maybe some mystery got him," suggested bone. "jim, you don't suppose his father, or some one who lost him, come and nabbed him while you was gone?" they saw old jim turn pale in the light that came from across the street. keno broke in with an answer. "by jinks! jim was his mother! jim had more good rights to the little feller than anybody, livin' or dead!" "you bet!" agreed a voice. jim spoke with difficulty. "if any one did that"--he faltered--"why, boys, he never should have let me find him in the brush." "are you plum dead sure he's went?" insisted the blacksmith, whom the news had somewhat stunned. "i thought perhaps you fellows might have played a joke--taken him off to see me run around," said jim, with a faint attempt at a smile. "'ain't you got him, boys--all the time?" "aw, no, he'd be too scared," said bone. "we know he'd be scared of any one of us." "it ain't so much that," said field, "but i shouldn't wonder if his father, or some other feller just as good, came and took him off." "of course his father would have the right," said jim, haltingly, "but--i wish he hadn't let me find him first. you fellows are sure you ain't a-foolin'?" "we couldn't have done it--not on sunday--after church," said lufkins. "no, jim, we wouldn't fool that way." "you don't s'pose that parky might have took him, out of spite?" said jim, eager for hope in any direction whatsoever. "no! he hates kids worse than pizen," said the barkeep, decisively. "he's been a-gamblin' since four this afternoon, dealin' faro-bank." "we could go and search every shack in camp," suggested a listener. "what would be the good of that?" inquired field. "if the father came and took the little shaver, do you think he'd hide him 'round here in somebody's cabin?" the blacksmith said: "it don't seem as if you could have looked all over the house. he's such a little bit of a skeezucks." keno told him how they had searched in every bunk, and how the milk was waiting on the table, and how the pup had escaped when some one opened the door. the men all volunteered to go up on the hill with torches and lanterns, to see if the trail of the some one who had done this deed might not be discovered. accordingly, the lights were secured and the party climbed the slope. all of them entered the cabin and heard the explanation of exactly how old jim had found that the little chap was gone. webber was one of the number. to satisfy his incredulous mind, he searched every possible and impossible lurking-place where an object as small as a ball could be concealed. "i guess he's went," he agreed, at last. then out on the hill-side went the crowd, and breaking up in groups, each with its lanterns and torches, they searched the rock-strewn slope in every direction. the wavering lights went hither and yon, revealing now the faces of the anxious men, and then prodigious features of a clump of granite bowlders, jewelled with mica, sparkling in the light. intensely the darkness hedged the groups about. the sounds of their voices and of rocks that crunched beneath their boots alone disturbed the great, eternal calm; but the search was vain. the searchers had known it could be of no avail, for the puny foot of man could have made no track upon the slanted floor of granite fragments that constituted the hill-side. it was something to do for jim, and that was all. at length, about midnight, it came to an end. they lingered on the slope, however, to offer their theories, invariably hopeful, and to say that monday morning would accomplish miracles in the way of setting everything aright. many were supperless when all save jim and little keno had again returned to borealis and left the two alone at the cabin. "we'll save the milk in case he might come home by any chance," said the gray old miner, and he placed the cup on a shelf against the wall. in silence he cooked the humble dinner, which he placed on the table in front of his equally voiceless companion. keno and the pup went at the meal with unpoetic vigor, but jim could do no eating. he went to the door from time to time to listen. then he once more searched the blankets in the bunks. "wal, anyway," said he, at last, "he took his doll." chapter ix the guilty miss doc that keno and tintoretto should sleep was inevitable, after the way they had eaten. old jim then took his lantern and went out alone. perhaps his tiny foundling had wandered away by himself, he thought. searching and searching, up hill and down, lighting his way through the brush, the miner went on and on, to leave no spot unvisited. he was out all night, wandering here and climbing there on the hillside, pausing now and again to listen and to look about, almost expectantly, where naught could be seen save the mighty procession of the stars, and naught could be heard save the ringing of the inter-stellar silence as the earth swung steadily onward in her course. hour after hour of the darkness went by and found him searching still. with the coming of the morning he suddenly grasped at a startling thought. miss doc!--miss dennihan! she must have stolen his foundling! her recent climb to his cabin, her protracted stay, her baffled curiosity--these were ample explanation for the trick she must have played! how easily she might have watched the place, slipped in the moment the cabin was left unguarded, and carried off the little pilgrim! jim knew she would glory in such a revenge. she probably cared not a whit for the child, but to score against himself, for defeating her purpose when she called, she would doubtless have gone to any possible length. the miner was enraged, but a second later a great gush of thankfulness and relief surged upward in his heart. at least, the little man would not have been out all night in the hills! then growing sick in turn, he thought this explanation would be too good to be true. it was madness--only a hope! he clung to it tenaciously, however, then gave it up, only to snatch it back again in desperation as he hastened home to his cabin. "keno, wake up," he cried to his lodger, shaking him briskly by the shoulder. "keno! keno!" "what's the matter? time for breakfast?" asked keno, drowsily, risking only half an eye with which to look about. "why not call me gently?" "get up!" commanded jim. "i have thought of where little skeezucks has gone!" "where?" cried keno, suddenly aroused. "i'll go and kill the cuss that took him off!" "miss doc!" replied the miner. "miss doc!" "miss doc?" repeated keno, weakly, pausing in the act of pulling on his boots. "by jinks! say, i couldn't kill no woman, jim. how do you know?" "stands to reason," jim replied, and explaining his premises rapidly and clearly, he punched poor keno into something almost as good as activity. "by jinks! i can't believe it," said keno, who did believe it with fearful thoroughness. "jim, she wouldn't dare, an' us two fellers liable to bust her house to pieces." "don't you know she'd be dead sure to play a trick like that?" said jim, who could not bear to listen to a doubt. "don't you see she couldn't do anything else, bein' a woman?" "maybe--maybe," answered keno, with a sort of acquiescence that is deadlier than an out-and-out denial. "but--i wouldn't want to see you disappointed, jim--i wouldn't want to see it." "wal, you come on, that's all," said jim. "if it ain't so--i want to know it early in the day!" "but--what can i do?" still objected keno. "wouldn't you rather i'd stay home and git the breakfast?" "we don't want any breakfast if she 'ain't got the little boy. you come on!" keno came; so did tintoretto. the three went down the slope as the sun looked over the rim of the mountains. the chill and crispness of the air seemed a part of those early rays of light. in sight of the home of doc and miss dennihan, they paused and stepped behind a fence, for the door of the neat little house was open and the lady herself was sweeping off the steps, with the briskness inseparable from her character. she presently disappeared, but the door, to jim's relief, was left standing open. he proceeded boldly on his course. "now, i'll stay outside and hold the pup," said keno. "if anything goes wrong, you let the pup go loose," instructed jim. "he might distract her attention." thereupon he went in at the creaking little garden gate, and, leaving it open, knocked on the door and entered the house. he had hardly more than come within the room when miss doc appeared from her kitchen. "mercy in us, if you ain't up before your breakfast!" she said. "whatever do you want in my house at this time of mornin', you jim lazy-joints?" "you know what i came for," said jim. "i want my little boy." "your little boy?" she echoed. "i never knowed you had no little boy. you never said nuthin' 'bout no little boy when i was up to your cabin." jim's heart, despite his utmost efforts to be hopeful, was sinking. "you know i found a little kid," he said, less aggressively. "and some one's taken him off--stole him--that's what they've done, and i'll bet a bit it's you!" "wal, if i ever!" cried miss doc, her eyes lighting up dangerously. "did you come down here to tell me right to my face i stole from your dirty little shanty?" "i want my little boy," said jim. "wal, you git out of my house," commanded miss doc. "if john was up you'd never dare to stay here another minute. you clear out! a-callin' me a thief!" jim's hope collapsed in his bosom. the taking of the child he could gladly have forgiven. any excuse would have satisfied his anger--anything was bearable, save to know that he had come on a false belief. "miss doc," he said, "i only want the little kid. don't say he ain't here." "tellin' me i'd steal!" she said, in her indignation. "you shiftless, good-for-nothin'--" but she left her string of epithets incompleted, all on account of an interruption in the shape of tintoretto. keno had made up his mind that everything was going wrong, and he had loosed the pup. bounding in at the door, that enthusiastic bit of awkwardness and good intentions jumped on the front of miss doc's dress, gave a lick at her hand, scooted back to his master, and wagged himself against the tables, chairs, and walls with clumsy dexterity. sniffing and bumping his nose on the carpet, he pranced through the door to the kitchen. almost immediately jim heard the sound of something being bowled over on the floor--something being licked--something vainly striving with the over-affectionate pup, and then there came a coo of joy. "there he is!" cried jim, and before miss doc could lift so much as hand or voice to restrain him, he had followed tintoretto and fallen on his knees by the side of his lost little foundling, who was helplessly straddled by the pup, and who, for the first time, dropped his doll as he held out his tiny arms to be taken. "my little boy!" said the miner--"my little boy!" and taking both doll and little man in his arms he held them in passionate tenderness against his heart. "how da'st you come in my kitchen with your dirty boots?" demanded miss dennihan, in all her unabashed pugnacity. "it's all right, little skeezucks," said jim to the timid little pilgrim, who was clinging to his collar with all the strength of a baby's new confidence and hope. "did you think old brother jim was lost? did you want to go home and get some bread and milk?" "he ain't a bit hungry. he didn't want nuthin' to eat," said miss doc, in self-defence. "and you ain't no more fit to have that there child than a--" "goin' to have him all the same," old jim interrupted, starting for the door. "you stole him--that's what you did!" "i didn't do no sech thing," said the housewife. "i jest nachelly borrowed him--jest for over night. and now you've got him, i hope you're satisfied. and you kin jest clear out o' my house, do you hear? and i can't scrub and sweep too soon where your lazy, dirty old boots has been on the floor!" "wal," drawled jim, "i can't throw away these boots any too soon, neither. i wouldn't wear a pair of boots which had stepped on any floor of yours." he therefore left the house at once, even as the lady began her violent sweeping. interrupting keno's mad chortles of joy at sight of little skeezucks, jim gave him the tiny man for a moment's keeping, and, taking off his boots, threw them down before miss dennihan's gate in extravagant pride. then once more he took his little man on his arm and started away. but when he had walked a half-dozen rods, on the rocks that indented the tender soles of his stockinged feet, he was stepping with gingerly uncertainty. he presently came to a halt. the ground was not only lumpy, it was cold. "i'll tell you what," he slowly drawled, "in this little world there's about one chance in a million for a man to make a president of himself, and about nine hundred and ninety-nine chances in a thousand for him to make a fool of himself." "that's what i thought," said keno. "all the same, if only i had the resolution i'd leave them boots there forever!" "what for?" said keno. "wal," drawled jim, "a man can't always tell he comes of a proud family by the cut of his clothes. but, keno, you ain't troubled with pride, so you go back and fetch me the boots." then, when he presently drew his cowhide casings on, he sat for a moment enjoying the comfort of those soles beneath his feet. for the time that they halted where they were, he held his rescued little boy to his heart in an ecstasy such as he never had dreamed could be given to a man. chapter x preparations for christmas when the word spread 'round that jim and the quaint little foundling were once more united, the story of the episode at miss doc's home necessarily followed to make the tale complete. immensely relieved and grateful, to know that no dire calamity had befallen the camp's first and only child, the rough men nevertheless lost no time in conceiving the outcome to be fairly amusing. "you kin bet that doc was awake all the time, and listenin', as long as jim was there," said bone, "but six yoke of oxen couldn't 'a' dragged his two eyes open, or him out of bed, to mingle in the ceremonies." to prevent a recurrence of similar descents upon his household, jim arranged his plans in such a manner that the timid little skeezucks should never again be left alone. indeed, the gray old miner hardly ever permitted the little chap to be out of his sight. hour by hour, day by day, he remained at his cabin, playing with the child, telling him stories, asking him questions, making him promises of all the wonderful toys and playthings he would manufacture soon. once in a while the little fellow spoke. that utterance came with difficulty to his lips was obvious. he must always have been a silent, backward little fellow, and sad, as children rarely become at an age so tender. of who or what he was he gave no clew. he seemed to have no real name, to remember no parents, to feel no confidence in anything save "bruvver jim" and tintoretto. in the course of a week a number of names had been suggested for the tiny bit of a stranger, but none could suit the taste of jim. he waited still for a truant inspiration, and meanwhile "skeezucks" came daily more and more into use among the men of borealis. it was during this time that a parcel arrived at the cabin from the home of miss doc. it was fetched to the hill by doc himself, who said it was sent by his sister. he departed at once, to avoid the discussion which he felt its contents might occasion. on tearing it open old jim was not a little amazed to discover a lot of little garments, fashioned to the size of tiny skeezucks, with all the skill which lies--at nature's second thought--in the hand of woman. neat little undergarments, white little frocks, a something that the miner felt by instinct was a "nightie," and two pairs of the smallest of stockings rewarded the overhauling of the package, and left jim momentarily speechless. "by jinks!" said keno, pulling down his sleeves, "them are awful small fer us!" "if only i had the time," drawled jim, "i'd take 'em back to miss doc and throw them in her yard. we don't need anybody sewin' for little skeezucks. i was meanin' to make him somethin' better than these myself." "oh!" said keno. "well, we could give 'em to the pup. he'd like to play with them little duds." "no; i'll try 'em on the little boy tonight," reflected jim, "and then, if we find they ain't a fit, why, i'll either send 'em back or cut 'em apart and sew 'em all over and make 'em do." but once he had tried them on, their fate was sealed. they remained as much a part of the tiny man as did his furry doll. indeed, they were presently almost forgotten, for december being well advanced, the one great topic of conversation now was the christmas celebration to be held for the camp's one little child. ten of the big, rough citizens had come one evening to the cabin on the hill, to settle on some of the details of what they should do. the tiny pilgrim, whom they all regarded so fondly, had gone to sleep and jim had placed him in his bunk. in the chimney a glowing fire drove away the chill of the wintry air. "speakin' of catfish, of course we'll hang up his stockin'," said field. "christmas wouldn't be no christmas without a stockin'." "stockin'!" echoed the blacksmith. "we'll have to hang up a minin'-shaft, i reckon, for to hold all the things." "i'm goin' to make him a kind of kaliderscope myself, or maybe two or three," said one modest individual, stroking his chin. dunn, the most unworkman-like carpenter that ever built a crooked house, declared it was his intention to fashion a whole set of alphabetical blocks of prodigious size and unearthly beauty. "well, i can't make so much in the way of fancy fixin's, but you jest wait and see," said another. the blacksmith darkly hinted at wonders evolving beneath the curly abundance of his hair, and lufkins likewise kept his purposes to himself. "i s'pose we'd ought to have a tree," said jim. "we could make a christmas-tree look like the garden of eden before mrs. adam began to eat the ornaments." "that's the ticket," webber agreed. "that's sure the boss racket of them all." "we couldn't git no tree into this shanty," objected field. "this place ain't big enough to hold a christmas puddin'." "of course it is," said the carpenter. "it's ten foot ten by eighteen foot six inches, or i can't do no guessin'." "that 'mount of space couldn't hold jest me, on christmas," estimated the teamster. "and the whole camp sure will want to come," added another. "'ceptin' miss doc," suggested webber. "'ceptin' miss doc," agreed the previous speaker. "then why not have the tree down yonder, into webber's shop, same as church?" asked field. "we could git the whole camp in there." this was acclaimed a thought of genius. "it suits me down to the ground," said jim, with whom all ultimate decision lay, by right of his foster-parenthood of little skeezucks, "only i don't see so plain where we're goin' to git the tree. we're burnin' all the biggest brush around borealis, and there ain't a genuine christmas-tree in forty miles." the truth of this observation fell like a dampened blanket on all the company. "that's so," said webber. "that's just the luck!" "there's a bunch of willers and alders by the spring," suggested a hopeful person. "you pore, pitiful cuss," said field. "you couldn't have seen no christmas-tree in all your infancy." "if only i had the time," drawled jim, "i'd go across to the pinyon mountains and git a tree. perhaps i can do that yet." "if you'd do that, jim, that would be the biggest present of the lot," said webber. "you wouldn't have to do nuthin' more."' "wal, i'm goin' to make a noah's ark full of animals, anyway," said jim. "also a few cars and boats and a big tin horn--if only i've got the activity." "but we'll reckon on you for the tree," insisted the blacksmith. "then, of course, we want a great big christmas dinner." "what are you goin' to do fer a turkey?" inquired field. "and rich brown gravy?" added the carpenter. "and cranberry sauce and mince-pie?" supplemented lufkins. "well, maybe we could git a rabbit for the turkey," answered the smith. "and, by jinks! i kin make a lemon-pie that tastes like a chunk dropped out of heaven," volunteered keno, pulling at his sleeves. "but what about that rich brown gravy?" queried the carpenter. "smoky white can dish up the slickest dough-nuts you ever slapped your lip onto," informed the modest individual who stroked his chin. "we can have pertatoes and beans and slapjacks on the side," a hopeful miner reminded the company. "you bet. don't you worry; we can trot out a regular banquet," field assured them, optimistically. "s'posen we don't have turkey and cranberry sauce and a big mince-pie?" "i'd like that rich brown gravy," murmured the carpenter--"good and thick and rich and brown." "we could rig up a big, long table in the shop," planned the blacksmith, "and put a hundred candles everywhere, and have the tree all blazin' with lights, and you bet things would be gorgeous." "if we git the tree," said lufkins. "and the rabbit fer a turkey," added a friend. "well, by jinks! you'll git the lemon-pie all right, if you don't git nuthin' else," declared little keno. "if only i can plan it out i'll fetch the tree," said jim. "i'd like to do that for the little boy." "jim's an awful clever ole cuss," said field, trusting to work some benefit by a judicious application of flattery. "it ain't every man which knows the kind of a tree to chop. not all trees is christmas-trees. but ole jim is a clever ole duck, you bet." "wal," drawled jim, "i never suspect my own intelligence till a man begins to tell me i'm a clever old duck. still, i reckon i ain't over-likely to cut no cherry-trees over to the pinyon hills." "the celebration's comin' to a head in bully style, that's the main concern," said the teamster. "i s'pose we'd better begin to invite all the boys?" "if all of 'em come," suggested a listener, "that one jack-rabbit settin' up playin' turkey will look awful sick." "i'd hate to git left on the gravy," added the carpenter--"if there's goin' to be any gravy." "aw, we'll have buckets of grub," said the smith. "we'll ask 'em all to 'please bring refreshments,' same as they do in families where they never git a good square meal except at surprise-parties and birthday blow-outs. don't you fear about the feed." "well, we ought to git the jig to goin'," suggested field. "lots of the boys needs a good fair warnin' when they're goin' to tackle cookin' grub for a christmas dinner. i vote we git out of here and go down hill and talk the racket up." this motion was carried at once. the boys filed out with hearty good-nights, and wended their way down the slope, with the bite of the frosted air at their ears. then jim, at the very thought of travelling forty miles to fetch a tree for christmas gayeties, sat down before his fire to take a rest. chapter xi troubles and discoveries for the next ten days the talk of the camp was the coming celebration. moreover, man after man was surrounding himself with mystery impenetrable, as he drew away in his shell, so to speak, to undergo certain throes of invention and secret manufacture of presents for the tiny boy at the cabin on the hill. knowing nods, sly winks, and jealous guarding of their cleverness marked the big, rough fellows one by one. and yet some of the most secretive felt a necessity for consulting jim as to what was appropriate, what would please little skeezucks, and what was worthy to be tied upon the tree. that each and every individual thus laboring to produce his offering should be eager to excel his neighbor, and to win the greatest appreciation from the all-unknowing little pilgrim for his own particular toy or trinket, was a natural outcome of the christmas spirit actuating the manoeuvres. and all the things they could give would have to be made, since there was not a shop in a radius of a hundred miles where baubles for youngsters could be purchased, while borealis, having never had a baby boy before in all its sudden annals of being, had neglected all provision for the advent of tiny skeezucks. the carpenter came to the cabin first, with a barley-sack filled with the blocks he had made for the small foundling's christmas ecstasy. before he would show them, however, keno was obliged to leave the house and the tiny pilgrim himself was placed in a bunk from which he could not see. "i want to surprise him," explained the carpenter. he then dumped out his blocks. as lumber was a luxury in borealis, he had been obliged to make what shift he could. in consequence of this the blocks were of several sizes, a number were constructed of several pieces of board nailed together--and split in the process--no two were shaped alike, except for generalities, and no one was straight. however, they were larger than a man's two fists, they were gaudily painted, and the alphabet was sprinkled upon them with prodigal generosity. there were even hieroglyphics upon them, which the carpenter described as birds and animals. they were certainly more than any timid child could ever have demanded. "them's it," said dunn, watching the face of jim with what modest pride the situation would permit. "now, what i want you to do is to give me a genuine, candid opinion of the work." "wal, i'll tell you," drawled the miner, "whenever a man asks you for a candid opinion, that's the time to fill your shovel with guff. it's the only safe proceedin'. so i won't fool around with candid opinions, dunn, i'll just admit they are jewels. cut my diamonds if they ain't!" "i kind of thought so myself," confessed the carpenter. "but i thought as you was a first-class critic, why, i'd like to hear what you'd say." "no, i ain't no critic," jim replied. "a critic is a feller who can say nastier things than anybody else about things that anybody else can do a heap sight better than he can himself." "well, i do reckon, as who shouldn't say so, that nobody livin' into borealis but me could 'a' made them blocks," agreed dunn, returning the lot to his sack. "but i jest wanted to hear you say so, jim, fer you and me has had an eddication which lots of cusses into camp 'ain't never got. not that it's anything agin 'em, but--you know how it is. i'll bet the little shaver will like them better'n anything else he'll git." "oh, he'll like 'em in a different way," agreed the miner. "no doubt about that." and when the carpenter had gone old jim took his little foundling from the berth and sat him on his knee. in the tiny chap's arms the powder-flask-and-potato doll was firmly held. the face of the lady had wrinkled with a premature descent of age upon her being. one of her eyes had disappeared, while her soot-made mouth had been wiped across her entire countenance. the quaint bit of a boy was dressed, as usual, in the funny little trousers that came to his heels, while his old fur cap had been kept in requisition for the warmth it afforded his ears. he cuddled confidingly against his big, rough protector, but he made no sound of speaking, nor did anything suggestive of a smile come to play upon his grave little features. jim had told him of christmas by the hour--all the beauty of the story, so old, so appealing to the race of man, who yearns towards everything affording a brightness of hope and a faith in anything human. "what would little skeezucks like for his christmas?" the man inquired, for the twentieth time. the little fellow pressed closer against him, in baby shyness and slowly answered: "bruv-ver--jim." the miner clasped him tenderly against his heart. yet he had but scanty intimation of the all the tiny pilgrim meant. he sat with him throughout that day, however, as he had so many of these fleeting days. the larder was neglected; the money contributed at "church" had gone at once, to score against a bill at the store, as large as the cabin itself, and only the labors of keno, chopping brush for fuel, kept the home supplied even with a fire. jim had been born beneath the weight of some star too slow to move along. when keno came back to the cabin from his work in the brush it was well along in the afternoon. jim decided to go below and stock up the pantry with food. on arriving at the store, however, he met a new manner of reception. the gambler, parky, was in charge, as a recent purchaser of the whole concern. "you can't git no more grub-stake here without the cash," he said to jim. "and now you've come, you can pony up on the bill you 'ain't yet squared." "so?" said jim. "you bet your boots it's so, and you can't begin to pungle up a minute too soon!" was the answer. "i reckon you'd ask a chicken to pungle up the gravel in his gizzard if you thought he'd picked up a sliver of gold," jim drawled, in his lazy utterance. "and an ordinary chicken, with the pip thrown in, could pungle twice to my once." "ain't got the stuff, hey?" said parky. "broke, i s'pose? then maybe you'll git to work, you old galoot, and stop playin' parson and goody-goody games. you don't git nothing here without the chink. so perhaps you'll git to work at last." a red-nosed henchman of the gambler's put in a word. "i don't see why you 'ain't gone to work," he said. "don't you?" drawled jim, leaning on the counter to survey the speaker. "well, it looks to me as if you found out, long ago, that all work and no play makes a man a yankee." "i ain't no yankee, you kin bet on that!" said the man. "that's pretty near incredible," drawled jim. "and i ain't neither," declared the gambler, who boasted of being canadian. "don't you forget that, old boy." "no," jim slowly replied, "i've often noticed that all that glitters ain't american." "well, you can clear out of here and notice how things look outside," retorted parky. jim was slowly straightening up when the blacksmith and the teamster entered the place. they had heard the gambler's order and were thoroughly astounded. no man, howsoever poor and unprepared to pay a wretched bill, had ever been treated thus in borealis before. "what's the matter?" said webber. "nuthin', particularly," answered jim, in his slow, monotonous way, "only a difference of opinion. parky thinks he's brainy, and a gentleman--that's all." "i can see you don't git another snack of grub in here, my friend," retorted parky, adding a number of oaths. "and for just two cents i'd break your jaw and pitch you out in the street." "not with your present flow of language," answered jim. the teamster inquired, "why don't jim git any more grub?" "because i'm running this joint and he 'ain't got the cash," said parky. "you got anything to say about the biz?" "jim's got a call on me and my cash," replied the brawny webber. "jim, you tell him what you need, and i'll foot the bill." "i'll settle half, myself," added lufkins. "thanks, boys, not this evenin'," said jim, whose pride had singular moments for coming to the surface. "there's only one time of day when it's safe to deal with a gambler, and that's thirteen o'clock." "i wouldn't sell you nothing, anyway," said parky, with a swagger. "he couldn't git grub here now for no money--savvy?" "i wonder why you call it grub, now that it's come into your greasy hands!" drawled the miner, as he slowly started to leave the store. "i'd be afraid you'd deal me a dirty ace of spades instead of a decent slice of bacon." and, hands in pockets, he sauntered away, vaguely wondering what he should do. the blacksmith hung for a moment in the balance of indecision, rapidly thinking. then he followed where the gray old jim had gone, and presently overtook him in the road. "jim," he said, "what about poor little skeezucks? say, i'll tell you what we'll do: i'll wait a little, and then send field to the store and have him git whatever you need, and pretend it's all for himself. then we'll lug it up the hill and slide it into the cabin slick as a lead two-bits." "can't let you do it," said jim. "why not?" demanded webber. jim hesitated before he drawled his reply. "if only i had the resolution," said he, "i wouldn't take nothing that parky could sell." "when we git you once talkin' 'if-only,' the bluff is called," replied the smith, with a grin. "now what are you needin' at the shack?" "you rich fellers want to run the whole shebang," objected jim, by way of an easy capitulation. "there never yet was a feller born with a silver spoon in his mouth that didn't want to put it in every other feller's puddin'. . . . i was goin' to buy a can or two of condensed milk and a slab of bacon and a sack of flour and a bean or two and a little 'baccy, and a few things about like that." "all right," said the blacksmith, tabulating all these items on his fingers. "and field kin look around and see if there ain't some extrys for little skeezucks." "if only i had the determination i wouldn't accept a thing from parky's stock," drawled the miner, as before. "i'll go to work on the claim and pay you back right off." "kerrect," answered webber, as gravely as possible, thinking of the hundred gaudy promises old jim had made concerning his undeveloped and so far worthless claim. "i hope you'll strike it good and rich." "wal," drawled jim; "bad luck has to associate with a little good luck once in a while, to appear sort of half-way respectable. and my luck--same as any tired feller's--'ain't been right good sunday-school company for several years." so he climbed back up the hill once more, and, coming to his cabin, had a long, earnest look at the picks, bars, drills, and other implements of mining, heavy with dust, in the corner. "if only the day wasn't practically gone," said he, "i'd start to work on the claim this afternoon." but he touched no tools, and presently instead he took the grave little foundling on his knee and told him, all over, the tales the little fellow seemed most to enjoy. when the stock of provisions was finally fetched to the house by webber himself, the worthy smith was obliged to explain that part of the money supplied to field for the purchase of the food had been confiscated for debt at the store. in consequence of this the quantity had been cut to a half its intended dimensions. "and the worst of it is," said the blacksmith, in conclusion, "we all owe a little at the store, and parky's got suspicious that we're sneakin' things to you." indeed, as he left the house, he saw that certain red-nosed microbe of a human being attached to the gambler, spying on his visit to the hill. stopping for a moment to reflect upon the nearness of christmas and the needless worry that he might inflict by informing jim of his discovery, webber shook his head and went his way, keeping the matter to himself. but with food in the house old jim was again at ease, so much so, indeed, that he quite forgot to begin that promised work upon his claim. he had never worked except when dire necessity made resting no longer possible, and then only long enough to secure the wherewithal for sufficient food to last him through another period of sitting around to think. if thinking upon subjects of no importance whatsoever had been a lucrative employment, jim would certainly have accumulated the wealth of the whole wide world. he took his pick in his hands the following day, but placed it again in its corner, slowly, after a moment's examination of its blunted steel. three days went by. the weather was colder. bitter winds and frowning clouds were hastening somewhere to a conclave of the wintry elements. it was four days only to christmas. neither the promised noah's ark to present to tiny skeezucks nor the christmas-tree on which the men had planned to hang their gifts was one whit nearer to realization than as if they had never been suggested. meantime, once again the food-supply was nearly gone. keno kept the pile of fuel reasonably high, but cheer was not so prevalent in the cabin as to ask for further room. the grave little pilgrim was just a trifle quieter and less inclined to eat. he caught a cold, as tiny as himself, but bore its miseries uncomplainingly. in fact, he had never cried so much as once since his coming to the cabin; and neither had he smiled. in sheer concern old jim went forth that cold and windy afternoon of the day but four removed from christmas, to make at least a show of working on his claim. keno, skeezucks, and the pup remained behind, the little red-headed man being busily engaged in some great culinary mystery from which he said his lemon-pie for christmas should evolve. when presently jim stood beside the meagre post-hole he had made once upon a time, as a starter for a mining-shaft, he looked at it ruefully. how horridly hard that rock appeared! what a wretched little scar it was he had made with all that labor he remembered so vividly! what was the good of digging here? nothing! dragging his pick, he looked for a softer spot in which to sink the steel. there were no softer spots. and the pick helve grew so intensely cold! jim dropped it to the ground, and with hands thrust into his armpits, for the warmth afforded, he hunched himself dismally and scanned the prospect with doleful eyes. why couldn't the hill break open, anyhow, and show whether anything worth the having were contained in its bulk or not? a last summer's mullen stock, beating incessantly in the wind, seemed the only thing alive on all that vast outbulging of the earth. the stunted brush stiffly carded the breeze that blew so persistently. from rock to rock the gray old miner's gaze went wandering. so undisturbed had been the surface of the earth since he had owned the claim that a shallow channel, sluiced in the earth by a freshet of the spring long past, remained as the waters had cut it. slowly up the course of this insignificant cicatrice old jim ascended, his hands still held beneath his arms, his long mustache and his grizzled beard blown awry in the breeze. the pick he left behind. coming thus to a deeper gouge in the sand of the hill, he halted and gazed attentively at a thick seam of rock outcropping sharply where the long-gone freshet had laid it bare. in mining parlance it was "quartzy." to jim it appeared even more. he stooped above it and attempted to break away a fragment with his fingers. at this he failed. rubbing off the dust and sand wherewith old mother nature was beginning to cover it anew, he saw little spots, at which he scratched with his nails. "awful cold it's gittin'," he drawled to himself, and sitting down on the meagre bank of earth he once more thrust his hands beneath his coat and looked at the outcropping dismally. he had doubtless been gone from the cabin half an hour, and not a stroke had he given with his pick, when, as he sat there looking at the ground, the voice of keno came on the wind from the door of the shack. arising, jim started at once towards his home, leaving his pick on the hill-side a rod or two below. "what is it?" he called, as he neared the house. "calamerty!" yelled keno, and he disappeared within the door. jim almost made haste. "what kind of a calamity?" said he, as he entered the room. "what's went wrong?" "the lemon-pie!" said keno, whose face was a study in the art of expressing consternation. "oh," said jim, instantly relieved, "is that all?" "all?" echoed keno. "by jinks! i can't make another before it's christmas, to save my neck, and i used all the sugar and nearly all the flour we had." "is it a hopeless case?" inquired jim. "some might not think so," poor keno replied. "i scoured out the old dutch oven and i've got her in a-bakin', but--" "well, maybe she ain't so worse." "jim," answered keno, tragically, "i didn't find out till i had her bakin' fine. then i looked at the bottle i thought was the lemon extract, and, by jinks! what do you think?" "i don't feel up to the arts of creatin' lemon-pies," confessed the miner, warming himself before the fire. "what happened?" "you have to have lemon extract--you know that?" said keno. "all right." "well, by jinks, jim, it wasn't lemon extract after all! it was hair-oil!" a terrible moment of silence ensued. then jim said, "was it all the hair-oil i had?" "every drop," said keno. "wal," drawled the miner, sagely, "don't take on too hard. into each picnic some rain must fall." "but the boys won't eat it," answered keno, inconsolably. "you don't know," replied jim. "you never can tell what people will eat on christmas till the follerin' day. they'll take to anything that looks real pretty and smells seasonable. what did i do with my pick?" "you must have left it behind," said keno. "you ain't goin' to hit the pie with your pick?" "wal, not till christmas, anyway, keno, and only then in case we've busted all the knives and saws trying to git it apart," said jim, reassuringly. "would you keep it, sure, and feed it to 'em all the same?" inquired keno, forlornly, eager for a ray of hope. "i certainly would," replied the miner. "they won't know the diff between a lemon-pie and a can of tomatoes. so i guess i'll go and git my pick. it may come on to snow, and then i couldn't find it till the spring." without the slightest intention of working any more, jim sauntered back to the place where the pick was lying on the hill and took it up. by chance he thought of the ledge of quartz above in the rain-sluiced channel. "might as well hit her a lick," he drawled to himself, and climbing to the spot he drove the point of his implement into a crevice of the rock and broke away a piece of two or three pounds in weight. this he took in his big, red hands, which were numbing in the cold. for a moment he looked at the fragment of quartz with unbelieving eyes. he wet it with his tongue. then a something that answered in jim to excitement pumped from his heart abruptly. the rock was flecked all through with tiny specks of metal that the miner knew unerringly. it was gold. chapter xii the making of a christmas-tree despite the snow that fell that night, despite the near approach of christmas, old jim's discovery aroused a great excitement in the camp. that very evening the news was known throughout all borealis, and all next day, in the driving storm, the hill was visited, the ledge was viewed, and the topic was discussed at length in all its amazing features. teamsters, miners, loiterers--all, even including the gambler--came to pay their homage at the hiding-place of one of mammon's family. all the mountain-side was taken up in claims. the calmest man in all the hills was jim himself. parky made him an offer without the slightest hesitation. "i'll square off your bill at the store," he said, "and give you a hundred dollars' worth of grub for the claim and prospect just as she stands." "not to-day," old jim replied. "i never do no swapping at the other's feller's terms when i'm busy. we've got to get ready for christmas, and you don't look to me like santy claus hunting 'round for lovely things to do." "anyway, i'll send up a lot of grub," declared the gambler, with a wonderful softening of the heart. "i was foolin'--just havin' a joke--the last time you was down to the store. you know you can have the best we've got in the deck." "wal, i 'ain't washed the taste of your joke clean out of my mouth just yet, so i won't bother you to-day," drawled jim; and with muttered curses the gambler left, determined to have that ledge of gold-bearing rock, let the cost be what it might. "i guess we'll have to quit on that there christmas-tree," said the blacksmith, who was present with others at the cabin. "seems you didn't have time to go to the pinyon hills and fetch one back." "if only i hadn't puttered 'round with the work on the claim," said jim, "we might have had that tree as well as not. but i'll tell you what we can do. we can cut down the alders and willows at the spring, and bind a lot together and tie on some branches of mountain-tea and make a tree. that is, you fellers can, for little skeezucks ain't a-feelin' right well to-day, and i reckon i'll stay close beside him till he spruces up." "what about your mine?" inquired lufkins. "it ain't agoin' to run away," said the old philosopher, calmly. "i'll let it set there for a few more days, as long as i can't hang it up on the tree. it's just my little present to the boy, anyhow." if anything had been needed to inject new enthusiasm into the plans for a christmas celebration or to fire anew the boyhood in the men, the find of gold at jim's very door would have done the trick a dozen times over. with hearts new-created for the simple joys of their labor, the big rough fellows cut the meagre growth of leafless trees at the spring in the small ravine, and gathered evergreen mountain-tea that grew in scrawny clusters here and there on the mountains. armful after armful of this, their only possible material, they carried to the blacksmith's shop below, and there wrought long and hard and earnestly, tying together the wisps of green and the boughs and trunks of tender saplings. four of the stalks, the size of a lady's wrist, they fastened together with twisted wire to form the main support, or body, of their tree, to this the reconstructed, enlarged, and strengthened branches were likewise wired. lastly, the long, green spikes of the mountain shrub were tied on, in bunches, like so many worn-out brooms. the tree, when completed and standing in its glory in the shop, was a marvellous creation, fully as much like a fir from the forest as a hair-brush is like a palm. then began the scheme of its decoration. one of the geniuses broke up countless bottles, for the red and green glass they afforded, and, tying the pieces in slings of cord, hung them in great profusion from the tree's peculiar arms. from the ceiling of his place of business, bone, the barkeep, cut down a fluffy lot of colored paper, stuck there in a great rosette, and with this he added much original beauty to the pile. out of cigar-boxes came a great heap of bright tin-foil that went on the branches in a way that only men could invent. the carpenter loaded the structure with his gaudy blocks. the man who had promised to make a "kind of kaliderscope" made four or five instead of one. they were white-glass bottles filled with painted pebbles, buttons, dimes, chopped-up pencils, scraps of shiny tin, and anything or everything that would lend confusion or color to the bottle's interior as the thing was rolled about or shaken in the hands. these were so heavy as to threaten the tree's stability. therefore, they had to be placed about its base on the floor. the blacksmith had made a lot of little axes, shovels, picks, and hammers, all of which had been filed and polished with the greatest care and affectionate regard for the tiny man whose tree and christmas all desired to make the finest in the world. the teamster had evolved, from the inside lining of his winter coat, a hybrid duck-dog-bear that he called a "woolly sheep." one of the men had whittled out no less than four fat tops, all ringed with colors and truly beautiful to see, that he said were the best he had ever beheld, despite the fact that something was in them that seemed to prevent them from spinning. another old fellow brought a pair of rusty skates which were large enough for a six-foot man. he told of the wonderful feats he had once performed on the ice as he hung them on the tree for little skeezucks. the envy of all was awakened, however, by field, the father of the camp, who fetched a drum that would actually make a noise. he had built this wonder out of genuine sheep-skin, stretched over both of the ends of a bright tin can of exceptional size, from which he had eaten the contents solely with the purpose in view of procuring the metal cylinder. there were wooden animals, cut-out guns, swords and daggers, wagons--some of them made with spools for wheels--a sled on which the paint was still wet, and dolls suspiciously suggestive of potato-mashers and iron spoons, notwithstanding their clothing. there were balls of every size and color, coins of gold and silver, and books made up of pasted pictures, culled for the greater part from cans of peaches, oysters, tomatoes, lobsters, and salmon. nearly every man had fashioned something, and hardly anything had been left unpainted. the clumsy old "boys" of the town had labored with untold patience to perfect their gifts. their earnestness over the child and the day was a beautiful thing to see. never were presents more impressive as to weight. the men had made them splendidly strong. the gifts had been ticketed variously, many being marked "for little skeezucks," but by far the greatest number bore the inscription: "for bruvver jim's baby--merry christmas." the tree, by the time the things had been lashed upon its branches, needed propping and guying in every direction. the placing of big, white candles upon it, however, strained the skill and self-control of the men to the last degree. if a candle prefers one set of antics to another, that set is certainly embodied in the versatile schemes for lopping over, which the wretched thing will develop on the best-behaving tree in the world. on a home-made tree the opportunities for a candle's enjoyment of this, its most diverting of accomplishments, are increased remarkably. the day was cold, but the men perspired from every pore, and even then the night came on before the work was completed. when at length they ceased their labors for the day, there was still before them the appalling task of preparing the christmas banquet. in the general worry incident to all such preparations throughout the world, parky, the gambler, fired an unexpected shot. he announced his intention of giving the camp a grand celebration of his own. the "palace" saloon would be thrown wide open for the holiday, and food, drink, music, and dancing would be the order of the memorable occasion. "it's a game to knock our tree and banquet into a cocked hat," said the blacksmith, grimly. "well--he may get some to come, but none of old jim's friends or the fellers which likes little skeezucks is goin' to desert our own little festival." nevertheless, the glitter of the home-made tree in the dingy shop was dimmed. chapter xiii their christmas-day the day before christmas should, by right of delights about to blossom, be nearly as happy as the sweet old carnival itself, but up at the cabin on the hill it was far from being joyous. the tiny mite of a foundling was not so well as when his friends had left him on the previous afternoon. he was up and dressed, sitting, in his grave little way, on the miner's knee, weakly holding his crushed-looking doll, but his cold had increased, his sweet baby face was paler, the sad, dumb look in his eyes was deeper in its questioning, the breakfast that the fond old jim had prepared was quite untasted. "he ain't agoin' to be right down sick, of course?" said the blacksmith, come to report all the progress made. "natchelly, we'd better go on, gittin' ready fer the banquet? he'll be all right fer to-morrow?" "oh yes," said jim. "there never yet was a christmas that wouldn't get a little youngster well. he'll come to the tree, you bet. it's goin' to be the happiest time he ever had." outside, the red-headed keno was chopping at the brush. the weather was cold and windy, the sky gray and forbidding. when the smith had gone, old jim, little skeezucks, and the pup were alone. tintoretto, the joyous, was prancing about with a boot in his jaws. he stumbled constantly over its bulk, and growled anew at every interference with his locomotion. "does little pardner like the pup?" said jim, patting the sick little man on the back with his clumsy but comforting hand. "do you want him to come here and play?" the wee bit of a parentless, deserted boy slowly shook his head. "don't you like him any more?" said jim. a weak little nod was the answer. "is there anything the baby wants?" inquired the miner, tenderly. "what would little skeezucks like?" for the very first time since his coming to the camp the little fellow's brown eyes abruptly filled with tears. his tiny lip began to tremble. "bruv-ver jim," he said, and, leaning against the rough old coat of the miner, he cried in his silent way of passionate longing, far too deep in his childish nature for the man to comprehend. "poor little man ain't well," said jim, in a gentle way of soothing. "bruvver jim is here all right, and goin' to stay," and, holding the quiet little figure to his heart, he stood up and walked with him up and down the dingy cabin's length, till the shaking little sobs had ceased and the sad little man had gone to sleep. all day the miner watched the sleeping or the waking of the tiny pilgrim. the men who came to tell of the final completion of the tree and the greater preparations for the feast were assured that the one tiny guest for whom their labors of love were being expended would surely be ready to enjoy the celebration. the afternoon gave way to night in the manner common to wintry days. from time to time a gust of wind tore the fleece from the clouds and hurled it in snow upon the silent earth. dimly the lights of the cabins shone through the darkness and the chill. at the blacksmith's shop the wind went in as if to warm itself before the forge, only to find it chill and black, wherefore it crept out again at the creaking door. a long, straight pencil of snow was flung through a chink, across the earthen floor and against the swaying christmas-tree, on which the, presents, hanging in readiness for little skeezucks, beat out a dull, monotonous clatter of tin and wood as they collided in the draught. the morning--christmas morning--broke with one bright gleam of sunlight, shining through the leaden banks before the cover of clouds was once more dropped upon the broken rim of mountains all about. old jim was out of his bunk betimes, cooking a breakfast fit, he said, "to tempt a skeleton to feast." true to his scheme of ensnaring the gray old miner in an idleness with regard to his mine which should soon prove a fatal mistake, parky, the gambler, had sent a load of the choicest provisions from the store to the cabin on the hill. only too glad of the daintier morsels thus supplied for his ailing little guest, old jim had made but feeble protest when the things arrived, and now was preparing a meal from the nicest of the packages. little skeezucks, however, waked in a mood of lethargy not to be fathomed by mere affection. not only did he turn away at the mere suggestion of eating, but he feebly hid his face and gave a little moan. "he ain't no better," jim announced, putting down a breakfast-dish with its cargo quite untasted. "i wish we had a little bit of medicine." "what kind?" said the worried keno. "it wouldn't make much difference," answered the miner. "anything is medicine that a doctor prescribes, even if it's only sugar-and-water." "but there ain't a doctor into camp," objected keno, hauling at his sleeves. "and the one they had in bullionville has went away, and he was fifty miles from here." "i know," said jim. "you don't think he's sick?" inquired keno, anxiously. jim looked long at his tiny foundling dressed in the nightie that came below his feet. a dull, heavy look was in the little fellow's eyes, half closed and listless. "he ain't no better," the miner repeated. "i don't know what to do." keno hesitated, coughed once or twice, and stirred the fire fiercely before he spoke again. then he said, "miss doc is a sort of female doctor. she knows lots of female things." "yes, but she can't work 'em off on the boy," said jim. "he ain't big enough to stand it." "no, i don't suppose he is," agreed keno, going to the window, on which he breathed, to melt away the frosty foliage of ice. "i think there's some of the boys a-comin'--yep--three or four." the boots of the men could be heard, as they creaked on the crisply frozen snow, before the visitors arrived at the door. keno let them in, and with them an oreole of chill and freshness flavored spicily of winter. there were three--the carpenter, bone, and lufkins. "how's the little shaver?" bone inquired at once. "about the same," said jim. "and how's the tree?" "all ready," answered lufkins. "old webber's got a bully fire, and iron melting hot, to warm the shop. the tree looks great. she's all lit up, and the doors all shut to make it dark, and you bet she's a gem--a gorgeous gem--ain't she, fellers?" the others agreed that it was. "and the boys are nearly all on deck," resumed the teamster, "and webber wanted to know if the morning--christmas morning--ain't the time for to fetch the boy." "wal, some might think so," jim replied, unwilling to concede that the tiny man in the bunk was far too ill to join in the cheer so early in the day. "but the afternoon is the regular parliamentary time, and, anyway, little skeezucks 'ain't had his breakfast, boys, and--we want to be sure the shop is good and warm." "the boys is all waitin' fer to give three cheers," said the carpenter, "and we're goin' to surprise you with a christmas song called 'massa's in the cole, cole ground.'" "shut up!" said bone; "you're givin' it all away. so you won't bring him down this mornin'?" "well, we'll tell 'em," agreed the disappointed lufkins. "what time do you think you'll fetch the little shaver, then, this afternoon?" "i guess about twelve," said jim. "how's he feelin'?" inquired the carpenter. "wal, he don't know how to feel on christmas yet," answered the miner, evasively. "he doesn't know what's a-comin'." "wait till he sees them blocks," said the carpenter, with a knowing wink. "i ain't sayin' nothin'," added lufkins, with the most significant smile, "but you jest wait." "nor me ain't doin' any talkin'," said bone. "well, the boys will all be waitin'," was the teamster's last remark, and slowly down the whitened hill they went, to join their fellows at the shop of the smith. the big, rough men did wait patiently, expectantly, loyally. blowing out the candles, to save them for the moment when the tiny child should come, they sat around, or stood about, or wandered back and forth, each togged out in his very best, each with a new touch of christmas meaning in his heart. behind the tree a goodly portion of the banquet was in readiness. keno's pie was there, together with a mighty stack of doughnuts, plates on plates of pickles, cans of fruit preserves, a mighty pan of cold baked beans, and a fine array of biscuits big as a man's two fists. from time to time the carpenter, who had saved up his appetite for nearly twenty-four hours, went back to the table and feasted his eyes on the spread. at length he took and ate a pickle. from that, at length, his gaze went longingly to keno's pie. how one little pie could do any good to a score or so of men he failed to see. at last, in his hunger, he could bear the temptation no longer. he descended on the pie. but how it came to be shied through the window, practically intact, half a moment later, was never explained to the waiting crowd. by the time gray noon had come across the mountain desolation to the group of little shanties in the snow, old jim was thoroughly alarmed. little skeezucks was helplessly lying in his arms, inert, breathing with difficulty, and now and again moaning, as only a sick little mite of humanity can. "we can't take him down," said the miner, at last. "he ought to have a woman's care." keno was startled; his worry suddenly engulfed him. "what kin we do?" he asked, in helplessness. "miss doc's a decent woman," answered jim, in despair. "she might know what to do." "you couldn't bring yourself to that?" asked keno, thoroughly amazed. "i could bring myself to anything," said jim, "if only my little boy could be well and happy." "then you ain't agoin' to take him down to the tree?" "how can i?" answered jim. "he's awful sick. he needs something more than i can give. he needs--a mother. i didn't know how sick he was gettin'. he won't look up. he couldn't see the tree. he can't be like the most of little kids, for he don't even seem to know it's christmas." "aw, poor little feller!" said keno. "jim, what we goin' to do?" "you go down and ask miss doc if i can fetch him there," instructed jim. "i think she likes him, or she wouldn't have made his little clothes. she's a decent woman, and i know she's got a heart. go on the run! i'm sorry i didn't give in before." the fat little keno ran, in his shirt-sleeves, and without his hat. jim was afraid the motionless little foundling was dying in his arms. he could presently wait no longer, either for keno's return or for anything else. he caught up two of the blankets from the bed, and, wrapping them eagerly, swiftly about the moaning little man, left his cabin standing open and hastened down the white declivity as fast as he could go, tintoretto, with puppy whinings of concern, closely tagging at his heels. lufkins, starting to climb once more to the cabin, beheld him from afar. with all his speed he darted back to the blacksmith-shop and the tree. "he coming!" he cried, when fifty yards away. "light the candles--quick!" in a fever of joy and excitement the rough fellows lighted up their home-made tree. the forge flung a largess of heat and light, as red as holly, through the gloom of the place. all the men were prepared with a cheer, their faces wreathed with smiles, in a new sort of joy. but the moments sped away in silence and nothing of jim and the one small cause of their happiness appeared. indeed, the gray old miner was at dennihan's already. keno had met him on the hill with an eager cry that welcome and refuge were gladly prepared. with her face oddly softened by the news and appeal, miss doc herself came running to the gate, her hungry arms outstretched to take the child. "just make him well," was jim's one cry. "i know a woman can make him well." and all afternoon the men at the blacksmith's-shop kept up their hope. keno had come to them, telling of the altered plans by which little skeezucks had found his way to miss doc, but by special instruction he added that jim was certain that improvement was coming already. "he told me that evenin' is the customary hour fer to have a tree, anyhow," concluded keno, hopefully. "he says he was off when he said to turn it loose at noon." "does he think miss doc can git the little feller fixed all up to celebrate to-night?" inquired bone. "is that the bill of fare?" "that's about it," said keno, importantly. "i'm to come and let you know when we're ready." impatient for the night to arrive, excited anew, when at last it closed in on the world of snow and mountains, the celebrators once more gathered at the shop and lighted up their tree. the wind was rushing brusquely up the street; the snow began once more to fall. from the "palace" saloon came the sounds of music, laughter, song, and revelry. light streamed forth from the window in glowing invitation. all day long its flow of steaming drinks and its endless succession of savory dishes had laded the air with temptation. not a few of the citizens of borealis had succumbed to the gayer attractions of parky's festival, but the men who had builded a christmas-tree and loaded its branches with presents waited and waited for tiny skeezucks in the dingy shop. the evening passed. night aged in the way that wintry storm and lowering skies compel. dismally creaked the door on its rusted hinges. into the chink shot the particles of snow, and formed again that icy mark across the floor of the shop. one by one the candles burned away on the tree, gave a gasp, a flare, and expired. silently, loyally the group of big, rough miners and toilers sat in the cheerless gloom, hearing that music, in its soullessness, come on the gusts of the storm--waiting, waiting for their tiny guest. at length a single candle alone illumined their pitiful tree, standing with its meagre branches of greenery stiffly upheld on its scrawny frame, while the darkness closed sombrely in upon the glint of the toys they had labored to make. then finally keno came, downcast, pale, and worried. "the little feller's awful sick," he said. "i guess he can't come to the tree." his statement was greeted in silence. "then, maybe he'll see it to-morrow," said the blacksmith, after a moment. "it wouldn't make so very much odds to us old cusses. christmas is for kids, of course. so we'll leave her standing jest as she is." slowly they gave up their final hopes. slowly they all went out in the storm and night, shutting the door on the christmas celebration now abandoned to darkness, the creak of the hinges, the long line of snow inside that pointed to the tree. one by one they bade good-night to webber, the smith, and so went home to many a cold little cabin, seemingly hunched like a freezing thing in the driving storm. chapter xiv "if only i had the resolution" for the next three or four days the tiny bit of a man at miss doc's seemed neither to be worse nor better of his ailment. the hand of lethargy lay with dulling weight upon him. old jim and miss dennihan were baffled, though their tenderness increased and their old animosity disappeared, forgotten in the stress of care. that the sister of doc could develop such a spirit of motherhood astounded nearly every man in the camp. accustomed to acerbities of criticism for their many shortcomings from her ever-pointed tongue, they marvelled the more at her semi-partnership with jim, whom of all the population of the town she had scorned and verbally castigated most frequently. resupplying their tree with candles, the patient fellows had kept alive their hope of a great day of joy and celebration, only to see it steadily receding from their view. at length they decided to carry their presents to the house where the wan little foundling lay, trusting the sight of their labors of love might cheer him to recovery. to the utter amazement of her brother, miss doc not only permitted the big, rough men to track the snow through her house, when they came with their gifts, but she gave them kindly welcome. in her face that day they readily saw some faint, illusive sign of beauty heretofore unnoticed, or perhaps concealed. "he'll come along all right," she told them, with a smile they found to be singularly sweet, "for jim do seem a comfort to the poor little thing." old jim would surely have been glad to believe that he or anything supplied a comfort to the grave little sick man lying so quietly in bed. the miner sat by him all day long, and far into every night, only climbing to his cabin on the hill when necessity drove him away. then he was back there in the morning by daylight, eager, but cheerful always. the presents were heaped on the floor in sight of the pale little skeezucks, who clung unfailingly, through it all, to the funny makeshift of a doll that "bruvver jim" had placed in his keeping. he appeared not at all to comprehend the meaning of the gifts the men had brought, or to know their purpose. that never a genuinely happy christmas had brightened his little, mysterious life, miss dennihan knew by a swift, keen process of womanly intuition. "i wisht he wasn't so sad," she said, from time to time. "i expect he's maybe pinin'." on the following day there came a change. the little fellow tossed in his bed with a fever that rose with every hour. with eyes now burning bright, he scanned the face of the gray old miner and begged for "bruvver jim." "this is bruvver jim," the man assured him repeatedly. "what does baby want old jim to do?" "bruv-ver--jim," came the half-sobbed little answer. "bruv-ver--jim." jim took him up and held him fast in his arms. the weary little mind had gone to some tragic baby past. "no-body--wants me--anywhere," he said. the heart in old jim was breaking. he crooned a hundred tender declarations of his foster-parenthood, of his care, of his wish to be a comfort and a "pard." but something of the fever now had come between the tiny ears and any voice of tenderness. "bruv-ver--jim; bruv-ver--jim," the little fellow called, time and time again. with the countless remedies which her lore embraced, the almost despairing miss doc attempted to allay the rising fever. she made little drinks, she studied all the bottles in her case of simples with unremitting attention. keno, the always-faithful, was sent to every house in camp, seeking for anything and everything that might be called a medicine. it was all of no avail. by the time another day had dawned little skeezucks was flaming hot with the fever. he rolled his tiny body in baby delirium, his feeble little call for "bruvver jim" endlessly repeated, with his sad little cry that no one wanted him anywhere in the world. in his desperation, jim was undergoing changes. his face was haggard; his eyes were ablaze with parental anguish. "i know a shrub the injuns sometimes use for fever," he said to miss doc, at last, when he suddenly thought of the aboriginal medicine. "it grows in the mountains. perhaps it would do him good." "i don't know," she answered, at the end of her resources, and she clasped her hands. "i don't know." "if only i can git a horse," said jim, "i might be able to find the shrub." he waited, however, by the side of the moaning little pilgrim. then, half an hour later, bone, the bar-keep, came up to see him, in haste and excitement. they stood outside, where the visitor had called him for a talk. "jim," said bone, "you're in fer trouble. parky is goin' to jump your claim to-night--it bein' new year's eve, you know--at twelve o'clock. he told me so himself. he says you 'ain't done assessment, nor you can't--not now--and you 'ain't got no more right than anybody else to hold the ground. and so he's meanin' to slap a new location on the claim the minute this here year is up." "wal, the little feller's awful sick," said jim. "i'm thinkin' of goin' up in the mountains for some stuff the injuns sometimes use for fever." "you can't go and leave your claim unprotected," said bone. "how did parky happen to tell you his intentions?" said jim. "he wanted me to go in with him," bone replied, flushing hotly at the bare suggestion of being involved in a trick so mean. "he made me promise, first, i wouldn't give the game away, but i've got to tell it to you. i couldn't stand by and see you lose that gold-ledge now." "to-morrow is new year's, sure enough," jim replied, reflectively. "that mine belongs to little skeezucks." "but parky's goin' to jump it, and he's got a gang of toughs to back him up." "i'd hate to lose it, bone. it would seem hard," said jim. "but i ought to go up in the hills to find that shrub. if only i had a horse. i could go and git back in time to watch the claim." bone was clearly impatient. "don't git down to the old 'if only' racket now," he said, with heat. "i busted my word to warn you, jim, and the claim is worth a fortune to you and little skeezucks." jim's eyes took on a look of pain. "but, bone, if he don't git well," he said--"if he don't git well, think how i'd feel! couldn't you get me a horse? if only--" "hold on," interrupted bone, "i'll do all i kin for the poor little shaver, but i don't expect i can git no horse. i'll go and see, but the teams has all got the extry stock in harness, fer the roads is mighty tough, and snow, down the caã±on, is up to the hubs of the wheels. you've got to be back before too late or your claim goes up, fer, jim, you know as well as me that parky's got the right of law!" "if only i could git that shrub," said jim, as his friend departed, and back to the tossing little man he went, worried to the last degree. bone was right. the extra horses were all in requisition to haul the ore to the quartz-mill through a stretch of ten long miles of drifted snow. moreover, jim had once too often sung his old "if-only" cry. the men of borealis smiled sadly, as they thought of tiny skeezucks, but with doubt of jim, whose resolutions, statements, promises, had long before been estimated at their final worth. "there ain't no horse he could have," said lufkins, making ready himself to drive his team of twenty animals through wind and snow to the mill, "and even if we had a mule, old jim would never start. it's comin' on to snow again to-night, and that's too much for jim." bone was not at once discouraged, but in truth he believed, with all the others, that jim would no more leave the camp to go forth and breast the oncoming snow to search the mountains for a shrub than he would fetch a tree for the christmas celebration or work good and hard at his claim. the bar-keep found no horse. he expected none to be offered, and felt his labors were wasted. the afternoon was well advanced when he came again to the home of miss doc, where jim was sitting by the bed whereon the little wanderer was burning out his life. "jim," he said, in his way of bluntness, "there ain't no horse you can git, but i warned you 'bout the claim, and i don't want to see you lose it, all fer nothin'." "he's worse," said jim, his eyes wildly blazing with love for the fatherless, motherless little man. "if only i had the resolution, bone, i'd go and git that shrub on foot." "you'd lose yer claim," said bone. miss doc came out to the door where they stood. she was wringing her hands. "jim," she said, "if you think you kin, anyhow, git that injun stuff, why don't you go and git it?" jim looked at her fixedly. not before had he known that she felt the case to be so nearly hopeless. despair took a grip on his vitals. a something of sympathy leaped from the woman's heart to his--a something common to them both--in the yearning that a helpless child had stirred. "i'll get my hat and go," he said, and he went in the house, to appear almost instantly, putting on the battered hat, but clothed far too thinly for the rigors of the weather. "but, jim, it's beginning to snow, right now," objected bone. "i may get back before it's dark," old jim replied. "i can see you're goin' to lose the claim," insisted bone. "i'm goin' to git that shrub!" said jim. "i won't come back till i git that shrub." he started off through the gate at the back of the house, his long, lank figure darkly cut against the background of the white that lay upon the slope. a flurry of blinding snow came suddenly flying on the wind. it wrapped him all about and hid him in its fury, and when the calmer falling of the flakes commenced he had disappeared around the shoulder of the hill. chapter xv the gold in borealis the men to whom the bar-keep told the story of jim and his start into the mountains smiled again. the light in their eyes was half of affection and half of concern. they could not believe the shiftless old miner would long remain away in the snow and wind, where more than simple resolution was required to keep a man afoot. they would see him back before the darkness settled on the world, perhaps with something in his hand by way of a weed, if not precisely the "injun" thing he sought. but the darkness came and jim was not at hand. the night and the snow seemed swirling down together in the gorge, from every lofty uprise of the hills. it was not so cold as the previous storm, yet it stung with its biting force. at six o'clock the blacksmith called at the dennihans', in some anxiety. doc himself threw open the door, in response to the knock. how small and quiet he appeared, here at home! "no, he 'ain't showed up," he said of jim. "i don't know when he'll come." webber reported to the boys. "well, mebbe he's gone, after all," said field. "he looked kind of funny 'round the eyes when he started," bone informed them. "i hope he'll git his stuff," and they wandered down the street again. at eight o'clock the bar-keep returned once more to miss doc's. no jim was there. the sick little foundling was feebly calling in his baby way for "bruvver jim." the fever had him in its furnace. restlessly, but now more weakly weaving, the tiny bit of a man continued as ever to cling to his doll, which he held to his breast with all that remained of his strength. it seemed as if his tired baby brain was somehow aware that jim was gone, for he begged to have him back in a sweet little way of entreaty, infinitely sad. "bruvver jim?" he would say, in his questioning little voice--"bruvver jim?" and at last he added, "bruvver jim--do--yike--'ittle nu--thans." at this miss doc felt her heart give a stroke of pain, for something that was almost divination of things desolate in the little fellow's short years of babyhood was granted to her woman's understanding. "bruvver jim will come," she said, as she knelt beside the bed. "he'll come back home to the baby." but nine o'clock and ten went by, and only the storm outside came down from the hills to the house. hour after hour the lamp was burning in the window as a beacon for the traveller; hour after hour miss dennihan watched the fever and the weary little fellow in its toils. at half-past ten the blacksmith, the carpenter, and kew came, tintoretto, the pup, coldly trembling, at their heels. jim was not yet back, and the rough men made no concealment of their worry. "not home?" said webber. "out in the hills--in this?" "you don't s'pose mebbe he's lost?" inquired the carpenter. "no, jim knows his mountains," replied the smith, "but any man could fall and break his leg or somethin'." "i wisht he'd come," said miss doc. "i wisht that he was home." the three men waited near the house for half an hour more, but in vain. it was then within an hour of midnight. slowly, at last, they turned away, but had gone no more than half a dozen rods when they met the bar-keep, doc dennihan, lufkins the teamster, and four other men of the camp, who were coming to see if jim had yet returned. "i thought he mebbe hadn't come," said bone, when webber gave his report, "but parky's goin' to try to jump his claim at twelve o'clock, and we ain't goin' fer to stand it! come on down to my saloon fer extry guns and ammunition. we're soon goin' up on the hill to hold the ledge fer jim and the poor little kid." with ominous coupling of the gambler's name with rough and emphatic language, the ten men marched in a body down the street. the wind was howling, a door of some deserted shed was dully, incessantly slamming. helplessly miss dennihan sat by the bed whereon the tiny pilgrim lay, now absolutely motionless. the fever had come to its final stage. dry of skin, burning through and through, his little mouth parched despite the touch of cooling water on his lips, the wee mite of a man without a name, without a home, or a mother, or a single one of the baby things that make the little folks so joyous, had ceased to struggle, and ceased at last to call for "bruvver jim." then, at a quarter-past eleven, the outside door was suddenly thrown open, and in there staggered jim, a haggard, wild-eyed being, ghastly white, utterly exhausted, and holding in his hand a wretched, scrawny branch of the mountain shrub he had gone to seek. "oh, jim! jim!" cried miss doc, and, running forward, she threw her arm around his waist to keep him up, for she thought he must fall at every step, "he's--alive?" he asked her, hoarsely. "he's alive? i only asked to have him wait! hot water!--get the stuff in water--quick!" and he thrust the branch into her hand. beside the bed, on his great, rough knees, he fairly fell, crooning incoherently, and by a mighty effort keeping his stiff, cold hands from the tiny form. miss doc had kept a plate of biscuit warm in the stove. one of these and a piece of meat she gave to the man, bidding him eat it for the warmth his body required. "fix the shrub in the water," he begged. "it's nearly ready now," she answered. "take a bite to eat." then, presently, she came again to his side. "i've got the stuff," she said, awed by the look of anguish on the miner's face, and into his hands she placed a steaming pitcher, a cup, and a spoon, after which she threw across his shoulders a warm, thick blanket, dry and comforting. already the shrub had formed a dark, pungent liquor of the water poured upon it. turning out a cupful in his haste, old jim flowed the scalding stuff across his hands. it burned, but he felt no pain. the spoonful that he dipped from the cup he placed to his own cold lips, to test. he blew upon it as a mother might, and tried it again. then tenderly he fed the tea through the dry little lips. dully the tiny man's unseeing eyes were fixed on his face. "take it, for old bruvver jim," the man gently coaxed, and spoonful after spoonful, touched every time to his own mouth first, to try its heat, he urged upon the little patient. then miss doc did a singular thing. she put on a shawl and, abruptly leaving the house, ran with all her might down the street, through the snow, to bone's saloon. for the very first time in her life she entered this detested place, a blazing light of joy in her eyes. six of the men, about to join the four already gone to the hill above, where jim had found the gold, were about to leave for the claim. "he's come!" cried miss doc. "he's home--and got the weed! i thought you boys would like to know!" then backing out, with a singular smile upon her face, she hastened to return to her home with all the speed the snow would permit. alone in the house with the silent little pilgrim, who seemed beyond all human aid, the gray old miner knew not what he should do. the shrub tea was failing, it seemed to him. the sight of the drooping child was too much to be borne. the man threw back his head as he knelt there on the floor, and his stiffened arms were appealingly uplifted in prayer. "god almighty," he said, in his broken voice of entreaty, "don't take this little boy away from me! let him stay. let him stay with me and the boys. you've got so many little youngsters there. for christ's sake, let me have this one!" when miss doc came quietly in, old jim had not apparently moved. he was once more dipping the pungent liquor from the cup and murmuring words of endearment and coaxing, to the all-unhearing little patient. the eager woman took off her shawl and stood behind him, watching intently. "oh, jim!" she said, from time to time--"oh, jim!" with a new supply of boiling water, constantly heated on her stove, she kept the steaming concoction fresh and hot. midnight came. the new year was blown across those mighty peaks in storm and fury. presently out of the howling gale came the sound of half a dozen shots, and then of a fusillade. but jim, if he heard them, did not guess the all they meant to him. for an hour he had only moved his hands to take the pitcher, or to put it down, or to feed the drink to the tiny foundling, still so motionless and dull with the fever. one o'clock was finally gone, and two, and three. jim and the yearning miss doc still battled on, like two united parents. then at last the miner made a half-stifled sound in his throat. "you--can go and git a rest," he said, brokenly. "the sweat has come." all night the wind and the storm continued. all through the long, long darkness, the bitter cold and snow were searching through the hills. but when, at last, the morning broke, there on the slope, where old jim's claim was staked, stood ten grim figures, white with snow, and scattered here and there around the ledge of gold. they were bone and webber, keno and field, doc dennihan, the carpenter, the teamster, and other rough but faithful men who had guarded the claim against invasion in the night. chapter xvi arrivals in camp there is something fine in a party of men when no one brags of a fight brought sternly to victory. parky, the gambler, was badly shot through the arm; bone, the bar-keep, had a long, straight track through his hair, cleaned by a ball of lead. and this was deemed enough of a story when the ten half-frozen men had secured the claim to jim and his that new-year's morning. but the camp regretted on the whole that, instead of being shelved at his house, the gambler had not been slain. for nearly a week the wan little foundling, emerging from the vale of shadows at the home of miss dennihan, lay as if debating, in his grave, baby way, the pros and cons of existence. and even when, at last, he was well on the road to recovery, he somehow seemed more quiet than ever before. the rough old "boys" of the town could not, by any process of their fertile brains, find an adequate means of expressing their relief and delight when they knew at last the quaint little fellow was again himself. they came to miss dennihan's in groups, with brand-new presents and with wonderful spirits. they played on the floor like so many well-meaning bears; they threatened to fetch their poor, neglected christmas-tree from the blacksmith-shop; they urged miss doc to start a candy-pull, a night-school, a dancing-class, and a game of blindman's-buff forthwith. moreover, not a few discovered traces of beauty and sweetness in the face of the formerly plain, severe old maid, and slyly one or two began a species of courtship. on all their manoeuvres the little convalescent looked with grave curiosity. such antics he had surely never seen. pale and silent, as he sat on jim's big knee one evening, he watched the men intently, their crude attempts at his entertainment furnishing an obvious puzzle to his tiny mind. then presently he looked with wonder and awe at the presents, unable to understand that all this wealth of bottles, cubes, tops, balls, and wagons was his own. the carpenter was spelling "cat" and "dog" and "jim" with the blocks, while field was rolling the balls on the floor and others were demonstrating the beauties and functions of kaleidoscopes and endless other offerings; but through it all the pale little guest of the camp still held with undiminished fervor to the doll that jim had made when first he came to borealis. "we'd ought to git up another big christmas," said the blacksmith, standing with his arms akimbo. "he didn't have no holidays worth a cent." "we could roll 'em all into one," suggested field--"christmas, new year's, st. valentine's, and fourth of july." "what's the matter with washington's birthday?" bone inquired. "and mine?" added keno, pulling down his sleeves. "by jinks! it comes next week." "aw, you never had a birthday," answered the teamster. "you was jest mixed up and baked, like gingerbread." "or a lemon pie," said the carpenter, with obvious sarcasm. "wal, holidays are awful hard for some little folks to digest," said jim. "i'm kind of scared to see another come along." "i should think to-night is pretty near holiday enough," said the altered miss doc. "our little boy has come 'round delightful." "kerrect," said bone. "but if us old cusses could see him sort of laughin' and crowin' it would do us heaps of good." "give him time," said the teamster. "some of the sickenest crowin' i ever heard was let out too soon." the carpenter said, "you jest leave him alone with these here blocks for a day or two, if you want to hear him laugh." "'ain't we all laughed at them things enough to suit you yit?" inquired bone. "some people would want you to laugh at their funeral, i reckon." "wal, laughin' ain't everything there is worth the havin'," jim drawled. "some people's laughin' has made me ashamed, and some has made me walk with a limp, and some has made me fightin' mad. when little skeezucks starts it off--i reckon it's goin' to make me a boy again, goin' in swimmin' and eatin' bread-and-molasses." for the next few days, however, jim and the others were content to see the signs of returning baby strength that came to little skeezucks. that the clearing away of the leaden clouds, and the coming of beauty and sunshine, pure and dazzling, had a magical effect upon the tiny chap, as well as on themselves, the men were all convinced. and the camp, one afternoon, underwent a wholly novel and unexpected sensation of delight. a man, with his sweet, young wife and three small, bright-faced children, came driving to borealis. with two big horses steaming in the crystal air and blowing great, white clouds of mist from their nostrils, with wheels rimmed deeply by the snow between the spokes, with colored wraps and mittened hands, and three red worsted caps upon the children's heads, the vision coming up the one straight street was quite enough to warm up every heart in town. the rig drew up in front of the blacksmith-shop, and twenty men came walking there to give it welcome. "howdy, stranger?" said the blacksmith, as he came from his forge, bareheaded, his leathern apron tied about his waist, his sleeves rolled up, and his big, hairy arms akimbo. "pleasant day. you're needin' somethin' fixed, i see," and he nodded quietly towards a road-side job of mending at the doubletree, which was roughly wrapped about with rope. "yes. good-morning," said the driver of the rig, a clear-eyed, wholesome-looking man of clerical appearance. "we had a little accident. we've come from bullionville. how long do you think it will take you to put us in shape?" the smith was looking at the children. such a trio of blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, unalarmed little girls had never before been seen in borealis; and they all looked back at him and the others with the most engaging frankness. "well, about how far you goin'?" said the smith, by way of answer. "to fremont," replied the stranger. "i'm a preacher, but they thought they couldn't support a church at bullionville," he added, with a look, half mirth, half worry, in his eyes. "however, a man from fremont loaned us the horses and carriage, so we thought we'd move before the snow fell any deeper. i'd like to go on without great delay, if the mending can be hastened." "your off horse needs shoein'," said webber, quickly scanning every detail of the animals and vehicle with his practised eye. "it's a long pull to fremont. i reckon you can't git started before the day after tomorrow." to a preacher who had found himself superfluous, the thought of the bill of expenses that would heap up so swiftly here in borealis was distressing. he was poor; he was worried. like many of the miners, he had worked at a claim that proved to be worthless in the end. "i--hoped it wouldn't take so long," he answered, slowly, "but then i suppose we shall be obliged to make the best of the situation. there are stables where i can put up the horses, of course?" "you kin use two stalls of mine," said the teamster, who liked the looks of the three little girls as well as those of the somewhat shy little mother and the preacher himself. "boys, unhitch his stock." field, bone, and the carpenter, recently made tender over all of youngster-kind, proceeded at once to unfasten the harness. "but--where are we likely to find accommodations?" faltered the preacher, doubtfully. "is there any hotel or boarding-house in camp?" "well, not exactly--is there, webber?" replied the teamster. "the boardin'-house is over to the mill--the quartz-mill, ten miles down the canon." "but i reckon they could stop at doc's," replied the smith, who had instantly determined that three bright-eyed little girls in red worsted caps should not be permitted to leave borealis without a visit first to jim and tiny skeezucks. "miss doc could sure make room, even if doc had to bunk up at jim's. one of you fellers jest run up and ask her, quick! and, anyway," he added, "mr. preacher, you and the three little girls ought to see our little boy." field, who had recently developed a tender admiration for the heretofore repellent miss doc, started immediately. he found old jim and the pup already at the house where the tiny, pale little skeezucks still had domicile. quickly relating the news of the hour, the messenger delivered his query as to room to be had, in one long gasp of breath. miss doc flushed prettily, to think of entertaining a preacher and his family. the thought of the three little girls set her heart to beating in a way she could not take the time to analyze. "of course, they kin come, and welcome," she said. "i'll give 'em all a bite to eat directly, but i don't jest see where i'll put so many. if john and the preacher could both go up on the hill with you, jim, i 'low i could manage." "room there for six," said jim, who felt some singular stirring of excitement in his veins at the thought of having the grave little foundling meet three other children here in the camp. "i'd give him a bunk if keno and me had to take to the floor." "all right, i'll skedaddle right back there, lickety-split, and let 'em know," said field. "i knowed you'd do it, miss doc," and away he went. by the time he returned to the blacksmith-shop the horses were gone to the stable, and all the preacher's family and all their bundles were out of the carriage. what plump-legged, healthy, inquisitive youngsters those three small girls appeared as they stood there in the snow. "all right!" said field, as he came to the group, where everybody seemed already acquainted and friendly. "fixed up royal, and ye're all expected right away." "we couldn't leave the little gals to walk," said the blacksmith. "i'll carry this one myself," and, taking the largest of the children in his big, bare arms, he swung her up with a certain gesture of yearning not wholly under control. "and i'll--" "and i'll--" came quickly from the group, while six or eight big fellows suddenly jostled each other in their haste to carry a youngster. there being but two remaining, however, only two of the men got prizes, and field felt particularly injured because he had earned such an honor, he felt, by running up to doc's to make arrangements. he and several others were obliged to be contented with the bundles, not a few of which were threatened with destruction in the eagerness of all to be of use. but presently everything was adjusted, and, deserting the carriage, the shop, and everything else, the whole assemblage moved in procession on the home of the dennihans. a few minutes later little skeezucks, jim, and the pup--all of them looking from the window of the house--saw those three small caps of red, and felt that new-year's day had really come at last. chapter xvii skeezucks gets a name when the three small girls, so rosy of cheek and so sparkling of eye, confronted the grave little pilgrim he could only gaze upon them with timid yearning as he clung to his doll and to old "bruvver jim." there never had been in all his life a vision so beautiful. old jim himself was affected almost as much as the quaint, wee man so quietly standing at his side. even tintoretto was experiencing ecstasies heretofore unknown in his youthful career. indeed, no one could have determined by any known system of calculation whether jim or tiny skeezucks or the pup most enjoyed the coming of the preacher and his family. old jim had certainly never before undergone emotions so deeply stirring. tintoretto had never before beheld four youngsters affording such a wealth of opportunity for puppy-wise manoeuvres; indeed, he had never before seen but one little playfellow since his advent in the world. he was fairly crazed with optimism. as for skeezucks--starving for even so much as the sight of children, hungering beyond expression for the sound of youngster voices, for the laughter and over-bubblings of the little folk with whom by rights he belonged--nothing in the way of words will ever tell of the almost overpowering excitement and joy that presently leaped in his lonely little heart. honesty is the children's policy. there was nothing artificial in the way those little girls fell in love with tiny skeezucks; and with equally engaging frankness the tiny man instantly revealed his fondness for them all. they were introduced as susie and rachie and ellie. their other name was stowe. this much being soon made known, the three regarded their rights to the house, to little skeezucks, and to tintoretto as established. they secured the pup by two of his paws and his tail, and, with him thus in hand, employed him to assist in surrounding tiny skeezucks, whom they promptly kissed and adopted. "girls," said the father, mildly, "don't be rude." "they're all right," drawled jim, in a new sort of pleasure. "there are some kinds of rudeness a whole lot nicer than politeness." "what's his name?" said susie, lifting her piquant little face up to jim, whom all the stowe family had liked at once. "has he got any name?" in a desperate groping for his inspiration, jim thought instantly of all his favorites--diogenes, plutarch, endymion, socrates, kit carson, and daniel boone. "wal, yes. his name--" and there old jim halted, while "di" and "plu" and "indy" and "soc" all clamored in his brain for the honor. "his name--i reckon his name is carson boone." "little carson," said rachie. "isn't carson a sweet little boy, mammy? what's he got--a rabbit?" "that's his doll," said jim. "oh, papa, look!" said rachie. "oh, papa, look!" echoed susie. "papa, yook!" piped ellie, the youngest, who wanted the dolly for herself, and, therefore, hauled at it lustily. the others endeavored to prevent her depredations. between them they tore the precious creation from the hands of the tiny man, and released the pup, who immediately leaped up and fastened a hold on the doll himself, to the horror of the preacher, miss doc, old jim, mrs. stowe, and skeezucks, all of whom, save the newly christened little carson, pounced upon the children, the doll, and tintoretto, with one accord. and there is nothing like a pounce upon a lot of children or a pup to make folks well acquainted. her "powder-flask" ladyship being duly rescued, her raiment smoothed, and her head readjusted on her body, the three small, healthy girls were perpetually enjoined from another such exhibition of coveting their neighbor's doll, whereupon all conceived that new diversion must be forthwith invented. "you can have a lot of fun with all them christmas presents in the corner," jim informed them, in the great relief he felt himself to see the quaint little foundling once more in undisputed possession of his one beloved toy. "they 'ain't got any feelin's." miss doc had carefully piled the presents in a tidy pyramid against the wall, in the corner designated, after which she had covered the pile with a sheet. this sheet came off in a hurry. the pup filled his mouth with a yard of the white material, and, growling in joy, shook it madly and raced away with it streaming in his wake. miss doc and mrs. stowe gave chase immediately. tintoretto tripped at once, but even when the women had caught the sheet in their hands he hung on prodigiously, and shook the thing, and growled and braced his weight against their strength, to the uncontainable delight of all the little stowe contingent. then they fell on the presents, to which they conveyed little carson, in the intimate way of hugging in transit that only small mothers-to-be have ever been known to develop. "oh, papa, look at the funny old bottle!" said susie, taking up one of the "sort of kaliderscopes" in her hand. "papa, mamma, look!" added rachie. "papa--yook!" piped ellie, as before, laying violent hands of possession on the toy. "you can have it," said susie; "i'm goin' to have the red wagon." "oh, papa, look at the pretty red wagon!", said rachie, dropping another of the kaleidoscopes with commendable promptness. "me!--yed yaggon!" cried ellie. "children, children!" said the preacher, secretly amused and entertained. "don't you know the presents all belong to little carson?" "well, we didn't get anything but mittens and caps," said rachie, in the baldest of candor. "go ahead and enjoy the things," instructed jim. "skeezucks, do you want the little girls to play with all the things?" the little fellow nodded. he was happier far than ever he had been in all his life. "but they ought to play with one thing at a time, and not drop one after another," said the mild mrs. stowe, blushing girlishly. "i like to see them practise at changin' their minds," drawled the miner, philosophically. "i'd be afraid of a little gal that didn't begin to show the symptoms." but all three of the bright-eyed embryos of motherhood had united on a plan. they sat the grave little carson in the red-painted wagon, with his doll held tightly to his heart, and began to haul him about. tintoretto, who had dragged off an alphabetical block, was engrossed in the task of eating off and absorbing the paint and elements of education, with a gusto that savored of something that might and might not have been ambition. he abandoned this at once, however, to race beside or behind or before the wagon, and to help in the pulling by laying hold of any of the children's dresses that came most readily within reach of his jaws. the ride became a romp, for the pup was barking, the wheels were creaking, and the three small girls were crying out and laughing at the tops of their voices. they drew their royal coach through every room in the house--which rooms were five in number--and then began anew. back and forth and up and down they hastened, the pup and tiny skeezucks growing more and more delighted as their lively little friends alternately rearranged him, kissed him, crept on all fours beside him, and otherwise added adornments to the pageant. in an outburst of enthusiasm, tintoretto made a gulp at the off hind-wheel of the wagon, and, sinking his teeth in the wood thereof, not only prevented its revolutions, but braced so hard that the smallest girl, who was pulling at the moment, found herself suddenly stalled. to her aid her two sturdy little sisters darted, and the three gave a mighty tug, to haul the pup and all. but the unexpected happened. the wheel came off. the pup let out a yell of consternation and turned a back somersault; the three little stowes went down in a heap of legs and heads, while the wagon lurched abruptly and gave the tiny passenger a jolt that astonished him mightily. the three small girls scrambled to their feet, awed into silence by their breaking of the wagon. for a moment the hush was impressive. then the gravity began to go from the face of little carson. something was dancing in his eyes. his quaint little face wrinkled oddly in mirth. his head went back, and the sweetest conceivable chuckle of baby laughter came from his lips. like joy of bubbling water in a brook, it rippled in music never before awakened. old jim and miss doc looked at each other in complete amazement, but the little fellow laughed and laughed and laughed. his heart was overflowing, suddenly, with all the laughing and joy that had never before been invited to his heart. the other youngsters joined him in his merriment, and so did the preacher and pretty mrs. stowe; and so did jim and miss doc, but these two laughed with tears warmly welling from their eyes. it seemed as if the fatherless and motherless little foundling laughed for all the days and weeks and months of sadness gone beyond his baby recall. and this was the opening only of his frolic and fun with the children. they kissed him in fondness, and planted him promptly in a second of the wagons. they knew a hundred devices for bringing him joy and merriment, not the least important of which was the irresistible march of destruction on the rough-made christmas treasures. that evening a dozen rough and awkward men of the camp came casually in to visit miss doc, whose old-time set of thoughts and ideas had been shattered, till in sheer despair of getting them all in proper order once again she let them go and joined in the general outbreak of amusement. there were games of hide-and-seek, in which the four happy children and the men all joined with equal irresponsibility, and games of blind-man's-buff, that threatened the breaking to pieces of the house. through it all, old jim and the preacher, mrs. stowe and miss doc were becoming more and more friendly. at last the day and the evening, too, were gone. the tired youngsters, all but little skeezucks, fell asleep, and were tucked into bed. even the pup was exhausted. field and the blacksmith, lufkins, bone, keno, and the others thought eagerly of the morrow, which would come so soon, and go so swiftly, and leave them with no little trio of girls romping with their finally joyous bit of a boy. when at length they were ready to say good-night to tiny carson, he was sitting again on the knee of the gray old miner. to every one he gave a sweet little smile, as they took his soft, baby hand for a shake. and when they were gone, and sleep was coming to hover him softly in her wings, he held out both his little arms in a gesture of longing that seemed to embrace the three red caps and all this happier world he began to understand. "somebody--wants 'ittle--nu-thans," he sighed, and his tiny mouth was smiling when his eyes had closed. chapter xviii when the parson departed in the morning the preacher rolled up his sleeves and assisted jim in preparing breakfast in the cabin on the hill, where he and doc, in addition to keno and the miner, had spent the night. doc had departed at an early hour to take his morning meal at home. keno was out in the brush securing additional fuel, the supply of which was low. "jim," said stowe, in the easy way so quickly adopted in the mines, "how does the camp happen to have this one little child? there seem to be no families, and that i can understand, for bullionville is much the same; but where did you get the pretty little boy?" "i found him out in the brush, way over to coyote valley," jim replied. "he was painted up to look like a little piute, and the injuns must have lost him when they went through the valley hunting rabbits." "found him--out in the brush?" repeated the preacher. "was he all alone?" "not quite. he had several dead rabbits for company," jim drawled in reply, and he told all that was known, and all that the camp had conjectured, concerning the finding of the grave little chap, and his brief and none too happy sojourn in borealis. the preacher listened with sympathetic attention. "poor little fellow," he said, at the end. "it someway makes me think of a thing that occurred near bullionville. i was called to giant-powder gulch to give a man a decent burial. he had been on a three-days' spree, and then had lain all night in the wet where the horse-trough overflowed, and he died of quick pneumonia. well, a man there told me the fellow was a stranger to the gulch. he said the dissolute creature had appeared, on the first occasion, with a very small child, a little boy, who he said had belonged to his sister, who was dead. my informant said that just as soon as the fellow could learn the location of a near-by indian camp he had carried the little boy away. the man who told me of it never heard of the child again, and, in fact, had not been aware of the drunkard's return to the gulch, till he heard the man had died, in the rear of a highly notorious saloon. i wonder if it's possible this quiet little chap is the same little boy." "it don't seem possible a livin' man--a white man--could have done a thing like that," said jim. "no--it doesn't," stowe agreed. "and yet, it must have been in some such way little skeezucks came to be among the injuns," jim reflected, aloud. then in a moment he added; "i'm glad you told me, parson. i know now the low-down brute that sent him off with the piute hunters can't never come to borealis and take him away." and yet, all through their homely breakfast old jim was silently thinking. a newer tenderness for the innocent, deserted little pilgrim was welling in his heart. keno, having declared his intention of shovelling off the snow and opening up a trench to uncover the gold-ledge of the miner's claim, departed briskly when the meal was presently finished. jim and the preacher, with the pup, however, went at once to the home of miss dennihan, where the children were all thus early engaged in starting off the day of romping and fun. the lunch that came along at noon, and the dinner that the happy miss doc prepared at dusk, were mere interruptions in the play of the tiny carson and the lively little girls. there never has been, and there never can be, a measure of childish happiness, but surely never was a child in the world more happy than the quaint little waif who had sat all alone that bright november afternoon in the brush where the indian pony had dropped him. all the games they had tried on the previous day were repeated anew by the youngsters, and many freshly invented were enjoyed, including a romp in the snow, with the sled that one of the miners had fashioned for the christmas-tree. that evening a larger contingent of the men who hungered for the atmosphere of home came early to the little house and joined in the games. laughter made them all one human family, and songs were sung that took them back to farms and clearings and villages, far away in the eastern states, where sweethearts, mothers, wives, and sisters ofttimes waited and waited for news of a wanderer, lured far away by the glint of silver and gold. the notes of birds, the chatter of brooks, the tinkle of cow-bells came again, with the dreams of a barefoot boy. something of calm and a newer hope and fresher resolution was vouchsafed to them all when the wholesome young preacher held a homely service, in response to their earnest request. "life is a mining for gold," said he, "and every human breast is a mother-lode of the precious metal--if only some one can find the out-croppings, locate a claim, and come upon the ledge. there are toils, privations, and sufferings, which the search for gold brings forever in its train. there are pains and miseries and woe in the search for the gold in men, but, boys, it's a glorious life! there is something so honest, so splendid, in taking the metal from the earth! no one is injured, every one is helped. and when the gold in a man is found, think what a gift it is to the world and to god! i am a miner myself, but i make no gold. it is there, in the hill, or in the man, where god has put it away, and all that you and i can do is to work, though our hands be blistered and our hearts be sore, until we come upon the treasure at the last. we hasten here, and we scramble there, wheresoever the glint seems brightest, the field most promising; but the gold i seek is everywhere, and, boys, there is gold on gold in borealis! "in the depth of the tunnel or the shaft you need a candle, throwing out its welcome rays, to show you how to work the best and where to dig, as you follow the lead. in the search for gold the way is very often dark, so we'll sing a hymn that i think you will like, and then we'll conclude with a prayer. "children--girls--we will all start it off together, you and your mother and me." the three little, bright-faced girls, the pretty mother, and the father of the little flock stood there together to sing. they sang the hymn old jim had attempted to recall at his own little service that sunday, weeks before: "lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, lead thou me on. the night is dark and i am far from home. lead thou me on. keep thou my feet; i do not ask to see the distant scene; one step enough for me." the fresh, sweet voices of the three little girls sent a thrill of pleasure through the hearts of the big, rough men, and the lumps arose in their throats. one after another they joined in the singing, those who knew no words as well as those who were quick to catch a line or more. then at last the preacher held up his hand in his earnest supplication. "father," he said, in his simple way, "we are only a few of thy children, here in the hollow of thy mountains, but we wish to share in the beauty of thy smile. we want to hear the comfort of thy voice. away out here in the sage-brush we pray that thou wilt find us and take us home to thy heart and love. father, when thou sendest thy blessing for this little child, send enough for all the boys. amen." and so the evening ended, and the night moved in majesty across the mountains. in the morning, soon after breakfasts were eaten, and jim and the preacher had come again to the home of the dennihans, webber, the blacksmith, and lufkins, the teamster, presently arrived with the horses and carriage. a large group of men swiftly gathered to bid good-bye to the children, the shy little mother, and the fine young preacher. "i'm sorry to go," he told them, honestly. "i like your little camp." "it's goin' to be a rousin' town pretty soon, by jinks!" said keno, pulling at his sleeves. "i'm showin' up a great big ledge, on jim's baberlonian claim." "mebbe you'll some day come back here, parson," said the smith. "perhaps i shall," he answered. then a faint look of worry came on his face as he thrust his hand in his pocket. "before i forget it, you must let me know what my bill is for board of the horses and also for the work you've done." webber flushed crimson. "there ain't no bill," he said. "what do you take us fellers fer--since little skeezucks came to camp? all we want is to shake hands all 'round, with you and the missus and the little girls." old jim, little skeezucks, the pup, and miss doc, with mrs. stowe, came out through the snow to the road in front of the gate. not a penny had the preacher been able to force upon the dennihans for their lodging and care. the man tried to speak--to thank them all, but he failed. he shook hands "all around," however, and then his shy little wife and the three little girls did the same. preacher and all, they kissed tiny carson, sitting on the arm he knew so well, and holding fast to his doll; and he placed his wee bit of a hand on the face of each of his bright-faced little friends. he understood almost nothing of what it meant to have his visitors clamber into the carriage, nevertheless a grave little query came into his eyes. "well, jim, good-bye again," said stowe, and he shook the old miner's hand a final time. "good-bye, miss dennihan--good-bye, boys." with all the little youngsters in their bright red caps waving their mittened hands and calling out good-bye, the awkward men, miss doc, old jim, and tiny skeezucks saw them drive away. till they came to the bend of the road the children continued to wave, and then the great ravine received them as if to the arms of the mountains. chapter xix old jim's resolution all that day little skeezucks and the pup were waiting, listening, expecting the door to open and the three small girls to reappear. they went to the window time after time and searched the landscape of mountains and snow, tintoretto standing on his hind-legs for the purpose, and emitting little sounds of puppy-wise worry at the long delay of their three little friends. a number of the men of the camp came to visit there again that evening. "we thought little skeezucks might be lonesome," they explained. so often as the door was opened, the pup and the grave little pilgrim--clothed these days in the little white frock miss dennihan had made--looked up, ever in the hope, of espying again those three red caps. the men saw the wistfulness increase in the baby's face. "we've got to keep him amused," said field. the awkward fellows, therefore, began the games, and romped about, and rode the lonely little foundling in the wagon, to the great delight of poor miss doc, who felt, as much as the pup or skeezucks, the singular emptiness of her house. having learned to laugh, little carson tried to repeat the delights of a mirthful emotion. the faint baby smile that resulted made the men all quiet and sober. "he's tired, that's what the matter," the blacksmith explained. "we'd better be goin', boys, and come to see him to-morrow." "of course he must be tired," agreed the teamster. but jim, sitting silently watching, and the fond miss doc, whom nothing concerning the child escaped, knew better. it was not, however, till the boys were gone and silence had settled on the house that even jim was made aware of the all that the tiny mite of a man was undergoing. miss doc had gone to the kitchen. jim, tintoretto, and little skeezucks were alone. the little fellow and the pup were standing in the centre of the floor, intently listening. together they went to the door. there little carson stretched his tiny arms across the panels in baby appeal. "bruv-ver--jim," he begged. "bruv-ver--jim." then, at last, the gray old miner understood the whole significance of the baby words. "bruvver jim" meant more than just himself; it meant the three little girls--associates--children--all that is dear to a childish heart--all that is indispensable to baby happiness--all that a lonely little heart must have or starve. jim groaned, for the utmost he could do was done when he took the sobbing little fellow in his arms and murmured him words of comfort as he carried him up and down the room. the day that followed, and the day after that, served only to deepen the longing in the childish breast. the worried men of borealis played on the floor in desperation. they fashioned new wagons, sleds, and dolls; they exhausted every device their natures prompted; but beyond a sad little smile and the call for "bruvver jim" they received no answer from the baby heart, at the end of a week the little fellow smiled no more, not even in his faint, sweet way of yearning. his heart was starving; his grave, baby thought was far away, with the small red caps and the laughing voices of children. the fond miss doc and the gray old jim alone knew what the end must be, inevitably, unless some change should speedily come to pass. meantime, keno had quietly opened up a mighty ledge of gold-bearing ore on the hill. it lay between walls of slate and granite. its hugeness was assured. that the camp would boom in the spring was foreordained. and that ledge all belonged to jim. but he heard them excitedly tell what the find would do for him and the camp as one in a dream. he could not care while his tiny waif was starving in his lonely little way. "boys," he said at last, one night, when the smith and bone had called to see the tiny man, who had sadly gone to sleep--"boys, he's pinin'. he's goin' to die if he don't have little kids for company. i've made up my mind. i'm goin' to take him to fremont right away." miss doc, who was knitting a tiny pair of mittens and planning a tiny red cap and woollen leggings, dropped a stitch and lost a shade of color from her face. "ain't there no other way?" inquired the blacksmith, a poignant regret already at his heart. "you don't really think he'd up and die?" "children have got to be happy," jim replied. "if they don't get their fun when they're little, why, when is it ever goin' to come? i know he'll die, all alone with us old cusses, and i ain't a-goin' to wait." "but the claim is goin' to be a fortune," said bone. "couldn't you hold on jest a week or two and see if he won't get over thinkin' 'bout the little gals?" "if i kept him here and he died, like that--just pinin' away for other little kids--i couldn't look fortune in the face," answered jim, to which, in a moment, he added, slowly, "boys, he's more to me than all the claims in nevada." "but--you'll bring him back in the spring, of course?" said the blacksmith, with a worried look about his eyes. "we'd miss him, jim, almost as much as you." "by that time," supplemented bone, "the camp's agoin' to be boomin'. probably we'll have lots of wimmen and kids and schools and everything, fer the gold up yonder is goin' to make borealis some consid'rable shakes." "i'll bring him back in the spring, all right," said the miner; "but none of you boys would want to see me keep him here and have him die." miss doc had been a silent listener to all their conversation. she was knitting again, with doubled speed. "jim, how you goin'?" she now inquired. "i want to get a horse," answered jim. "we could ride there horseback quicker than any other way. if only i can get the horse." "it may be stormin' in the mornin'," webber suggested. "a few clouds is comin' up from the west. what about the horse, jim, if it starts to snow?" "riding in a saddle, i can git through," said the miner. "if it snows at all, it won't storm bad. storms that come up sudden never last very long, and it's been good and bright all day. i'll start unless it's snowin' feather-beds." miss doc had been feeling, since the subject first was broached, that something in her heart would snap. but she worked on, her emotions, yearnings, and fears all rigorously knitted into the tiny mittens. "you'll let me wrap him up real warm?" she said. jim knew her thoughts were all on little skeezucks. "if you didn't do it, who would?" he asked, in a kindness of heart that set her pulse to faster beating. "but--s'pose you don't git any job in fremont," bone inquired. "will you let us know?" "i'll git it, don't you fear," said jim. "i know there ain't no one so blind as the feller who's always lookin' for a job, but the little kid has fetched me a sort of second sight." "well, if anything was goin' hard, we'd like for to know," insisted bone. "i guess we'd better start along, though, now, if we're goin' to scare up a bronch to-night." he and the blacksmith departed. jim and the lorn miss doc sat silently together in the warm little house. jim looked at her quietly, and saw many phases of womanly beauty in her homely face. "wal," he drawled, at last, "i'll go up home, on the hill." he hesitated for a moment, and then added, quietly, "miss doc, you've been awful kind to the little boy--and me." "it wasn't nuthin'," she said. they stood there together, beside the table. "yes, it was," said jim, "and it's set me to thinkin' a heap." he was silent for a moment, as before, and then, somewhat shyly for him, he said, "when we come back home here, in the spring, miss doc, i'm thinkin' the little feller ought to have a mother. do you think you could put up with him--and with me?" "jim," she said, in a voice that shook with emotion, "do you think i'm a kind enough woman?" "too kind--for such as me," said jim, thickly. he took her hand in his own, and with something of a courtliness and grace, reminiscent of his youth, he raised it to his lips. "good-night," he said. "good-night, miss doc." "good-night, jim," she answered, and he saw in her eyes the beauty that god in his wisdom gives alone to mother-kind. and when he had gone she sat there long, forgetting to keep up the fire, forgetting that doc himself would come home early in the morning from his night-employment, forgetting everything personal save the words old jim had spoken, as she knitted and knitted, to finish that tiny pair of mittens. the night was spent, and her heart was at once glad and sore when, at last, she concluded her labor of love. nevertheless, in the morning she was up in time to prepare a luncheon for jim to take along, and to delve in her trunk for precious wraps and woollens in which to bundle the grave little pilgrim, long before old jim or the horse he would ride had appeared before the house. little skeezucks was early awake and dressed. a score of times miss doc caught him up in her hungering arms, to hold him in fervor to her heart and to kiss his baby cheek. if she cried a little, she made it sound and look like laughter to the child. he patted her face with his tiny hand, even as he begged for "bruvver jim." "you're goin' to find bruvver jim," she said. "you're goin' away from fussy old me to where you'll be right happy." at least a dozen men of the camp came plodding along behind the horse, that arrived at the same time jim, the pup, and keno appeared at the dennihan home. doc dennihan had cut off his customary period of rest and sleep, to say good-bye, with the others, to the pilgrims about to depart. jim was dressed about as usual for the ride, save that he wore an extra pair of trousers beneath his overalls and a great blanket-coat upon his back. he was hardy, and he looked it, big as he was and solidly planted in his wrinkled boots. the sky, despite webber's predictions of a storm, was practically free from clouds, but a breeze was sweeping through the gorge with increasing strength. it was cold, and the men who stood about in groups kept their hands in their pockets and their feet on the move for the sake of the slight degree of warmth thereby afforded. as their spokesman, webber, the blacksmith, took the miner aside. "jim," said he, producing a buckskin bag, which he dropped in the miner's pocket, "the boys can't do nuthin' fer little skeezucks when he's 'way off up to fremont, so they've chipped in a little and wanted you to have it in case of need." "but, webber--" started jim. "ain't no buts," interrupted the smith. "you'll hurt their feelin's if you go to buttin' and gittin' ornary." wherefore the heavy little bag of coins remained where webber had placed it. there were sober words of caution and advice, modest requests for a line now and then, and many an evidence of the hold old jim had secured on their hearts before the miner finally received the grave and carefully bundled little carson from the arms of miss doc and came to the gate to mount his horse and ride away. "jest buckle this strap around me and the little boy," instructed jim, as he gave a wide leather belt to the teamster; "then if i happen for to need both hands, he won't be able to git a fall." the strap was adjusted about the two in the manner suggested. "good scheme," commented field, and the others agreed that it was. then all the rough and awkward big fellows soberly shook the pretty little pilgrim's hand in its mitten, and said good-bye to the tiny chap, who was clinging, as always, to his doll. "what you goin' to do with tinterretter?" inquired the teamster as he looked at the pup, while jim, with an active swing, mounted to the saddle. "take him along," said jim. "i'll put him in the sack i've got, and tie him on behind the saddle when he gits too much of runnin' on foot. he wouldn't like it to be left behind and skeezucks gone." "guess that's kerrect," agreed the teamster. "he's a bully pup, you bet." poor miss doc remained inside the gate. her one mad impulse was to run to jim, clasp him and the grave little waif in her arms, and beg to be taken on the horse. but repression had long been her habit of life. she smiled, and did not even speak, though the eyes of the fond little pilgrim were turned upon her in baby affection. "well--you'll git there all right," said the blacksmith, voicing the hope that swelled in his heart. "so long, and let us know how the little feller makes it with the children." "by jinks!--so long," said keno, striving tremendously to keep down his rising emotions. "so long. i'll stay by the claim." "and give our love to them three little gals," said bone. "so long." one after another they wrung the big, rough hand, and said "so long" in their easy way. "bye, miss doc," said jim, at the last. "skeezucks--say good-bye--to miss doc--and all the boys. say good-bye." the little fellow had heard "good-bye" when the three little caps of red departed. it came as a word that hurt his tiny heart. but, obediently, he looked about at all his friends. "dood-bye," he said, in baby accents. "dood-bye." chapter xx in the toils of the blizzard something was tugged and wrenched mighty hard as jim rode finally around the hill, and so out of sight of the meagre little camp he called his home, but resolution was strong within him. up and up through the narrow canon, winding tortuously towards the summit, like the trail of a most prodigious serpent channelled in the snow, the horse slowly climbed, with tintoretto, the joyous, busily visiting each and every portion of the road, behind, before, and at the sides. what a world of white it was! the wind had increased, and a few scattered specks of snow that sped before it seemed trying to muster the force of a storm, from the sky in which the sun was still shining, between huge rents and spaces that separated scudding clouds. it was not, however, until an hour had gone that the flakes began to swirl in fitful flurries. by then the travellers were making better time, and jim was convinced the blotted sun would soon again assert its mastery over clouds so abruptly accumulated in the sky. the wind, however, had veered about. it came directly in their faces, causing the horse to lower his head and the pup to sniff in displeasure. little skeezucks, with his back to the slanting fire of small, hard flakes, nestled in comfort on the big, protecting shoulder, where he felt secure against all manner of attack. for two more hours they rode ahead, while the snow came down somewhat thicker. "it can't last," old jim said, cheerily, to the child and horse and pup. "just a blowout. too fierce and sudden to hold." yet, when they came to the great level valley beyond the second range of hills, the biting gale appeared to greet them with a fury pent up for the purpose. unobstructed it swept across the desert of snow, flinging not only the shotlike particles from the sky, but also the loose, roving drift, as dry as salt, that lay four inches deep upon the solider snow that floored the plain. and such miles and miles of the frozen waste were there! the distant mountains looked like huge windrows of snow wearing away in the rush of the gale. confident still it was only a flurry, jim rode on. the pup by now was trailing behind, his tail less high, his fuzzy coat beginning to fill with snow, his eyes so pelted that he sneezed to keep them clear. the air was cold and piercing as it drove upon them. jim felt his feet begin to ache in his hard, leather boots. beneath his clothing the chill lay thinly against his body, save for the place where little carson was strapped to his breast. "it can't last," the man insisted. "never yet saw a blusterin' storm that didn't blow itself to nothin' in a hurry." but a darkness was flung about them with the thicker snow that flew. indeed, the flakes were multiplying tremendously. the wind was becoming a hurricane. with a roar it rushed across the valley. the world of storm suddenly closed in upon them and narrowed down the visible circle of desolation. like hurrying troops of incalculable units, the dots of frozen stuff went sweeping past in a blinding swarm. the thing had become a blizzard. jim halted his horse, convinced that wisdom prompted them to turn their backs upon the fury and flee again to borealis, to await a calmer day for travelling. a fiercer buffeting of wind puffed from the west, fiercely toothed with shot of snow. as if in fear unnamable, a gaunt coyote suddenly appeared scurrying onward before the hail and snow, and was quickly gone. the horse shied violently out of the road. the girth of the saddle was loosened. with a superhuman effort old jim remained in his seat, but he knew he must tighten the cinch. dismounting, he permitted the horse to face away from the gale. the pup came gladly to the shelter of the miner's boots and clambered stiffly up on his leg, for a word of companionship and comfort. "all right," said jim, giving him a pat on the head when the saddle was once more secure in its place; "but i reckon we'll turn back homeward, and i'll walk myself, for a spell, to warm me up. it may let up, and if it does we can head for fremont again without much loss of time." with the bridle-rein over his shoulder, he led the horse back the way they had come, his own head low on his breast, to avoid the particles of snow that searched him out persistently. they had not plodded homeward far when the miner presently discovered they were floundering about in snow-covered brush. he quickly lifted his head to look about. he could see for a distance of less than twenty feet in any direction. mountains, plain--the world of white--had disappeared in the blinding onrush of snow and wind. a chaos of driving particles comprised the universe. and by the token of the brush underfoot they had wandered from the road. there had been no attempt on the miner's part to follow any tracks they had left on their westward course, for the gale and drift had obliterated every sign, almost as soon as the horse's hoofs had ploughed them in the snow. believing that the narrow road across the desolation of the valley lay to the right, he forged ahead in that direction. soon they came upon smoother walking, which he thought was an indication that the road they sought was underfoot. it was not. he plodded onward for fifteen minutes, however, before he knew he had made a mistake. the storm was, if possible, more furious. the snow flew thicker; it stung more sharply, and seemed to come from every direction. "we'll stand right here behind the horse till it quits," he said. "it can't keep up a lick like this." but turning about, in an effort to face the animal away from the worst of the blizzard, he kicked a clump of sage brush arched fairly over by its burden of snow. instantly a startled rabbit leaped from beneath the shrub and bounded against the horse's legs, and then away in the storm. in affright the horse jerked madly backward. the bridle was broken. it held for a second, then tore away from the animal's head and fell in a heap in the snow. "whoa, boy!--whoa!" said the miner, in a quiet way, but the horse, in his terror, snorted at the brush and galloped away, to be lost from sight on the instant. for a moment the miner, with his bundled little burden in his arms, started in pursuit of the bronco. but even the animal's tracks in the snow were being already effaced by the sweep of the powdery gale. the utter futility of searching for anything was harshly thrust upon the miner's senses. they were lost in that valley of snow, cold, and blizzard. "we'll have to make a shelter the best we can," he said, "and wait here, maybe half an hour, till the storm has quit." he kicked the snow from a cluster of sagebrush shrubs, and behind this flimsy barrier presently crouched, with the shivering pup, and with the silent little foundling in his arms. what hours that merciless blizzard raged, no annals of nevada tell. what struggles the gray old miner made to find his way homeward before its wrath, what a fight it was he waged against the elements till night came on and the worst of the storm had ceased, could never be known in borealis. but early that night the teamster, lufkins, was startled by the neighing of a horse, and when he came to the stable, there was the half-blinded animal on which old jim and tiny skeezucks had ridden away in the morning--the empty saddle still upon his back. chapter xxi a bed in the snow the great stout ore-wagons stood in the snow that lay on the borealis street, with never a horse or a mule to keep them company. not an animal fit to bear a man had been left in the camp. but the twenty men who rode far off in the white desolation out beyond were losing hope as they searched and searched in the drifts and mounds that lay so deep upon the earth. by feeble lantern glows at first, and later by the cold, gray light of dawn, they scanned the road and the country for miles and miles. it was five o'clock, and six in the morning, and still the scattered company of men and horses pushed onward through the snow. the quest became one of dread. they almost feared to find the little group. the wind had ceased to blow, but the air was cold. gray ribbons of cloud were stretched across the sky. desolation was everywhere--in the heavens, on the plain, on the distant mountains. all the world was snow, dotted only where the mounted men made insignificant spots against the waste of white. aching with the cold, aching more in their hearts, the men from borealis knew a hundred ways to fear the worst. then at last a shout, and a shot from a pistol, sped to the farthest limits of the line of searching riders and prodded every drop of sluggish blood within them to a swift activity. the shout and signal had come from webber, the blacksmith, riding a big, bay mare. instantly field, bone, and lufkins galloped to where he was swinging out of his saddle. there in the snow, where at last he had floundered down after making an effort truly heroic to return to borealis, lay the gray old jim, with tiny skeezucks strapped to his breast and hovered by his motionless arms. in his hands the little mite of a pilgrim held his furry doll. on the snow lay the luncheon miss doc had so lovingly prepared. and tintoretto, the pup, whom nature had made to be joyous and glad, was prostrate at the miner's feet, with flakes of white all blown through the hair of his coat. a narrow little track around the two he loved so well was beaten in the snow, where time after time the worried little animal had circled and circled about the silent forms, in some brave, puppy-wise service of watching and guarding, faithfully maintained till he could move no more. for a moment after bone and lufkins joined him at the spot, the blacksmith stood looking at the half-buried three. the whole tale of struggle with the chill, of toiling onward through the heavy snow, of falling over hidden shrubs, of battling for their lives, was somehow revealed to the silent men by the haggard, death-white face of jim. "they can't--be dead," said the smith, in a broken voice. "he--couldn't, and--us all--his friends." but when he knelt and pushed away some of the snow, the others thought his heart had lost all hope. it was field, however, who thought to feel for a pulse. the eager searchers from farther away had come to the place. a dozen pair of eyes or more were focussed on the man as he held his breath and felt for a sign of life. "alive!--he's alive!" he cried, excitedly. "and little skeezucks, too! for god's sake, boys, let's get them back to camp!" in a leap of gladness the men let out a mighty cheer. from every saddle a rolled-up blanket was swiftly cut, and rough but tender hands swept off the snow that clung to the forms of the miner, the child, and the pup. chapter xxii cleaning their slate never could castle or mansion contain more of gladness and joy of the heart than was crowded into the modest little home of miss doc when at last the prayers and ministrations of a score of men and the one "decent" woman of the camp were rewarded by the father all-pitiful. "i'm goin' to bawl, and i'll lick any feller that calls me a baby!" said the blacksmith, but he laughed and "bawled" together. they had saved them all, but a mighty quiet jim and a quieter little skeezucks and a wholly subdued little pup lay helpless still in the care of the awkward squad of nurses. and then a council of citizens got together at the dingy shop of webber for a talk. "we mustn't fergit," said the smith, "that jim was a takin' the poor little feller to fremont 'cause he thought he was pinin' away fer children's company; and i guess jim knowed. now, the question is, what we goin' for to do? little skeezucks ain't a goin' to be no livelier unless he gits that company--and maybe he'll up and die of loneliness, after all. do you fellers think we'd ought to git up a party and take 'em all to fremont, as soon as they're able to stand the trip?" bone, the bar-keep answered: "what's the matter with gittin' the preacher and his wife and three little gals to come back here and settle in borealis? i'm goin' in for minin', after a while, myself, and i'll--and i'll give my saloon from eight to two on sundays to be fixed all up fer a church; and i reckon we kin support parson stowe as slick as any town in all navady." for a moment this astonishing speech was followed by absolute silence. then, as if with one accord, the men all cheered in admiration. "let's git the parson back right off," cried the carpenter. "i kin build the finest steeple ever was!" "send a gang to fetch him here to-day!" said webber. "i wouldn't lose no time, or he may git stuck on fremont, and never want to budge," added lufkins. field and half a dozen more concurred. "i'll be one to go myself," said the blacksmith, promptly. "two or three others can come along, and we'll git him if we have to steal him--wife, little gals, and all!" but the party was yet unformed for the trip when the news of the council's intentions was spread throughout the camp, and an ugly feature of the life in the mines was revealed. the gambler, parky, sufficiently recovered from the wound in his arm to be out of his house, and planning a secret revenge against old jim and his friends, was more than merely opposed to the plan which had come from the shop of webber. "it don't go down," said he to a crowd, with a sneer at the parson and with oaths for bone. "i own some borealis property myself, and don't you fergit i'll make things too hot for any preacher to settle in the camp. and i 'ain't yet finished with the gang that thought they was smart on new-year's eve--just chew that up with your cud of tobacker!" with half a dozen ruffians at his back--the scum of prisons, gambling-dens, and low resorts--he summed up a menace not to be estimated lightly. many citizens feared to incur his wrath; many were weak, and therefore as likely to gather to his side as not, under the pressure he could put upon them. the camp was suddenly ripe for a struggle. right and decency, or lawlessness and violence would speedily conquer. there could be no half-way measures. if webber and his following had been persuaded before that parson stowe should have a place in the town, they were grimly determined on the project now. the blacksmith it was who strung up once again a bar of steel before his shop and rang it with his hammer. there were forty men who answered to the summons. and when they had finished the council of war within the shop, the work of an upward lift had been accomplished. a supplement was added to the work of signing a short petition requesting parson stowe to come among them, and this latter took the form of a mandate addressed to the gambler and his backing of outlaws, thieves, and roughs. it was brief, but the weight of its words was mighty. "the space you're using in borealis is wanted for decenter purposes," it read. "we give you twenty-four hours to clear out. git!--and then god have mercy on your souls if any one of the gang is found in borealis!" this was all there was, except for a fearful drawing of a coffin and a skull. and such an array of inky names, scrawled with obvious pains and distinctness, was on the paper that argument itself was plainly hand in hand with a noose of rope. opposition to an army of forty wrathful and determined men would have been but suicide. parky nodded when he read the note. he knew the game was closed. he sold all his interests in the camp for what they would bring and bought a pair of horses and a carriage. in groups and pairs his henchmen--suddenly thrown over by their leader to hustle for themselves--sneaked away from the town, many of them leaving immediately in their dread of the grim reign of law now come upon the camp. parky, for his part, waited in some deliberation, and then drove away with a sneer upon his lips when at last his time was growing uncomfortably short. decency had won--the moral slate of the camp was clean! chapter xxiii a day of joy there came a day--never to be forgotten in the annals of borealis--when, to the ringing of the bar of steel, parson stowe, with his pretty little wife and the three little red-capped youngsters, rode once more into town to make their home with their big, rough friends. fifty awkward men of the mines roared lustily with cheering. fifty great voices then combined in a sweet, old song that rang through the snow-clad hills: "lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, lead thou me on. the night is dark, and i am far from home, lead thou me on." and the first official acts of the wholesome young parson were conducted in the "church" that bone had given to the town when the happy little skeezucks was christened "carson boone" and the drawling old jim and the fond miss doc were united as man and wife. "if only i'd known what a heart she's got, i'd asked her before," the miner drawled. "but, boys, it's never too late to pray for sense." the moment of it all, however, which the men would remember till the final call of the trumpet was that in which the three little girls, in their bright-red caps, came in at the door of the dennihan home. they would never forget the look on the face of their motherless, quaint little waif as he held forth both his tiny arms to the vision and cried out: "bruvver jim!" the end note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 20332-h.htm or 20332-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/3/3/20332/20332-h/20332-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/3/3/20332/20332-h.zip) tabitha's vacation volume iii in the ivy hall series by ruth alberta brown author of "tabitha at ivy hall," "tabitha's glory," "at the little brown house," etc. [frontispiece: "i hope," panted tabitha, trotting along at the rear of the procession, "that you don't have your fun in such a hurry."] the saalfield publishing company chicago, ---akron, ohio ---new york made in u. s. a. copyright, mcmxiii by the saalfield publishing company contents i. the mckittricks' misfortune ii. tabitha and gloriana, housekeepers iii. unwelcome guests iv. mischief makers v. irene's song vi. gloriana's burglars vii. toady and the castor beans viii. billiard runs away ix. billiard surrenders x. susanne entertains a caller xi. in the canyon xii. the bank of silver bow is robbed xiii. the robbers and the haunted house xiv. the unexpected happens xv. myra's climax illustrations "i hope," panted tabitha, trotting along at the rear of the procession, "that you don't have your fun in such a hurry." . . . _frontispiece_ tabitha's vacation chapter i the mckittricks' misfortune "'ho, ho, vacation days are here, we welcome them with right good cheer; in wisdom's halls we love to be, but yet 'tis pleasant to be free,'" warbled tabitha catt, pausing on the doorstep of her little desert home as she vigorously shook a dingy dusting cloth, and hungrily sniffed the fresh, sweet morning air, for, although the first week of june was already gone, the fierce heat of the summer had not yet descended upon silver bow, nestling in its cup-like hollow among the nevada mountains. "'ho, ho, the hours will quickly fly, and soon vacation time be by; ah, then we'll all in glad refrain, sing welcome to our school again.'" piped up a sweet voice in muffled accents from the depths of the closet where the singer was rummaging to find hooks for her wardrobe, which lay scattered rather promiscuously about tabitha's tiny bedroom. "why, gloriana holliday, where did you learn that?" demanded the girl on the threshold, abruptly ceasing her song. "it's as old as the hills. mrs. carson used to sing it when she went to school." "so did my mother. i've got her old music book with the words in it," responded her companion, emerging from the dark closet, flushed but triumphant. "there! i've hung up the last dud i could find room for. the rest must go back in the trunk, i guess. my, but it does seem nice to have a few weeks of vacation, doesn't it?" "one wouldn't think so to hear you carolling about school's beginning again," laughed tabitha, shaking her finger reprovingly at the red-haired girl now busily collecting the remainder of her scattered property and bundling it into a half-empty trunk just outside the kitchen door. gloriana echoed the laugh, and then answered seriously, "but really, i have never been glad before to see vacation come. it always meant only hard work and worry, gathering fruit in the hot sun or digging vegetables and peddling them around from door to door; while school meant books and lessons and a chance to rest a bit, and the last two years it meant miss angus, who did not mind my red hair and crutches." "but it is all different now," tabitha interrupted hastily, shuddering at the gloomy picture her companion's words had called up. "you are my sister now, and there won't be any more goats and gardens to bother about. you have left off using one crutch altogether, and don't need the other except out of doors. we are going to have a lovely vacation, and you won't want school to begin at all in september." "yes, it is all different now, kitty catt, thanks to dear old you!" agreed the younger girl, giving the slender figure in the doorway an affectionate hug. "and i suppose i shall be as daffy about this queer desert place as you are by the time ivy hall opens its doors again----" "aha!" triumphed tabitha. "then you don't like it now, do you? i never could get you to admit it last winter." "i haven't admitted it yet," gloriana retorted spiritedly. "it looks so much different in the summer time, but still seems queer to me with its heaps of rocks and no trees except the stiff old joshuas. i wonder why they are called that. even they don't seem like trees to me. they look like giant cactus plants, and just as cruel." "they have beautiful blossoms," tabitha interrupted. "we are a little too late to see them, though many of the other desert flowers are still in bloom. look across that stretch beyond the river road. isn't it pretty with its red and yellow carpet? may is the month to see the desert in its glory, though. _then_ it is truly beautiful. _no_ one could think it ugly. but come, let's run over to mercy's house. we have swept and dusted, and you have finished unpacking. this is our second day at home and i haven't been near to inquire how mr. mckittrick is. he was hurt before christmas, so we never went there during the holidays, you remember." "where do they live?" "why, i showed you the place--that queer brown house perched up-----" "oh, yes, on that great shelf of rock, overlooking the railway station." "the first house we see on our way up here from the depot. mr. mckittrick always called it the eagles' nest, and his children the eaglets." "what a pretty idea! how many eaglets are there besides mercedes and the little boy you named?" "four other girls. mercy is the oldest of the family. then come susanne, or susie, as they call her; the twins, inez and irene; rosslyn and the baby, janie." "that's quite a family. what nice times they must have together!" sighed gloriana wistfully, thinking of her own orphaned life with no brothers or sisters with whom to make merry. "yes, i reckon they are a pretty lively bunch sometimes, for susie is as wild as mercedes is quiet; and inez should have been her twin instead of irene's. janie is a regular little mischief, too, but such a darling! you are sure to love her, though rosslyn is my favorite. put on your hat and let's go down before dinner. daddy won't be home until evening, and there is nothing to keep us here." seizing her sunbonnet from its peg by the door, tabitha started up the path toward town with gloriana hobbling along at her side, when they saw mercedes, with roguish janie and chubby rosslyn in tow, coming down the slope toward them. her round, serious eyes looked heavy and worried, her childish face pale and frightened; but at sight of the two approaching figures, a smile of relief suddenly curved the drooping lips, and she exclaimed eagerly, "oh, girls, i was just going for you! are you on the way to our house? oh, please say yes! something dreadful has happened, i'm sure, for mamma has sent us all out-doors, and is in the kitchen crying fit to kill. she won't say what's the matter, and i'm horribly scared. i never saw her cry before." tabitha's face paled instantly. "i wonder--" she began, then stopped. how could she put her thought into words when mercedes was already so dreadfully frightened? "has the doctor been to see your father this morning?" she asked. "yes. he stayed ever so long and talked to mamma in the kitchen. i am afraid papa is worse, for 'twas right after the doctor was gone that she began to cry so hard." tabitha turned to gloriana. "i'll run on ahead," she said, "if you don't mind. you can follow more slowly with mercedes. i--perhaps it would be better if i saw mrs. mckittrick alone first." "all right," agreed glory, who, like tabitha, was wondering if the message the doctor had delivered in the eagles' nest that morning had left the little mother without a ray of hope; and so she fell in step beside the anxious mercedes, and began to chat in spritely, diverting tones while tabitha sped swiftly up the narrow, winding path to the lonely-looking, little, brown house perched on the steep mountainside. arriving at the door breathless and panting, she hesitated a moment before knocking, suddenly aware that she had not the slightest idea of what she intended to say or do. a glimpse through the screen of a huddled figure bowed despairingly over the kitchen table drove every other thought from her mind, however, and flinging open the door, she ran lightly across the room and impulsively laid her hand upon the quivering shoulders. "mercedes, must i tell you again--" began the muffled voice of the distracted woman, as she impatiently shook off the hand resting on her arm. "it isn't mercedes," tabitha interrupted. "it is i--tabitha. i don't know what is the matter, but if you will tell me, perhaps i can be of some use, even if i am only a girl." mrs. mckittrick lifted a red, swollen face from her arms outstretched on the table, glanced in surprise at the black-eyed girl bending so sympathetically above her, and once more burst into a flood of tears, sobbing wildly, "it ain't any use, tabitha! you couldn't help if you was a woman grown. no one can help. the doctor says--" the choking words died on her lips. she could not bear to repeat the doctor's verdict. "that mr. mckittrick is worse?" whispered tabitha. the bowed head nodded despairingly. "surely he isn't going to----" "die?" cried the woman wildly. "yes, he must die unless we can get him out of here. the only hope is an operation. that means los angeles, a hospital, a nurse, and hundreds of dollars; and not a cent coming in from anywhere. the children are too young to earn, and i can't work with him to nurse and six youngsters to care for. oh, it does seem as if troubles never come singly! whatever we are going to do is more than i know. the whole world has turned upside down!" gravely tabitha nodded her head. only a year before as she had stood beside the bed of her father, fighting what seemed like a hopeless battle with death, she, too, had felt that despairing helplessness. "if only dr. vane were here!" she whispered fervently. "i don't believe he could do a bit more for the man than dr. hayes is doing. he'd just say the same thing, and there wouldn't be any more money than there is now to carry out his orders." in vain tabitha sought to comfort and cheer the despondent soul, but seemed only to make matters worse, and at length, disheartened at her apparent failure, she stole away from the brown house on the bluff, and with gloriana following silently at her heels, set out for home. not a word passed between them as they hastened down the main street of the town, until, just as they reached the dingy telegraph station, the sound of the busy, clattering key caused tabitha to halt abruptly and a gleam of determination to flash over her sober, worried face. "that's what!" she exclaimed joyfully. "i'll do it! mr. carson will fix everything. 'twas in his mine that mckittrick was hurt." "what do you mean? where are you going?" asked bewildered gloriana, unable to follow tabitha's thoughts, and wondering what errand was taking her into the low, dimly lighted shack from which issued the monotonous, nervous, clicking sound which had attracted tabitha's attention. "to telegraph mr. carson. if he knew how badly off mr. mckittrick is, he would send him inside in a minute." "inside?" "to los angeles, i mean. people here on the desert call that 'inside,' though i never could see why. please, mr. goodwin, give me a blank. i want to send a telegram." the man behind the counter supplied her with the necessary materials, and stood waiting curiously for the message to be written. but another idea had occurred to tabitha, and turning away from the operator with the blank in her hand, she whispered to gloriana in dismay, "i don't dare telegraph. mr. goodwin is a worse gossip than any old maid i ever knew, and he'd tell it all over town before noon!" "then write a letter." "it takes nearly a week for mail to travel that far. it might be too late by--i've got it! how will this do?" rapidly she scribbled a few hasty words on the slip in her hands and passed it to gloriana, who read in amazement this queer scrawl: "wire five hundred silver headed eagles. must get rich quick. ask carrie to translate. letter follows. tabitha catt." "that is more than ten words, but i can't help it. i'm willing to pay for it if it does the work." "but, kitty, what does it mean?" asked mystified gloriana, privately thinking it the silliest piece of nonsense she had ever heard of. "will he know what you want?" "carrie will. we used to write notes to each other in cipher when we were little. _we_ called it cipher. of course it was all utter nonsense, but i am sure she will remember." "it doesn't sound--sensible--to me," gloriana confessed. "i suppose five hundred silver headed eagles means five hundred dollars, but what is that about getting rich?" tabitha laughed gleefully. "rosslyn mckittrick was a long time learning to say his own name when he was a baby," she explained. "as near as he could get it, 'twas 'russ getrich.' mr. carson was superintendent of the silver legion then, instead of one of the owners, and as mr. mckittrick was working there when rosslyn was born, the miners made him their mascot, and mr. carson used to tease him by calling him 'must get rich quick.' i couldn't write 'mckittrick' in the telegram without goodwin suspecting what i am up to; so i did the next best thing i could think of." "but--" it all still seemed so ridiculous to the red-haired girl. "you think he will wonder if i am crazy?" tabitha had read the look of doubt in her companion's face, and correctly surmised what she was thinking. "perhaps he will, but i don't believe so. he is quick to understand things. now we will skip back to the post-office and i'll scratch him a letter of explanation, so it will go out with to-day's mail. then if he shouldn't translate the telegram correctly--well, the letter will get there as soon as possible afterward." as she spoke, she delivered the written message to the waiting operator, smiled with satisfaction at his look of baffled curiosity and bewilderment, and assuring him that it was worded exactly as she wanted it sent, she left the dingy office confident that the queer cipher would bring the desired results. nor was she mistaken. early the next morning mercedes came flying excitedly down the path to the catt cottage, and, without the formality of knocking, burst into the kitchen where the two girls were busy washing up the breakfast dishes. "oh, kitty! gloriana!" she cried, half laughing, half sobbing with sheer delight. "guess what's happened! mr. carson has sent mamma some money to take papa to los angeles. now he can get well. that is what has been worrying her so much. the doctor said he would die unless he was operated on and mamma hadn't the money to get it done. they are to start to-morrow. mamma's going, too. doctor says every minute counts, and he has telegraphed to the hospital to make arrangements already." she paused, all out of breath, to mop her steaming forehead; and tabitha, studying the flushed, shining face, wondered that she had ever thought mercedes mckittrick dull and homely. "isn't that fine?" she heard gloriana saying, as heartily as if she had not known anything about the telegram before. "what are the rest of you going to do while your mother is away? you children, i mean." "that's how i happened to come here," mercedes replied, her eyes losing some of their glow as she recalled her errand in that part of the town. "mamma sent me down to miss davis' house with a note, but she isn't there; and the woman next door says she has gone to riverside for two weeks. i s'pose we'll have to find someone else instead. but i was so near i couldn't help running on down to tell the news. i must be going now. there is lots to be done before train time to-morrow, and mamma'll need me." "we will come up and help her pack as soon as we get the house righted," tabitha found tongue to say. "she mustn't get too tired before she starts." so mercedes raced away again, and a few moments later the two busy little housekeepers in the hollow locked up their orderly cottage and followed more slowly up to the eagles' nest on the bluff. "where can the children be?" tabitha's expectant eyes searched in vain for a glimpse of the noisy, lively brood of 'eaglets,' who usually saw her coming a long way off, and met her half-way down the mountainside with a boisterous shout of welcome. to-day, however, not one of the sextette was in sight about the queer little brown house, and the whole place wore a deserted air. "maybe they have gone visiting so mrs. mckittrick can look after her packing unmolested," suggested gloriana, letting her keen gray eyes sweep the steep, rocky incline for some sign of the youthful mckittricks, but with no better result. "that must be it," concluded tabitha, "though i should have thought--why, mercedes, susie! what _is_ the matter?" coming suddenly around the corner of a huge boulder where the children often played house, the two girls almost tumbled over a row of the most woe-begone, utterly miserable looking figures they had ever seen,--mercedes, susie, inez, irene, rosslyn and janie, all seated on a broad, flat rock as stiff as marble statues, and with faces almost as stony and staring. "why, children!" echoed gloriana, equally amazed. "what are you doing here? what has happened?" "mamma is crying again," whispered mercedes, dabbing savagely at a tear which suddenly brimmed over and splashed down the end of her nose. "she says she won't go and leave us alone with mercy," gulped susanne, striving hard to keep the telltale quiver out of her voice. "and there ain't money enough to go and take us all," supplemented inez, who had earned the title of "susie's shadow," because she preferred the society of her older sister to that of her quiet twin. "miss davis has gone away and won't be back until it's too late," mourned gentle irene, gazing sorrowfully down toward the low station house on the flats below. "mrs. goodale's gone, too, and there ain't nobody else to housekeep for us," rosslyn added plaintively, "'cept mercy." "but we'd be ist as dood as anjils wiv mercy," lisped little janie dejectedly, seeming to comprehend the tragedy of the situation as well as did the older children. slowly tabitha turned toward her companion. gloriana's gray eyes bravely met the questioning glance of the black ones. "would your father----" "_our_ father," tabitha mechanically corrected her. "our father let you--us, i mean?" "all summer, if he thought we wanted to; but it won't be that long." "only two weeks." "until miss davis gets back--or mrs. goodale." "do you think mrs. mckittrick would leave the----" "i don't know," confessed the older girl in worried accents. "it's a chance for him. i believe she'll take it. i'm sure we are old enough." "and know enough about keeping house." "they would be perfectly safe with us two." "supposing we ask her." impulsively, tabitha started for the house with gloriana at her heels; and the children, though not understanding the drift of the conversation they had just overheard, fell in behind the two, and marched in solemn procession up the path, feeling sure that something was about to happen which would clear away the heavy cloud of despair hovering over their household. again mrs. mckittrick was sitting beside the battered kitchen table with her head on her arms as they had found her the day before, but this time tabitha did not hesitate. breathlessly, excitedly, she began, almost before she was inside the house: "oh, mrs. mckittrick, mercy has told us all about it--how miss davis and mrs. goodale are away and you can't find anyone to leave the children with. but you mustn't stay here on that account! glory and i will take charge of the house. really, we know how to cook and can manage splendidly, i'm sure, if you will let us try. miss davis will soon be back and then she can look after everything. two weeks isn't very long. no harm can come to us in that time, i know. we'd love to do it. say you will go. it means so much to you----" she had not intended to say just that, but misreading the look of wondering surprise in the tear-stained face lifted to hers, she blundered, hesitated, and stood silent and distressed in the middle of the floor, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and looking so much like the frank, outspoken, bungling tabitha of old, that mrs. mckittrick could not refrain from laughing. it was an odd, hysterical, little laugh, to be sure, more pathetic than mirthful, but it relieved the sharp tension of the situation; and gloriana, quick to take advantage of auspicious moments, broke in, "all you need to do is to say yes. we will be model housekeepers and take the best of care of the family." "but--but--what about your father? he won't listen to such a plan, i'm sure." "now, don't you fret about that!" cried tabitha joyfully, regarding the battle as good as won. "daddy won't care a mite! two weeks is such a little time. he will be glad to have us come." "i believe--i better--take janie. she is so small, and----" "i believe you better not!" the black-eyed girl laughingly retorted. "she would be dreadfully in your way, no matter how good she is; and you want to be free to take care of your--patient. now, where is your trunk? what clothes do you need to take? if you will tell us where to find things, we will begin to pack at once while you are getting the house settled the way you want to leave it, and writing out your orders." "'cause we'll be ist as dood as anjils," lisped janie, as the procession, at a signal from mercedes, quietly trooped forth into the june sunshine once more, and, with radiant faces and happy hearts, skipped down to their boulder playhouse to celebrate. chapter ii tabitha and gloriana, housekeepers "you really think you want to do it?" mr. catt glanced quizzically from one bright, girlish face to the other as his fingers gently stroked the red tresses and the black hovering so close to his knee. "sure, daddy!" promptly answered tabitha, patting the arm nearest her in a fashion that a year before she never would have dreamed of. "perfectly sure!" repeated gloriana, snuggling closer to the big armchair in which her adopted father sat, and smiling contentedly at thought of the new life opening up before her. "two weeks mean fourteen whole days," he warned them. "yes," they giggled, "fourteen whole days!" "and six lively children can raise quite a racket." "the house is too far from the rest of town for their noise to bother anyone else," tabitha reminded him. "that's another point. what would you do if burglars broke in at night? you would be too far from town to call help." "there is nothing at mckittrick's to burgle," his daughter retorted triumphantly. "i am not afraid." "nor i," said gloriana, though somewhat faintly, for of a sudden a new phase of the matter had presented itself. she _was_ still afraid of the black desert nights, and burglars were a constant source of terror to her, though never in all her life had she encountered any of that species of mankind. "the cottage on the cliff is no more isolated than our cottage here in the hollow, now that the carsons are away," continued the black-haired girl. "it would be just as easy--easier, in fact, to get help if we needed it there, than here; for the mckittrick house is on the side of the mountain overlooking the town, while our place is hidden from the rest of silver bow by that hill. we can see only the roof of the assayer's office from here, and that is the nearest building to ours except carrie's house." "that's true!" exclaimed gloriana with such an air of relief that mr. catt could not refrain from smiling. "and besides, nothing is going to happen in two weeks," continued tabitha. "suppose miss davis doesn't return in two weeks? i thought you wanted to spend your summer at the beach." "oh, miss davis will be back on time," was the confident reply. "and we had planned to stay here a few weeks anyway, you know. myra won't be looking for us before the first of july, for we had expected tom would come home early in the summer for his vacation instead of having to wait until fall, and so made our plans accordingly." he smiled at the grown-up air she had assumed, then sighed, for something in her quiet self-assurance and dignified poise suddenly brought home to him the realization that his little girl was fast growing up. the sensitive, rebellious, little spitfire of a few months ago had developed into a charming, gentle-mannered maid; and while he rejoiced in gaining so sweet a daughter, he disliked to lose the wild, untamed elf who had so suddenly blossomed into a young lady before he could in any measure atone for the unhappy years of her loveless childhood. he would have kept her a little girl all her life, had he been able; but here she was springing up into the beauty of a glorious womanhood before his very eyes. so he sighed as he thought of his lost opportunities, then abruptly asked, "how old are you, tabitha?" "going on sixteen, daddy." "and you, my other daughter?" turning to gloriana sitting silently on her low stool by his side. "fourteen, sir." "rather youthful housekeepers," he drawled, teasingly. "but experienced in spite of youth," tabitha gayly retorted. "why, miss king says we are the two most promising domestic science pupils she has. now what do you think of that?" "that she is right," came the prompt though unexpected reply; "and if you really think you want to play good samaritan for a couple weeks, you have my hearty sanction. the fact of the matter is, i find it impossible to be here at home much for the next fortnight, myself; possibly not at all after tonight. so you might just as well be mothering the mckittricks as left alone in this end of the town, so far as i can see." "i knew you would say yes," sighed tabitha contentedly. "you shall see what model housekeepers your daughters can be. we'll make you proud of us." "i have no doubt of it," he answered heartily. "but if you begin your arduous duties to-morrow, it is time you were in bed this minute. fly away now!" so they ran laughingly away to their room, both secretly glad of the chance to seek their pillows an hour earlier, for that day at the mckittrick cottage had been a busy one, and though neither would acknowledge it to the other, feet, arms and backs ached sadly. but the next morning, after a refreshing night's sleep, the duet was ready and eager for the novel role they were about to play; and just as soon as their own simple tasks were done, the necessary clothes packed and the little cottage made secure for its two weeks of solitude, they tramped merrily up the steep path to the eagles' nest, and entered upon their summer vacation as housekeepers for a family of six, as susie expressed it. everything was topsy-turvy in the excitement of getting the injured father, and weary, distracted mother started on their brief journey; but finally they were off, and a row of sober-faced children stood on the bluff overlooking the flats below, watching the train puff its way slowly out of sight behind the mountains. with the last glimpse of the departing cars, the sense of responsibility in her new charge descended upon the shoulders of the volunteer housekeeper, and tabitha was for a brief moment appalled at the task which she had so rashly undertaken. "six children to look after for two whole weeks!" she gasped in dismay. then her courage returned with a rush. "why, tabitha catt, you coward! i am ashamed of you! if you can't take care of six children for two short weeks, particularly with gloriana to help, you are not good for much!" resolutely she turned toward the house, saying briskly, to hide her own wavering spirits, "well, folkses, let's have chocolate pie for supper!" "oh, goody!" cried inez, whirling about to follow her leader; and at mention of these words, the faces of the whole group brightened wonderfully. "can't we have some cake, too? mamma said we might if you knew how to make it." "knew how to make it?" boasted tabitha scornfully. "well, i should say we do! what kind will you have?" "nut loaf," quickly responded mercedes, who knew from experience how delicious tabitha's nut loaves were. "angel cake," wheedled susie, with her most engaging smile. "frosted with chocolate," added inez. "devil's food," suggested irene. "cookies," pleaded rosslyn, who had a boy's fondness for that particular delicacy. "dingerbread," lisped the baby. and tabitha laughed. "that's quite a collection, my dears." "i should say so!" gasped gloriana. "we can't make them all to-night. in fact, it is nearly four o'clock now. there isn't time for both pie and cake." "unless we do make gingerbread, as janie suggested," said tabitha slowly, seeing the look of disappointment clouding the row of round, serious faces watching them so expectantly. "wiv raisins," coaxed rosslyn. "lots of 'em!" instantly the faces brightened again. "oh, yes, that's the way we like it best," chorused the four older members. "and let us seed them," pleaded inez. "mamma often lets us." "she won't let us eat more'n twelve," added irene hopefully, "and we can work real fast." "well, you will have to if we have gingerbread for supper," said gloriana. "i supposed the raisins were already seeded. will we have time, tabitha?" "yes, if everyone hustles, i reckon. mercy, you know where things are in the pantry. supposing you get out the spices, sugar, flour, and things. susie and the twins stone the raisins; and, rosslyn, you might bring in some small wood for the stove. we'll use the range to-night, because i have baked in that oven before and know how it works, but won't know until i experiment with it, how the gasolene oven bakes." while she was issuing orders, tabitha flaxed blithely about the little kitchen, lighting the fire, hunting up cooking utensils, and beginning the process of making chocolate pie, leaving gloriana to wrestle with the mysteries of a raisin gingerbread. anxious for the coming treat, the children obediently flew to their various tasks; and soon voices buzzed busily, while the little hands tried their best to hurry. "there!" breathed tabitha at last, lifting a red, perspiring face from an inspection of two beautifully frosted pies in the oven, "they are done. don't they look fine? now you can put in your gingerbread whenever you are ready, glory. i'll set these on the wash bench outside to cool, while i hustle up the rest of the supper." "mamma always puts her pies in the pantry window," volunteered irene, not wishing to have the tempting delicacy removed from her sight. "but they will cool quicker in the open air," explained tabitha. "and supper will be ready so soon that they won't be cool enough to eat if we set them in the window. now, mercy----" "oh, kitty," came a sudden wail of alarm from the dooryard where rosslyn was still busy with his basket of chips, "janie is gone! i can't find her anywhere!" tabitha dropped her platter of cold potatoes which she was preparing to warm over; mercedes hastily left her dishpan where she was piling up the soiled kitchen utensils which the youthful cooks had used with extravagant hand; susie and the twins abruptly deserted the raisin jar; and all bolted for the door. only gloriana remained at her post. she had arrived at the most critical stage of her gingerbread making, and though her first impulse was to join in the search for the missing baby with the rest of her mates, her thrifty bringing-up reminded her that in the meantime the cake would spoil. so she paused long enough to dump in the cupful of raisins still standing on the doorsill, where the seeders had been sitting at their task. giving the mixture a final beat, she poured the spicy brown dough into the baking sheet, thrust it into the oven, adjusted the dampers, and followed the example of the others, setting out down the rocky path as rapidly as her lameness would permit. meanwhile, toiling up the steep trail on the other side of the house, came a tiny, tired figure, almost ready to drop from her unusual exertions. her dress was torn in a dozen places where the cruel mesquite had caught her as she passed, one shoe was unlaced, one stocking hung in rolls about the plump, scratched ankle, she wore no hat, and her fair hair was sadly tousled by the wind and her struggle through sagebrush and spanish bayonets. altogether, she presented a woeful spectacle; but in spite of it all, she clasped tightly in one chubby fist, a soiled and crumpled letter, which every now and then she examined critically, having discovered that the warmth and moisture of her fat hands left tiny, smudgy fingerprints on the white envelope, and being anxious to present a clean document to her wondering audience when she should have reached her goal. but oh, it did seem so far up to the eagles' nest, and the way was so rough for her little feet! still she kept plodding wearily along, and at length reached the end of her journey, only to find the house silent and deserted. "mercy!" she piped shrilly, pushing open the screen and stumbling into the hot kitchen. "i'se dot a letter! where is you? susie! rossie!" still no answer. puzzled at this unusual state of affairs, she raced from room to room as fast as her short, tired legs would carry her, but no one was there. "tabby!" she shrieked. "dory! what did you leave me for?" a panic seized her. she had been deserted! tears gathered in her sea-blue eyes, and trickled in rivulets down her flushed cheeks. she was afraid to stay alone. why had everyone left her? back to the kitchen she pattered. it was empty, but a fire still burned in the stove and savory odors from the oven lured her on. curiosity overcame her fear for a moment, and with a mighty tug, she jerked open the door, revealing gloriana's gingerbread just done to a turn. "dingerbread!" cried the child, gloating over the huge, golden sheet which smelled, oh, so good! "i want some now!" and forgetting that the oven was hot, she seized the pan with both chubby fists, but instantly let go her hold and roared with pain, for ten rosy fingers were cruelly burned, and how they did smart! suddenly above the wail of her lusty voice came the sound of excited voices and flying feet; and the next instant frightened tabitha with her adopted brood in close pursuit, flew into the kitchen, and gathered up the hurt, sobbing baby in her arms, crooning tenderly, "there, there, dearie, you mustn't cry any more. we've all come back. we were hunting you. where did you go?" "oh, see her hands!" cried irene, shuddering in sympathy. "she has burned herself!" "but the gingerbread isn't burned at all," volunteered susie with satisfaction, after a keen and anxious scrutiny of the spicy loaf half-way out of the oven. "for goodness' sake!" ejaculated tabitha, not having noticed the seared fingers up to that moment, "what do you do for burns?" "bring some butter," ordered gloriana, remembering granny conover's first remedy for burns. "mamma uses molasses," said irene; and susie and inez, recovering their senses at the same instant, dived into the pantry, returning immediately, one with a crock of butter in her hand, and the other bearing a bucket of molasses; and before either of the older girls could intervene, they plunged both of janie's dirty, scorched hands first into one dish and then into the other, leaving them to drip sticky puddles down the front of tabitha's dress and on to the clean kitchen floor. "why, you little monkeys!" gasped the senior housekeeper, forgetting the dignity of her position in her wrath at what seemed inexcusable carelessness on the part of the girls. "mamma _always_ puts molasses on burns," quavered inez, her lip trembling at tabitha's tone. "and glory said butter," surprised susie defended. then both culprits dissolved in tears. "there, there, never mind!" cried tabitha in dismay. "i didn't mean to scold, but you ought to have known more than to stick the baby's dirty hands into the molasses pail and butter crock." "not dirty!" screamed the outraged janie, striking the face above her with a dripping fist. "on'y burned! ve pan was--" her sentence unfinished, she found herself ruthlessly shaken and dumped into the middle of the floor, while angry tabitha rushed out of the door into the cool dusk of early evening, leaving a dismayed family staring aghast at each other in the hot kitchen. even the amazed baby forgot to voice her protest at such treatment, but stood where she had landed, staring with round, scared eyes after the fleeing figure. down the mountainside sped tabitha to the big boulder, wheeled about and rushed back to the house as swiftly as she had left it, and before the astounded children had recovered their breath, she cried, "i am sorry i was cross. i reckon i'm a little tired and everything has gone upside down and--suppose we have supper now. i know you are all hungry. susie, while i am tying up janie's hands, you might put the potatoes on in the frying pan; irene, set the table; inez, fetch the water; and mercy, cut the bread. is the gingerbread done, gloriana?" "yes," responded the junior housekeeper proudly, "and already sliced for the table. shall i bring in the pie?" "the pies!" shouted the six mckittricks. "i had forgotten all about them," confessed the older girl. "yes, you better get them right away. one will be enough for supper,--the tins are so large." while tabitha was speaking, gloriana had stepped briskly out of the door into the summer night and disappeared around the corner of the house; but immediately a terrified scream pierced the air, there was a loud snort and the sound of startled, scampering feet, and gloriana burst into the room again bearing an empty plate in one hand and a dilapidated looking pie, minus all its frosting, in the other. "oh, our lovely pies!" wailed the children in chorus. "the burros!" gasped tabitha. gloriana nodded. "one had his nose right in the middle of this pie. the other beast had upset the second tin and was licking up the crumbs from the gravel." "oh, dear, i want some pie!" whimpered rosslyn, puckering his face to cry. "ain't that the worst luck?" susie burst out. "if you had put the pies in the _window_ to cool, like mamma does--" began inez. "it's too late to make any more to-night," gloriana hastily interrupted, seeing a wrathful sparkle in tabitha's black eyes; "but if you don't make any more fuss about it this time, we'll bake some to-morrow." "and if you want any supper at all, you'd better come now," advised mercedes, from her post by the stove, where she was vigorously making hash of the sliced potatoes. "this stuff is beginning to burn." gloriana rescued the frying pan, and the disappointed children gathered about the table, trying to look cheerful, but failing dismally. "don't want any 'tato," objected janie, scorning the proffered dish. "dingerbread!" "potato and beans first," insisted tabitha. "dingerbread!" stubbornly repeated the child, so sleepy and cross that the weary older girl said no more, but slid a large slice of the savory cake into the little plate, and proceeded to help the other children in the same liberal manner. no one wanted beans and potato, but at the first mouthful of the tempting-looking gingerbread, everyone paused, looked inquiringly at her neighbor, chewed cautiously a time or two, and then eight hands went to eight pair of lips. "i thought we stoned raisins for this cake," cried susie, half indignantly. "so you did," replied gloriana, her face flushed crimson as she bent over her plate, intently examining her slice of cake. "oh, and put the stones in the cake! what did you do with the raisins?" demanded inez. before glory could frame a reply, or offer any excuse for the accident, irene slid hurriedly off her chair, flew through the doorway and down the path toward town, but she was back in a moment, and in her hand she held a cup of raisins. "why, irene mckittrick!" cried mercedes, lifting her hands in horror. "what made you hide them?" "i didn't hide them," the twin indignantly protested. "the cup was in my lap when rosslyn called that janie was lost, and i forgot to put it down when i ran out-doors. i remembered it by the time we reached our playhouse, so i set it down there and that's where i found it now." "janie wasn't lost," interrupted that small maiden in drowsy tones. "me went to get a letter." "to get a letter!" chorused her sisters. "where?" "to the store where mercy goes. a man dave me one, too," she finished triumphantly, squirming down from her high chair to search about the room for the missing epistle, while the rest of the family forgot both pie and gingerbread in joining in the hunt. rosslyn found it at last under the stove where it had fallen when janie began her investigation of the oven; and the girls exclaimed in genuine surprise, "why, it _is_ a real letter!"' "addressed to mamma," said mercedes, "do you suppose janie really went to the post-office all alone?" but janie was fast asleep in her chair where she had retired when convinced that rosslyn had actually found her precious letter; so the sisters once more bent curious eyes upon the soiled envelope. "better re-address it to your mother," suggested tabitha, remembering that in her written instructions, mrs. mckittrick had failed to mention the matter of mail which might come to silver bow for her. "mamma told me to open all her letters, and not even to send papa's to los angeles, unless 'twas something _very_ important." "then why don't you open it?" cried susanne impatiently. "and see who wrote it," added inez. "i--i--guess i will." deliberately she tore open the envelope, spread out the brief letter it contained, and with a comically important air, read the few short lines. then beginning with the heading, she read it the second time, her face growing graver at each word, until impatient inez could stand the strain no longer, and burst out, "well, what's it all about? does it take you all night to read that teenty letter?" "it's from aunt kate, uncle dennis' wife," mercedes slowly retorted. "she is going to europe for something, and wants to send the boys out here to us." "williard and theodore?" "yes." "but how can they, with papa hurt and mamma gone?" "she says that they will pay good board and she knows mamma will be glad enough to get the money, seeing that papa's still unable to work." tabitha's face darkened. "it's an imposition!" she exploded wrathfully. "i sh'd say so!" agreed susanne. "they are dreadful noisy boys. we had 'em here once before, and aunt kate got awful mad 'cause papa licked 'em when they touched a match to the old shed to see how the people on the desert put out fires." "she said they never should come again," added inez, "but i guess she's forgot." "how old are they?" ventured gloriana. "williard's between me and susie," mercedes answered, "and theodore's between susie and the twins." "are you going to let them come?" demanded irene. mercedes turned helplessly toward tabitha. "what would you do, kitty?" she asked. "shall i write and ask mamma?" "i shouldn't," tabitha promptly replied. "your mother has her hands full now, and it would only worry her to know how nervy your aunt kate is. i'd write her,--your aunt, i mean,--and tell her just how things stand, your father in the hospital and your mother with him. she ought to know more than to send them then. still, i believe i'd just say that the boys can't come. she would understand that all right. and i'll be responsible, mercedes, if your mother should think we ought to have told her about it first." "_i'd_ telegraph, so's to be sure," said susanne. "aunt kate doesn't think much about other folks' wishes, and if she wanted to go to europe bad enough, she'd ship the boys to us if we all had smallpox." "that's a good idea," tabitha acknowledged. "we'll telegraph at once, and then she will have no excuse for not knowing how sick your father is. where is there a pencil and paper? i'll write out a telegram now, and we'll slip down town, and send it to-night." she hastily scribbled the words: "mrs. dennis mckittrick, jamaica plains, mass. don't send boys. father in los angeles hospital. mother with him. mercedes mckittrick." then taking irene as company, she carried the message to the telegraph station that same evening, to make sure it reached its destination in time to prevent the threatened visit from the unwelcome cousins. "perhaps i acted in a high-handed manner," she confessed to gloriana, as they were preparing for bed that night, "but i couldn't bear to think of that selfish old cat--yes, that's what she is,--imposing upon mrs. mckittrick again. i remember the boys, though it was quite a while ago that they were here. they were only little shavers then, too. i never met them, but one doesn't have to in order to know all they want to know about their antics." "and judging from our first day's experiences as housekeepers in this family, we shall have all _we_ want to do, without two terrors of boys added." "to-day has been rather hard and disappointing," tabitha acknowledged with a gusty sigh. "but to-morrow will be better," gloriana comforted her. "and it is only for two weeks. that's one consolation." "thank fortune!" tabitha exclaimed with fervor; and the tired eyelids closed over the drowsy black eyes and the gray. chapter iii unwelcome guests "well, one whole week is gone," said tabitha exultantly, as she bent over the heaped-up mending basket one hot afternoon, and tried to make neat darns of the gaping holes in the heels of susie's stockings. "yes, and half of the first day of the second week," gloriana replied cheerily. "but really, puss, time hasn't dragged as slowly as i feared. that first day was the longest, i think, i ever knew." "that first day was a horrible nightmare," the older girl emphatically declared. "i thought it _never_ would end, and i'd have quit my job on the spot if there had been anyone to take my place." "i'd have quit it anyway if you had just said the word," laughed her companion. "i thought you'd never go to sleep that night--i wanted so badly to cry." "did you? so did i, but you kept tossing so restlessly that i knew you were still awake, and finally i dropped off without getting my cry at all." "that's just what i did, too!" giggled gloriana. "and the next morning everything looked so different----" "yes, i could laugh then at the burro's nose in your lovely pie and the seeds in my gingerbread; but they didn't seem so funny the night before." "they seemed anything but funny to me for several days, and i don't think i'll ever see a chocolate pie or a gingerbread again in my life without remembering this vacation." "but things have gone splendidly since that first night," gloriana reminded her. "the children have tried to be angels, even if they have executed some queer stunts for cherubs." "yes, i know, but i am glad just the same that half of our--apprenticeship--is over. if this week will pass as smoothly as last week did, it's all i'll- what in the world is the matter with the children? sounds as if they were having an indian war dance. i wonder if those swanberg boys are bothering again." both girls dropped their mending and hurried to the door just in time to hear inez's voice say cuttingly, "of course we know who you are, williard and theodore mckittrick!" "guess again!" drawled the older of two strange boys, lolling on suitcases in the middle of the yard. "well, those _are_ your names," inez insisted. "you look enough like you used to when you were here before, so we can't be mistaken," said mercedes primly. "can't, eh? well, our names are williard and theodore no longer. we are billiard and toady these days. mind you don't forget! we've come to stay till the folks get back----" "didn't you get our telegram telling you not to come?" demanded belligerent susie. "sure we did!" "then why didn't you stay at home?" "'cause ma had the arrangements all made to go across the ocean and there wasn't anyone else to send us to. grandma's away travelling, and aunt helen's kids have got scarlet fever." "but papa's in the hospital and mamma's there nursing him," said irene indignantly. "truly?" the boy called toady spoke for the first time. "do you think i'm lying?" "well, ma said she bet it was all a bluff to keep us from coming out here," billiard explained, looking genuinely surprised at irene's words. "and anyway," supplemented toady, "she said if it was true about your father and mother being away to los angeles, there'd have to be someone here to look after you kids, and two more wouldn't make much difference." "specially when she's paying for our board!" tabitha, a silent spectator in the doorway, ground her teeth in helpless rage, while gloriana gasped audibly at the impudence of mother and sons. "it's no more'n right that you should pay board," susie declared in heat. "you make so much trouble wherever you go." "do, huh?" billiard, frowning darkly, advanced threateningly toward his outspoken cousin, with fists doubled up and an ugly sneer on his face. but susie was no coward, and when he shook his knuckles close to her little pug nose to emphasize his words, the girl's arm shot out unexpectedly and landed a blow fair and square on one eye. with a yell of rage and pain, the surprised boy lunged forward, but instead of confronting susie, he found himself in the grasp of a tall, irate young lady, who wore her shining black hair pinned up on top of her head, although her skirts were still short enough to show a pair of trim ankles. "now stop right here!" she spoke quietly, almost too quietly; but one look into the smouldering depths of those big, black eyes was enough to cow the bully, and he jerked himself free, muttering sulkily, "she hit me first!" "she had to, or get hit herself," bawled inez, jigging excitedly from one foot to the other in her exultation over her cousin's defeat. "inez!" "well, he needn't have come! we telegraphed them not to!" "_inez_!" the girl subsided, and billiard found courage to leer triumphantly at her discomfiture. but tabitha intercepted the glance, and in that ominously calm voice which had struck terror to his cowardly heart before, she announced, "it is too late now to think of that side of the question. we'll have to make the most of a bad situation; but i _will not_ tolerate fighting. you may as well understand that first as last. if you boys can't behave like gentlemen, you can just move on down to the hotel. is that plain?" "yes, sir--ma'am," stammered the abashed billiard, glancing uneasily about for some means of escape, but tabitha had delivered her ultimatum, and now swept grandly into the house, satisfied that she had displayed her authority in a very impressive manner. hardly had the screen closed behind her, however, when her sharp ears caught billiard's hoarsely whispered question, "who is that high-headed geezer?" "the girl who is taking care of us," answered mercedes unguardedly. "girl?" "sure! what did you take her for?" "a--a new woman. a--one of these things that's trying to vote and do men's work and such like." "oho!" yelled the mckittrick girls in unison. "why, she ain't much older'n us!" "she goes to ivy hall in los angeles, the boarding school i belong to," said mercedes. "honest injun?" "cross my heart!" "huh!" and instinctively tabitha knew that there was trouble ahead for her. "isn't this the worst luck you ever heard of?" she groaned to gloriana when once inside the house again. "if i had my way about it, i'd ship them straight home on the next train," declared the red-haired girl angrily. "the very idea of their mother doing such a thing as that! what kind of a woman is she, anyway?" "i don't know much about her, except that she is utterly selfish and very rich. the boys are sent away to school most of the year; and during vacations she manages to shift them onto some of her relatives. fortunately, jim mckittrick is too far away to be bothered with them very often." "but what shall you--we do with them? shall we tell mrs. mckittrick that they have come?" "goodness, no! at least not yet. it would just worry her more than ever and she is worn to distraction now. no, we must make the best of it this week, and by that time miss davis will be here. she was raised in a family of boys and ought to know how to manage them." "well, i am thankful _i_ am not in her shoes," breathed gloriana. "i suppose we can get along somehow for the six days that are left. where shall you put them?" "well, i declare! i had forgotten all about that part of it. they will think i am a real hospitable hostess." she stepped to the door to call them, but not a soul was in sight anywhere. two open suitcases lay on the ground with their contents scattered all about, but both owners and their cousins had disappeared. "mercedes! susie!" she called peremptorily, but no one answered; and not even the sound of their voices at play fell on her listening ear. "strange," she muttered. "they were here a minute ago. where can they have gone so quickly?" she was about to start on a tour of investigation when a series of wild, piercing screams of abject terror rent the air, and rosslyn came stumbling down the steep incline behind the house, bruised, scratched, torn, and covered from head to foot with what looked like blood gloriana caught him as he fell, for tabitha turned faint and sick at the sight; but a shout of boyish disgust from above brought her to her senses. "aw, come back, you bawl baby! we were just foolin'! you ain't hurt a mite!" billiard swaggered into view from behind a tall boulder half-way up the mountainside, and even tabitha shuddered at the spectacle he presented, for he was togged out in war paint and feathers till he looked fiendish as he brandished a tomahawk in one hand and an evil-looking knife in the other. at sight of the girl on the narrow piazza, he hastily retreated behind the rocks again; but tabitha was there almost as soon as he. snatching the gorgeous headdress from the culprit's head, she trampled it ruthlessly in the sharp gravel, disarmed the would-be indian brave, breaking the treasured tomahawk and knife against the rocks, and shook the cowering savage with strong, relentless hands. but not a word did she speak, and though her victim writhed and squirmed and wriggled, he could not break the fierce grip on his shoulders. "don't, don't," he blubbered in desperation. "i didn't mean to scare him so bad. we were only playing indian." "only--playing--indian!" panted tabitha, in scorching scorn. "look at those children! you have frightened them all to death!" pausing an instant in her vigorous shaking, she pointed at the circle of sisters,--mercedes, weak and trembling, bent over the limp form of little janie, blowing frantically in the still, white face; a thoroughly subdued and frightened toady was wildly fanning poor irene, who had likewise crumpled in a faint; while close by sat susie and inez clinging to each other and sobbing in terror. "oh, i didn't mean to!" bellowed billiard, as tabitha resumed her shaking. "i thought they'd seen indians before." "and so they have, but not such horrible savages as you!" shake! shake! shake! irene sighed faintly and opened her eyes. toady's heart gave a violent thump of relief and thanksgiving, and abruptly dropping the headdress of feathers which he had been using as a fan, he flew to his brother's rescue. "oh, please, mrs. tabitha," he pleaded, "you've drubbed him enough. shake me if you ain't through yet. you'll have him plumb addled! really, we were just in for some fun. we never dreamed the kids would scare so easy. that's only vegetable dye on rosslyn's head. he thought we had scalped him, but we didn't mean to hurt him." tabitha glanced down into the entreating brown eyes at her elbow, straightway forgave toady, and released her victim so suddenly that he fell sprawling into a nest of sharp-thorned mormon pears; but of this she was unaware, for with one swoop she gathered up the now hysterical baby, and stalked off toward the house, saying grimly, "you boys stay right where you are until you are willing to apologize and promise to behave yourselves in the future. i've a mind to turn you over to the sheriff now. come, girls!" followed by the troop of white, shivering sisters, she disappeared within doors, and soon quiet reigned in the eagles' nest. only then did the cowed billiard venture to peer from his retreat at the house below. it was nearing the supper hour and he was hungry, but tabitha had said he must apologize and promise good behaviour before he would be admitted to the family circle. it was evident that she meant business. "toady," he whispered to the other boy, sitting silent and motionless where he had dropped when tabitha had left them an hour before. "toady, can you see anyone down there?" toady glanced off at the hazy flat below with its winding silver ribbon of railroad track, and the lonely, dingy station house, and shook his head. "aw, not there!" billiard protested, seeing that his brother's thoughts had evidently been running in the same channel. "down to uncle jim's, i mean." scarcely shifting his position, dutiful toady craned his neck around a boulder, surveyed the quiet mountainside in the waning afternoon light, and again shook his head. "creep down and see what they're doing. maybe they are talking about us." "go yourself," returned toady briefly. "aw, come now, toady! she ain't so mad at you, and besides, you're littler. they wouldn't see you so quick." still toady remained seated. "we'll have to have some water to wash off this stuff before she'll let us in to--to apologize," wheedled billiard. "_are_ you going to apologize?" "looks like we got to," answered the older boy gloomily. "she's a reg'lar cyclone. smashed up half our things already, and like enough she will sick the sheriff on us like she said, 'nless we do--er--apologize." it was very evident that billiard was not in the habit of apologizing for anything; and toady, grinning with no little satisfaction at his brother's discomfiture, arose and slowly descended by a roundabout trail to the cottage. he was gone a long time and billiard was growing decidedly restless and anxious when he appeared in sight once more. "she's--they are going to write to uncle hogan!" he announced breathlessly. "uncle hogan!" cried billiard in dismay. "yes, that's just what i heard them say. mercedes told her how uncle hogan----" "i'll get even with miss mercedes," billiard interrupted fiercely. "you better get that paint off your face and hike for the house with your apology," advised the more easily persuaded brother, "else you'll never have a chance to get even with anybody again." "why?" "because if we don't promise to be good inside of an hour, they are going to ask the--the--some man, sort of a policeman, i guess, to look after us until uncle hogan answers." "do you really think they'd write to uncle hogan?" "sure! tabitha knows him. she and that glory girl with the red hair kept him all night last winter off some mountain he wanted to climb 'cause they didn't know who he was. she had a gun and shot at them; but when her father got there he said 'twas all right, and uncle hogan thinks tabitha is the whole cheese now." "supposing we do--apologize, will they write to him still?" "no, i guess not. if you'll promise to behave, they will let you stay until some woman who's going to take care of the kids most of the summer gets here. then she can do as she pleases about writing. you better knuckle under, billiard." the older boy groaned. "you don't seem to care very much," he complained bitterly, feeling that toady had deserted him at the most critical moment. "i--i've apologized already," acknowledged the other. "i'd rather do that than have uncle hogan get after us." "so would i," billiard sulkily decided, and pulling himself up from his rocky seat, he slowly shambled down the mountainside, with toady at his heels hugely enjoying his brother's humiliation, for, though comrades in mischief, the older boy loved to bully the younger, and toady had a long list of scores to settle, so he could not refrain from grinning broadly behind billiard's back, particularly since his part of the disagreeable program had already been accomplished. "better wash your face, first," he suggested, as billiard made straight for the kitchen door, through which savory odors of supper cooking were beginning to steal. "aw, come off!" "she won't let you in till you do." "well, then, where's the water?" toady pointed toward a basin on a nearby rock, and billiard made a vigorous, if somewhat hasty toilet. then, after a moment's further hesitation, he entered the kitchen with hanging head, and, addressing a grease spot on the floor by tabitha's feet, muttered surlily, "i--er--apologize." tabitha's lips twitched. he looked so utterly downcast and abject that she could scarcely keep from smiling openly. "are you ready to promise to behave yourself from now on?" "yes, sir--i mean, ma'am," he gulped, flushing angrily as the girls tittered. tabitha instantly silenced their mirth, and turning to the boy, said graciously, "then we'll let bygones be bygones; but we'll have no more such actions while you stay. your suitcase is in the back bedroom. toady will show you. but first, please bring in a couple armfuls of wood. it looks like rain and----" "wood! we never bring in wood at home!" the boy rebelled. "you are not at home now," tabitha answered sweetly. "but--we're paying board!" "i haven't seen any board money yet. and anyway, we need the wood." angrily the boy jerked out a purse from his trousers pocket and slammed some gold pieces on the table. "twenty dollars," she counted. "for how long?" "all summer." "ten weeks! two dollars a week for two of you! board on the desert is cheap at a dollar a day. you can write your mother to that effect; and in the meantime, perhaps you better put up at the hotel----" "oh, she said if anyone made a fuss, she'd pay more," billiard hastily explained, for somehow the hotel idea did not appeal to him. "well, you tell her a dollar a day for each of you is the regular rate. and now you will have just about time to get that wood before supper is ready." billiard glanced questioningly up into the clear, olive face above him, as if he could not believe his ears. "the pile is close to the door," she continued, paying no attention to the amazement in his face: "and the woodbox is on the screened porch." billiard hesitated, opened his lips as if to speak, closed them again, and inwardly raging, but outwardly meek, marched out of the door to the woodpile. chapter iv mischief makers tabitha retired late that night, weary but triumphant, congratulating herself that billiard was conquered; but she had reckoned without her host. two little heathen such as williard and theodore mckittrick are not to be converted in one day, nor are they apt to be forced into reforming. brought up with utter disregard for other people's rights, by a mother who bore them no particular love, but who surrounded them with every luxury money could buy simply because she found it less trouble to indulge than to deny them, it is scarcely to be wondered at that they had no idea of honor or obedience. their father, dennis mckittrick, had been more successful than his brothers in his struggle for wealth. after amassing a comfortable fortune, he had not lived to enjoy it, and before his oldest son had seen his sixth birthday, the father was laid to rest in the shadow of a resplendent monument in an eastern cemetery; and the rearing of the two boys was left wholly to their fashion-plate mother, whose only gods were dress and personal pleasure. tabitha had heard many stories of the selfish, heartless woman, who found her motherhood a burden rather than a blessing, but she did not understand the difficulties one must contend with in attempting to reform such lawless youths, and being little more than a child herself, it was only natural that she should make mistakes. but she did not at once realize this fact, for billiard, completely surprised by the unusual treatment accorded him, was a model of obedience and politeness for the next two days, and tabitha was deceived into thinking his reformation was genuine and lasting; while in reality, the young scapegrace was merely studying the unique situation and plotting how to "get even" with the girl who already had mastered him twice. a coward at heart, he knew he could not come out openly and fight her, so he slyly planned little annoyances to hinder her work and try her patience. yet so adroitly did he manoeuvre that tabitha was some time in finding out the real culprit. "my brefus food ain't nice," wailed janie, the third morning of her cousins' stay. "nor mine, either," protested rosslyn, tasting his critically, and wrinkling his nose in disgust. "you've salted it something fierce," said billiard, winking solemnly at toady while tabitha was busy sampling her dish of porridge. "it's so salt that sugar doesn't sweeten it," added susie, making a wry face at the first mouthful and taking a hasty swallow of water. tabitha's mystified face quickly cleared. seizing the sugar-bowl, she cautiously tasted its contents, and turning toward inez, said accusingly, "you filled it with salt instead of sugar!" "then someone put the salt cup in the sugar barrel," cried inez indignantly, "'cause i just poured one cupful into the sugar-bowl." "well, be more careful the next time," admonished the black-eyed girl, retreating to the pantry for a fresh supply of sweetening; and billiard, elated at the success of his first attempt, determined to try again. "what in the world did you put in that salad dressing, glory?" cried tabitha, snatching up her glass of water with eager hands. "what's the matter with it?" demanded the second cook, whose turn it was to wait upon the table that day. "you used ginger 'stead of mustard," scolded toady, who had a particular aversion for red hair, and took little pains to conceal it. gloriana had her suspicions as to how such an accident could have happened, but a hurried visit to the pantry disclosed the spice cans in their proper places, all correctly labelled; so she reluctantly admitted her mistake, but decided to keep her eyes open. "there's soap in my glass of water," complained irene at the next meal. "soap!" echoed mercedes. "i washed those glasses myself, and never used a bit of soap on them! that's the way mamma told us to wash them." but the fact still remained that not only was irene's glass soapy, but more than half the dishes on the table tasted of fels naptha. tabitha looked concerned, but billiard and toady were so innocent appearing that she never suspected them of having had a hand in the affair. the next time it was tabitha's biscuits. when they appeared on the table they were as thin as wafers and as hard as bricks. in some way she had substituted corn starch for baking powder; but as another hurried visit to the pantry showed both articles where they belonged on their respective shelves, she concluded that carelessness on her part had caused the trouble, and let the matter drop. then the house began to be infested with all sorts of obnoxious insects and reptiles. mercedes found two huge grasshoppers in the soup one day; a long, wriggling centipede fell out of the cook-book as tabitha turned its pages in search of a favorite recipe; a scorpion dropped off the cake plate which gloriana was in the act of passing, so frightening the girl that she dashed cake, dish and all onto the floor, and promptly had hysterics. horned toads, ugly lizards, and worms of every description made their appearance by the dozen, until even tabitha grew alarmed; but still she did not suspect the cause of such an invasion, as the two brothers were apparently as docile and obedient as their gentler cousins. even when they found a dead rattler coiled up in the middle of the kitchen floor, tabitha attributed it to carrie's dog, general, who still spent much of his time at the mckittrick cottage. nor did she notice that the reptile was coiled in a most impossible manner, with its head propped up by two tiny wires. she merely hustled the thing out of doors, hacked it into pieces with the axe, and buried the remnants under a pile of rocks to make sure no harm came of them. it never occurred to her to wonder how general, who was not allowed in the house, could have dragged the snake inside without someone seeing or hearing him, for he was proud of his snake-killing accomplishment and always made a big commotion when he succeeded in trapping one. so the culprits enjoyed the girls' scare, and retired to the water-tank behind the assayer's office to hatch up some new scheme. only gloriana, whose cordial dislike for boys, caused by her unhappy experiences in manchester, made her suspicious of all that species of humanity, seemed aware of what was going on, but she could not catch them red-handed. and knowing that she suspected them, the brothers made life miserable for her in a hundred ways. they hid her crutch in the most out-of-way places, adroitly misplaced her cooking utensils, or whatever article she was about to use, causing her many a long and annoying search when she was in a hurry. they stopped the clock or set it ahead with aggravating frequency; and discovering that the plucky girl grimly bore their tormenting in silence, they grew bolder, jumping out at her from unexpected corners, tweaking her long braids, tripping her up, and calling her "carrots," or "red-top," when tabitha was out of hearing, for they still entertained a wholesome fear of that strong-armed, hot-tempered little housekeeper, who demanded instant obedience from her charges, and was able to enforce her authority by main strength if necessary. also, they felt a certain boyish admiration for the tall, lithe girl who bore such a record for bravery, though not for the world would they have admitted the fact, even to each other; and they could not resist plaguing her on the sly whenever a chance presented itself. but to tease her openly was out of the question; so gloriana received a double share of tormenting, which she bore with such uncomplaining fortitude that the boys forgot to be cautious, and one afternoon while tabitha was in town on an errand, mercedes came upon them as they were limping about the kitchen in an exaggerated fashion chanting with tuneless voices, "baa-baa, black sheep, have you any wool? yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full; one for the master, one for the dame, and one for the 'gory head' who limps awful lame." tears were standing in the tired gray eyes, but gloriana, with her back resolutely turned toward her tormentors, scrubbed her pan of vegetables more vigorously, and tried not to hear the taunting words, though she knew from the sound of their steps that the boys were circling nearer and ever nearer, and would soon jerk off her hair-ribbon or poke her in the back. "cowards!" exploded mercedes wrathfully. "you'd never dare do that if tabitha was here! i'm going to tell her just how mean you are!" "tattletale, tattletale!" jeered billiard, taking a rapid survey of the yard as he limped past the door, to see if the other housekeeper had by any chance returned from the post-office. "you wait and see what you get when tabby finds out what you have been doing," threatened the girl; and the little name slipping inadvertently from her tongue gave the boys another inspiration. "tabby catt, tabby catt," they began in unison, "where have you been? i've been to silver bow to buy me a bean. tabby catt, tabby catt, what saw you there? i saw 'gory hanner' with her fearful red hair." so intent were they upon rendering their new song, that neither boy heard the screen open and close softly behind him, but mercedes caught a glimpse of the set, white face and flashing eyes through the doorway, and held her breath in mingled fear and expectation. "billy goat, billy goat, where have you been?" a low, ominous voice interrupted; and the two tormentors came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the floor, paralyzed at the unexpected appearance of the black-haired girl. "a-chewing the whiskers, that grow under my chin," the voice calmly finished, and seizing the pan of dirty water from which gloriana had just rescued the last potato, tabitha dashed its contents over the astonished duet. then realizing that once more she had let go of her fiery temper, she fled from the house up the trail to a great boulder on the summit of the mountain, and threw herself face down in an abandon of shame, remorse and despair. "oh, dear, why can't i be good?" she sobbed. "just when i think i can hold onto myself and be ladylike no matter how mad i get, something comes up to show me that i'm mistaken. i'm just as hateful as billiard! oh, dear! and i thought he was being so good, and all the while he was doing mean things behind my back. i make a miserable fizzle of everything i undertake. what would mrs. mckittrick say if she could have seen me a few minutes ago? now i've lost all the hold i had on the boys. they can't respect anyone who doesn't control her temper any better than i. "how i wish i had never offered to take care of the tribe of mckittrick! no, that isn't so, either, for then the mother couldn't have gone inside with mr. mckittrick, and perhaps the operation would have killed him. i'm glad he had his chance, bad boys or no bad boys! but oh, i am so thankful that miss davis will soon be home. i will never play housekeeper again, never! but now,--how can i make it right with billiard and toady? what a world this is to live in! always stepping on someone's toes and then having to beg pardon. the trouble of it is i--i don't believe i am very sorry that i doused the boys. i am sorry i got so mad and did such a hateful thing, of course, but they deserved more than they got. and yet they aren't to blame, either, after the bringing up they have had. i suppose--it's up to me--to do the apologizing act--myself--this trip." drying her eyes and taking a firm grip on herself, she descended from her refuge and sought out the boys in their room. "come in," billiard called gruffly in response to her knock, though inwardly he was quaking with fear lest it might be the sheriff or uncle hogan, whose authority he had never but once dared to defy. so he was visibly relieved when he saw tabitha standing alone on the threshold, but waited uncertainly for her to state her errand. she was as anxious as they to have the ordeal over with, and plunged into the middle of her carefully framed speech, saying briefly, "i came to ask your pardon for my rudeness of a few minutes ago. i forgot myself. it was wrong of me to speak and act as i did, no matter how great the provocation." her wandering gaze suddenly fell upon billiard's face, just in time to see him wink wickedly at toady, and her good resolutions abruptly took wing. "but you deserved every bit you got," she finished fiercely, "and the next time i'll _souse you in the rain barrel_!" slamming the door in their surprised faces, she marched majestically away to the kitchen, and furiously began beating up a cake, so chagrined over this new defeat of her plans that she could not keep the tears from her eyes. suddenly a meek voice at her elbow spoke hesitatingly, "say, tabitha, we've apologized to gory anne--gloriana, i mean. will you--excuse--me for what we said about you, too?" toady's big, beseeching, brown eyes met hers unflinchingly--he certainly knew how to look angelic when occasion demanded it--and tabitha relented. "yes, toady, i'll excuse _you_," she said with meaning emphasis, which was not lost on the older brother, keeping well in the background. "i--i'm ready to be excused, too," billiard gulped at length, shuffling forward a few steps, but not raising his eyes from the floor. "very well," she answered coldly. "but don't you dare bother gloriana again. i won't stand for it!" "no, ma'am," billiard responded meekly; and the two boys made good their escape, feeling very virtuous indeed. chapter v irene's song "miss davis gets home to-day," sang tabitha under her breath, as she drew on her slippers that bright, hot morning. "do you know that, gloriana holliday?" "haven't i been counting every minute,--yes, every second for the past twenty-four hours?" laughed the second girl, letting down her luxuriant auburn mane and beginning to brush it vigorously. "but i had a horrible dream last night. i thought she sent us her wedding announcements, and we had to stay here all summer." "false prophet! how dare you dream such a thing as that? didn't we have a letter from her just two days ago saying she would reach here on to-day's train? and anyway, dreams always go by contraries, you know." "it's mighty lucky they do in this case," gloriana replied seriously. "but i woke in a cold sweat, the dream was so very real. i couldn't help wondering if something _had_ delayed her so she wouldn't reach here as soon as we had expected." "what a pessimist you are!" cried tabitha, eyeing her companion in surprise. "you are usually just the opposite. what is the matter with you to-day, glory?" "oh, i just somehow feel it in my bones that something is going to happen----" "to be sure! miss davis is coming home and relieve us of our job." "something disappointing, i mean. "well, you just get that feeling out of your bones right away!" commanded tabitha, thrusting the last pin into her shining, black hair and whisking into her big, kitchen apron. "you must have the rheumatism and that is bad for one's health. one more meal after this, and--exit tabitha catt and gloriana holliday, housekeepers." gloriana laughed, as, with a comical flourish and backward courtesy, the black-haired girl disappeared through the door, but her gay spirits were contagious, and presently the younger maid joined her companion in the kitchen, singing softly: "'maxwellton's braes are bonnie where early fa's the dew, and 'twas there that annie laurie gave me her promise true.'" "there, that sounds better," tabitha commented. "really, i was beginning to get shivers of misgiving myself from your gloomy forebodings in the other room. what shall we have for dinner in honor of the occasion? green peas, asparagus tips, french potatoes and caramel pudding? or shall we invest in some strawberries at two bits a box and have shortcake for dessert?" merrily she skipped about the kitchen, making ready the simple breakfast for the hungry brood; and when that was out of the way, and the house swept and dusted, the two housekeepers began preparations for an elaborate dinner. "to celebrate our release from bondage," laughed gloriana, browning the sugar for a caramel pudding, while tabitha carefully concocted her best layer cake. so busy were they that the morning flew by as on wings, and before either was aware of the hour, a shrill blast of a whistle proclaimed the approach of a locomotive. "the train!" gasped tabitha. "and we haven't tidied the children up or changed our own dresses," mourned gloriana. "i intended to meet miss davis at the station, to be sure she came here for dinner," wailed the other. "it's too late now to do that, but we can make the youngsters a little more presentable before the 'bus comes up from the depot," suggested the younger girl. "they certainly will need cleaning up by this time, i'll admit. call them, will you, please?" gloriana stepped to the door and yodelled shrilly, but there was no answering trill, save the echo thrown back by the mountain peaks. "decamped again!" sighed tabitha impatiently. "did you ever see a bunch of children who could do the disappearing act as quickly or as completely as the tribe of mckittrick? if you will watch these potatoes, i will go hunting. they were here only a few seconds ago, seems to me." briskly she circled the house. not a chick nor a child was anywhere in evidence. down to the boulder playhouse, up the trail to the summit, but nowhere were the children to be found. tabitha became alarmed. what mischief had billiard led them into now? he had been perfectly angelic for twenty-four hours. it was time for another outbreak. shading her eyes with her hand, she anxiously surveyed the surrounding hillsides, the gray flat below, the dingy station house, and presently her sharp eyes espied a procession of lagging figures straggling down the steps from the depot platform. "can it be--" she began. "yes, i do believe it is! horrors! whatever will miss davis say when she sees that bunch of dirty ragamuffins! one, two, three, four--billiard is lugging janie pickaback, and mercy and toady have made a chair for rosslyn. yes, that is my family!" she turned to go back to the house, but another thought had suddenly occurred to her. "miss davis! she's not with them. can it be she didn't come? was gloriana right after all? she surely would not let the children plod home in the heat while she rode in the 'bus. no, there are only eight people in that bunch and they are all children. oh, dear, suppose glory's dream has come true!" mechanically she turned back to the house, and her comrade in misery, catching a glimpse of her disturbed face, cried in alarm, "can't you find any of them?" "yes, they have been to the depot." "the little rascals! without so much as asking leave! and it is such a long walk for rosslyn and janie!" "i suppose billiard put them up to it," tabitha murmured, glad that glory had not asked about miss davis; and she fell to dishing up potatoes with such reckless energy that the hot fat slopped over and blistered her hand. "oh!" cried gloriana pityingly, "you have burned yourself. let me finish taking them up." "no, it's nothing. serves me right for getting so provoked. i do wish i could learn to control my temper." gloriana remained discreetly silent, thinking that tabitha was angry because of the children's latest escapade; and in silence they finished dinner preparations, both waiting anxiously, nervously for the runaways' return. at length they heard them coming up the steep path from town, and susie flew through the door with two letters in her hand. "they are both for you, tabitha," she panted. "one's from mamma. i'd know her writing in the dark. miss davis didn't come on to-day's train, but i s'pose likely she'll be here to-morrow, don't you think?" tabitha snatched the envelopes from susie's outstretched hand, and ripped them open with one stroke of the knife she held, muttering feverishly, "the other is from miss davis." her quick eyes swept the page at a single glance, it seemed, and a smothered groan escaped her. "what is it?" ventured gloriana timidly, the morning's foreboding gripping her anew. "she has broken her leg." "broken her leg!" repeated the red-haired girl dully. "broken her leg!" echoed mystified susie. "who? mamma?" "miss davis." "holy snakes!" "why, susie!" "i mean--i--i--that just slipped out accidental. i was so s'prised at wondering what we'd do with a broken-legged woman hopping around here." "but she won't be hopping around here," tabitha grimly told her. "she must stay flat on her back in bed for three weeks, and then it will be days and days before she can get around without a crutch." "then--who--will housekeep--for us?" gasped susie. "i reckon it is up to you to stay a while longer. mrs. goodale's grand-baby's got the fever and she is going to stay in carson city until he's well. he is the only grandbaby she's got." "how did you hear that?" demanded tabitha, her heart sinking within her at susie's words. "don't we know the goodales well? she has only one girl, and that girl has only one baby." "oh, i didn't mean that! where did you hear that the baby was sick?" "mr. porter told us at the station. he has just got home from carson city, and he saw mrs. goodale there. why don't you read mamma's letter? you hain't looked at it yet." tabitha had completely forgotten the second envelope, and now hurriedly drew out the written page and scanned the blurred, uneven lines. then without a word of explanation, she slipped the paper back into its envelope, and dropped it into her pocket, saying only, "let the children have their dinner now. everything is ready." but all through the meal she was unusually preoccupied, puzzling, pondering, struggling, longing to be alone with herself, and yet held to her post by her sense of duty. at last, however, the hungry appetites were satisfied, the chattering children had gone back to their play, the dishes were washed and piled away in the cupboard, and tabitha slipped away to the little room which she shared with gloriana and janie, knowing that no one would molest her here as long as the lame girl stood guard at the door. once alone, she spread the two letters out on the bed before her and read and re-read them until she knew both word for word. only one course lay open to her, that was plain; but yet her heart rebelled hotly against the circumstances which made this one course the only right one. "there never was such a girl for getting into scrapes,", she groaned. "and this time i've not only got myself into one, but gloriana as well. it will be six weeks at the very least before miss davis can come home, and there is no telling when mrs. goodale will be back. it is out of the question for mrs. mckittrick to leave her husband just when he needs her most, even though she does offer to come. no, it's up to me, as susie says. and i did want to go to catalina with myra so much! here's my whole summer spoiled just because of a hasty promise. "_tabitha catt_! aren't you ashamed of yourself! you know right well that mrs. mckittrick never could have gone to the city if you hadn't taken charge of her children, and the chances are that mr. mckittrick would have died without her. he isn't wholly out of danger even yet. you selfish wretch! what do you think of a person who will talk the way you have been doing? oh, dear, what a queer world it is! i wouldn't mind so much if gloriana didn't have to suffer, too; but it is too bad to keep her here on the boiling desert when she might be enjoying life on the island or at the beach. it wouldn't be so bad if those awful boys weren't here, either; but they are the _limit_. i am on edge every minute of the day, looking for the next outbreak. i don't believe they _can_ be good. and yet--there's no other way--out of it. i can't let mrs. mckittrick come home just because i am too utterly selfish to stay here myself. she has been so good to me. and it is positively out of the question for her to have the children with her." undecided, rebellious, unhappy, tabitha crossed the room to the window, and stood looking out over the barren mountainside. should she? could she? what ought she to do? on the other side of a little gully just opposite the window, sat irene, rocking to and fro on a teetering stone, and singing in a high, sweet treble to a battered rag-doll, hugged tightly to her breast. the words floated up to the girl in the window, indistinct at first, but growing clearer as the singer forgot her surroundings; and tabitha suddenly found herself listening to the queer, garbled words of the song that fell from the childish lips. "what in creation does she think she is singing?" she asked herself in amazement, recognizing with a fresh pang the tune gloriana had begun the day with. irene finished the verse and commenced again: "maxwellton breaks her bonnet, and nearly swallows two, an' 'twas their hat and her locket gave me a pummy stew. gave me a pummy stew which near forgot can be, and for bonnet and a locket i'd lame a downy deed." three times she repeated the distorted version of that grand old song, and somehow the frown of perplexity smoothed itself from the listener's brow. "dear little girl," she whispered; "it's your father and your mother! i am a selfish old heathen! of course i will stay as long as i am needed!" quietly returning to the kitchen where gloriana sat pretending to sew, she laid the mother's letter on the table before the seamstress, and when the gray eyes had read the message and glanced inquiringly up at the dark face beside her, tabitha nodded her head. "yes," she half-whispered. "i can't desert them now." then after a moment of silence, she added, "but you will go with myra, glory. please! i'd feel so much better, knowing that you were having a good time." the red head shook a vigorous denial. "i shall stay with you," gloriana declared. "i knew you wouldn't leave here as long as you were needed, and you needn't think i'll let you stay alone. i shouldn't have a good time at all if i did such a thing as that, tabitha." "but it may mean all summer," tabitha protested. "and it does get so hot here. besides, there will be little fun in such a vacation." "then it is up to us to _make_ some fun," said gloriana firmly. "that's so," tabitha replied, startled at the thought. "maybe the boys wouldn't be such trials then. let's try it!" "all right," agreed gloriana. and straightway the two girls put their heads together to devise some method of breaking the deadly monotony of the desert days, and bringing added enjoyment to their troublesome charges. chapter vi gloriana's burglars there was a glorious moon that night, and as the girls were washing the supper dishes, tabitha proposed, "let's go up to the peak when we are through here and watch the moon rise." there was a moment of dead silence in the room. usually the two inexperienced young housekeepers sought to hustle their restless, boisterous brood into bed as soon as the evening meal had ended and the night's chores were done. what had come over her to suggest such a thing as an evening stroll, or climb, as it would be if they went up to the peak? susie looked at tabitha with incredulous eyes, then glanced questioningly at mercedes, but the older sister was as much mystified as were the rest. "do you mean that, or are you joking?" demanded irene bluntly. "i mean it," replied tabitha calmly, though her face flushed uncomfortably under the surprised stare of eight pair of eyes. "you usually chase us off to bed, you know," said susie, still wondering what the unexpected proposal meant. "well, it is such a lovely night, i thought it would be fun to follow the trail to the top of the mountain, and watch the moon come up." "and tell stories?" breathed irene, clasping her hands ecstatically. "yes, if you wish," laughed the senior housekeeper. "and speak pieces!" cried mercedes, who was never tired of hearing tabitha recite. "perhaps." "and sing songs," suggested rosslyn, who loved to listen to gloriana's rich, sweet voice carolling joyous lays or softly crooning lullabyes. "maybe." "and build a bonfire to roast--" began billiard, but paused, remembering that it was too early for green corn yet, and not being able to think of anything else roastable. "mosquitoes," finished toady mischievously. but tabitha's face clouded anxiously. "i am afraid we'll have to let the bonfire go this time," she said gravely. "there is a law against such things here in silver bow. a fire is such a hard thing to fight on the desert, supposing it once gets started; so no one takes any risks." toady's face fell and billiard looked rebellious, seeing which, tabitha hastily continued, "some day we will go down to the river----" "oh, and have a picnic!" squealed susie, giving such an eager little hop of anticipation that the cup she was drying flew out of her hand and half-way across the room, falling with a dull thud in a pan of bread sponge which tabitha had just been mixing. "my!" breathed irene enviously, "i wish my dishes would do that! when _i_ drop one it always bu'sts." her peculiar grievance, coupled with susie's look of utter amazement at the performance of her cup, caused a merry laugh all around, and the subject of bonfire was speedily forgotten, to tabitha's unbounded relief. the dishes were soon washed and piled away in the cupboard, the evening chores completed, and the troop of eager children romped gaily up the rocky trail to the summit of the mountain, on which the eagles' nest was built. it was just such a night as tabitha loved, and she would gladly have sat in silence the whole evening through, watching the barren landscape lying glorified in the white moonlight; but not so with the younger members of the party. to be sure, it was a pretty picture that the old moon revealed to their eyes, but even the most beautiful pictures cannot hold a child's attention long. it is excitement that they desire; so scarcely had the party reached their goal than inez demanded imperiously, "now tabitha, speak something for us." "oh, not right away," protested the older girl, glancing wistfully about her at the beauties of the night, and longing for a few moments of solitude that she might enjoy herself in her own peculiar fashion. "let's watch the moon come up." "no," clamored the boys, who had heard tabitha's many talents lauded by their cousins until their curiosity had well-nigh reached the bursting point. "speak right away. it's no fun watching the old moon come up! besides, it's high enough now to make things as plain as day." "suppose you recite something first, then," suggested gloriana, noting the wistfulness in the big, black eyes of her new sister. "not on your tin-type!" billiard emphatically declared. "it's ladies first, you know! we want tabitha to spiel." "well, then, what shall it be?" sighed that young lady resignedly. "something with ginger in it," was toady's prompt reply. "not a sissy-girl piece." "about a battle or a prize-fight," suggested billiard with amusing impartiality. "_barbara fritchie_," put in eager irene. "no, don't," cried susie. "we've heard that so often. speak _sheridan's ride_." "or _driving home the cows_," suggested mercedes. "i think that is so pretty, and it is a war piece, too." "but it is too sad," promptly vetoed susie. "we want something--noisy." "with cannons and guns," seconded the boys. so tabitha obligingly recited the thrilling lines: "'up from the south at break of day, bringing to winchester fresh dismay, the affrighted air with a shudder bore, like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, the terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, telling the battle was on once more, and sheridan twenty miles away.'" and her thoughts flew back to that black day in the dingy old town hall, when she had declaimed those very lines, and of the dire punishment which had overtaken her; but the sting of it was all gone now, and she found herself smiling at the recollection of that fateful encore. everything was so different these days. she could afford to forget the old heartaches and longings in the happiness which had come to her during the past year. "'here is the steed that saved the day by carrying sheridan into the fight, from winchester, twenty miles away!'" she finished; and before the enthusiastic audience realized that the recitation was ended, she began _horatius at the bridge_. then followed in quick succession all the thrilling wartime pieces at her tongue's command, while the delighted children held their breath in wondering admiration. breathless at length, she paused, and surveying the circle of faces about her, said whimsically, "that's a plenty, i reckon. my throat is as dry as the desert!" "just one more!" they pleaded eagerly. "but i have spoken all i can think of now with guns and cannons in them." "then give us a different kind," wheedled irene, in her most persuasive tones. "that one you spoke may day at ivy hall," suggested mercedes, "when you tumbled off the platform." "tumbled off the platform?" echoed the boys in great surprise. this was an adventure which had never been recounted to them. "how did she tumble off the platform? tell us about it." tabitha merely laughed and shook her head, but mercedes, elated at the opportunity of singing the praises of her idol, regaled them with a laughable description of tabitha's mishap. this led to other boarding school reminiscences,--the christening of the vessel, when cassandra took her memorable plunge into the ocean; the night of the opera and their experiences with the runaway ostriches; the voice of the mysterious singer in the bell-tower, which some of the more timid students had mistaken for a ghost; and finally, the appearance of the ivy hall ghost itself. the mckittrick girls had heard all these events recounted so often that they knew them almost by heart; but, nevertheless, they were never tired of listening, and drank in the stories of all those delightful mishaps with almost as much eagerness as was displayed by billiard and toady, hearing them for the first time. but all frolics come to an end, and tabitha at length roused with a start to announce, "that clock struck ten, i am positive." "what clock?" "yours. the one in the kitchen. we were unusually quiet, i reckon, for i was able to count ten strokes. we must fly into bed as fast as we can get there. i had no idea it was so late, although janie and rosslyn have been snoozing for ages. come on, let's march. see who can get to the house first." away they scampered as hard as they could run down the rough path, while tabitha and glory wrestled with the two little sleepers, trying to rouse them from their slumber so they might walk down to the cottage instead of having to be carried. but rosslyn refused to waken thoroughly, and created such a scene that it was some minutes before they could coax him to follow them down the trail. so when they entered the moonlit kitchen, leading the stumbling boy and carrying janie, who could not keep her eyes open or her feet under her, the rest of the family had vanished completely. "can they be in bed already?" asked tabitha in surprise. "have we been wrestling with those children so long?" gloriana tiptoed across the floor and opened the door to the room where the four sisters slept, and disclosed four flushed faces peacefully reposing on their pillows. mercedes and irene were already fast asleep, and the other two so near the land of nod that their eyes merely fluttered open for an instant at the sound of the opening door, and then drowsily fell again. satisfied, gloriana turned to tabitha, busy trying to slip rosslyn's nightgown over his limp body, and whispered, "all serene!" "then skip off to bed," said the other girl. "i will bring janie when i come." "but----" "oh, it is just the bread. i want to knead it down once more. it won't take me half a jiffy, but if i don't do it now, it will be all over the floor by morning." so gloriana crept wearily away to her room, for it had been a long, hard, disappointing day, but a moment later she scurried back into the kitchen; and when tabitha wheeled about in surprise at her hasty entrance, she laughed nervously, half apologetically, "i kicked someone's shoes under the bed! don't know whether they are my own or a burglar's!" knowing how timid the red-haired girl still felt on the desert at night, tabitha refrained from smiling at what seemed an uncalled-for fright, and said reassuringly, "no burglars ever visit silver bow. there is nothing in a miner's shack to tempt them." "i should think there would be plenty of gold nuggets," answered gloriana in surprise. "not many in silver bow houses, i reckon," tabitha placidly replied, "but if you are afraid to go to bed alone, you better wait for me. i'll be ready in a minute." she did not mean to speak scornfully, for she sympathized heartily with the sensitive gain remembering with what horror the desert nights used to fill her when silver bow first became her home. but gloriana thought she detected a hint of ridicule in her companion's voice, and hurriedly departed for their room once more, saying with a great show of bravado, "oh, i'm not afraid! come to think of it, i believe i left my slippers at the foot of the bed, and that is probably what i hit." the door closed behind her again, and tabitha, smiling sympathetically at the girl's attempt at bravery, began to cover the mound of soft, white dough in the huge pan, when a wild, unearthly shriek echoed through the house, followed by the sharp crack of a pistol, and the muffled fall of a body. for one brief instant tabitha stood rooted to the spot, fairly paralyzed with horror. then the thought of glory gave wings to her feet, and, heedless of her own danger, she flew for the scene of disaster, whispering to herself, "oh, why did i leave the house unlocked all the evening while we were gone?" as the door of her room swung back on its hinges, the first thing her eyes fell upon was the flickering, smoking, chimneyless lamp standing on the low dresser; and even in her terror she wondered how it chanced that careful glory had neglected to protect the light properly. the next object that met her gaze was glory herself, leaning white and limp against the closet door, holding a battered, smoking pistol at arm's length from her. "glory, are you hurt?" she gasped. "no!" "but the gun--the shot----" "no one's shot--only the lamp chimney! i aimed at the--the burglars under the bed, and shot off the lamp chimney," she panted, beginning to laugh hysterically, and tightening her grasp on the rusty gun. "where is the burglar?" intrepidly she stooped and peered under the bed, half expecting to see the disturber of their peace still hiding there. "in the closet,---both of them!" "two?" "yes." "oh, glory!" "they are locked in. here is the key." "i must go for the constable." a scuffling sound suddenly issued from the closet, and gloriana cried in terror, "and leave me here alone with them?" "there is no other way. i'll be gone but a minute. they surely can't get loose in that time!" and she darted from the room without giving gloriana opportunity for further objections. hardly had the sound of her racing footsteps died away in the distance, however, when the red-haired guard, leaning against the door, half dead with fear, was electrified at hearing a muffled voice call through the keyhole, "i say, glory, let us out, do! we were just a-foolin'. didn't you know 'twas us? please don't turn us over to the sheriff!" "'twas tabitha's story about the ivy hall ghost that made us think of it," pleaded toady. "we ain't sure-enough burglars. we just meant to scare you a little bit." "and you sure scared _us_ enough to make up," coaxed billiard. "please let us out before tabitha gets back. she said she'd write uncle hogan the next time we got into trouble." "and that will mean he will take us away from here," wheedled toady. "he's awful hard on a fellow." "you deserve it!" suddenly answered glory, with a grimness that startled even the girl herself. "then you won't let us out?" cried the boys in great dismay. "i--i haven't decided yet," gloriana was forced to admit. "but tabitha will be back directly." "yes, she's a swift runner. i don't think she will be gone long." glory was beginning to enjoy the strange situation. "oh, glory, don't keep us here, please! prayed billiard desperately. "we'll _never_ play burglar again!" promised repentant toady. "no, it will be something else the next time," said their jailer heartlessly. "if you'll just set us free this time, we'll be reg'lar sissy girls all the rest of the summer," they cried. "you have promised so many times--" glory began wearily. "oh, i can hear her coming!" cried toady, half frantic at thought of the constable whom tabitha had gone to summon. gloriana thought she could, also, and swiftly turning the key in the lock, she let the quaking prisoners out, urging them on with a violent push as they scurried past her, and hissing in their ears, "scamper! if you aren't in bed when she gets here, she'll know you did it." but they needed no urging. their feet scarcely touched the floor, it seemed to gloriana, as they made a mad rush for their room; and when tabitha returned a moment later, alone, they lay tense and breathless under the coverlets of the cot. "glory!" they heard her ejaculate. "you let them get away from you!" "i couldn't help it," replied the red-haired girl in excited tones. "couldn't you get anyone? wasn't the constable at home?" "no, but he'll investigate as soon as----" the rest of the sentence was lost in the slamming of a door; but the two culprits lay and quaked with fear long after the rest of the household was fast asleep, little dreaming that as soon as the door was tightly closed so they could no longer distinguish the voices, glory had wheeled on tabitha and giggled accusingly, "you knew all the time!" "not until i ran past their door and saw their bed was empty," whispered the black-haired girl with her hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter she could no longer suppress. "what possessed you to keep on, then?' "i surmised what would happen, and decided to scare _them_ a little, too. so i crept around the house and listened to you talking with them. when they thought they heard me coming back, i concluded it was time i did put in appearance again; but i thought i'd die laughing to hear them scuttling into bed. now i reckon the score is even!" "then you won't tell their uncle this time?" "i ought to." "they've had a big punishment already, puss." "they deserve it." "i--i scared them stiff when i shot." "poor girlie, and you were as badly scared yourself. my brave glory!" "don't praise me, kitty. i'm an awful coward. my teeth are chattering yet." "and you are trembling as if you had the ague. are you sure you're not hurt? i thought i heard something fall." "the gun kicked and knocked me over," gloriana admitted. "that is what gave the boys a chance to scramble into the closet. i didn't know it was billiard and toady then, because the bullet splintered the lamp chimney and i couldn't see real well." "but you locked them in." "oh, that was easy! they were holding the door shut with all their might, and the only thing left to do was to turn the key in the lock. i am so thankful it was only a prank!" "so am i," tabitha admitted grudgingly. "but i can't say i relish that class of pranks." "give them another chance, tabitha. i think they really are trying to be good." "well, i'll--see. we'll forget all about it now and go to sleep. morning can't be very far off." chapter vii toady and the castor beans but when morning dawned, gloriana lay flushed and feverish upon her pillow, her head throbbing until she could scarcely open her eyes. tabitha was alarmed, and between her worry over the sick girl lying in their darkened room, and her ministrations to croupy janie, who had caught cold sleeping in the night air on the mountain top, the poor housekeeper was so nearly distracted that she had little time to devote to the rest of her large family, and they wandered about the premises like so many disconsolate chicks who had lost their mother. it was an ideal time to get into mischief, and yet something restrained them. the girls, it seemed, had slept through all the racket of the previous night, and were not aware that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, but they could not understand the tense atmosphere; and when mercedes heroically tried to fill tabitha's place the other members of the brood resented her authority, frankly found fault with her badly cooked oatmeal and unsalted potatoes, and insulted her attempts at housekeeping in such a heartless, unfeeling manner that she finally dissolved in tears and refused to do anything further toward their comfort. susie and inez quarreled over the dishes and had the sulks all day. the boys, still fearful of the consequences of their latest prank, and somewhat remorseful at having frightened gloriana into a fever, wandered aimlessly away toward town, glad to escape from tabitha's watchful eye, and greatly relieved to think no mention had been made by anyone of the burglars' visit. "guess the girls couldn't have heard the noise last night," ventured toady, when they had left the house far enough behind to make it impossible for anyone to overhear their conversation. "the girls?" repeated billiard blankly, his thoughts on another phase of the situation. "mercedes and susie and the twins, i mean." "oh! p'r'aps tabitha's making 'em keep still." "do you think tabitha knows we did it?" cried toady in alarm. "naw, you ninny! that is, not 'nless glory's gone and squealed." "but----" "i meant she'd prob'ly try to hush them up if they had heard our racket, so's the whole town wouldn't know about the burglars." "why? that's just what is worrying me. if she has hushed them up, it's just to make us believe she doesn't suspect. i'll bet the constable will be up there bright and early with his d'tectives, asking all sorts of questions, and everyone in silver bow will join in the hunt." "then we'll be found out even if glory doesn't tell." toady nodded gloomily. "it'll go hard with us if the _constable_ should find out who did it." again toady nodded. "we--better--light--out--now." toady stopped stock-still in the roadway. "why?" he demanded. "do you want to go to jail?" "naw, but they don't put _kids_ in jail here. i s'pose likely we'd get a good thrashing----" "would you rather stay here and take a whaling than skip while you've got the chance?" cried billiard, turning pale at the mere thought of such a punishment at the hands of a desert constable, who, somehow, in his imagination, had assumed the proportions and disposition of a monster. "we--we deserve a sound licking," bravely replied toady, whose conscience was troubling him sorely. it was billiard's turn to halt in the rocky road and stare with unbelieving eyes at his brother, finally finding vent for his feelings by hissing the single word, "coward!" "no more coward than you!" toady denied. "we have been as mean as dirt ever since we came here, and if tabitha had been as hateful as most girls are, she'd have written uncle hogan long ago." "so you're fishing to get her to write, are you?" "no, i ain't, but i believe she'd--like it--better--if we told her ourselves, instead of getting found out by someone else." "oh! going to turn goody-goody, are you?" sneered billiard, not willing to admit that he had been thinking similar thoughts. toady bristled. "i hate goody-goodies as bad as you do," he said, with eyes flashing. "but i'm going to own up to my part in last night's racket. we might have scared glory to death." "pooh! you make me sick! suppose you think she'll let you off easy if you squeal. well, go ahead, tattler! you will change your mind maybe, when she writes to uncle hogan." "if she wants to write uncle hogan, let her write!" screamed the exasperated toady, stung by his brother's taunts. "i'm going to quit bothering them right here and now; and what's more, i'm going to own up, too." "tattler!" toady turned on his heel and strode haughtily away, not daring to trust himself to further speech. "coward! 'fraid cat! sissy girl!" jeered billiard. that was the last straw. the younger boy wheeled about and retraced his steps in a slow, ominous manner. thrusting his angry face close to billiard's, and shaking his clenched fist under his nose, he said quietly, "say that again if you dare, williard mckittrick!" billiard was delighted. he had succeeded in making toady mad, and now he would have the pleasure of thrashing him. he felt just like pounding someone. "coward! 'fraid cat! sis----" a white fist shot out with accurate aim, striking the bully squarely between the eyes. a shower of stars danced merrily about him, blood spurted from his nose, and the next thing he knew, he was stretched flat on the rocky ground, with a grim-faced toady bending over him. "do you take it back?" a menacing voice was asking. "you--you--" spluttered the angry victim, mopping his streaming nose with his coat sleeve. "or do you want some more?" the doubled-up fist drew perilously near the disfigured face in the gravel. "that's it! hit a fellow when he's down!" taunted the fallen bully, still unable to realize just what had happened. "i shan't hit you while you're down," said toady calmly but decisively. "i'll let you get onto your pins and then i'll knock them from under you again." and billiard, looking up into the determined face above him, knew that it was no idle threat. toady was in deadly earnest, but still the older boy temporized. it would never do to give in to toady. if he took such a step as that, his leadership was gone forever. "aw, come off!" he began, in what he meant to be jocular tones. "quit your fooling and let me up! i've swallowed a bucket of blood already!" "will you take it back, or shall i pummel the stuffing out of you?" billiard capitulated. "i take it back," he said sullenly, "but,"--as toady removed his knees from his chest and allowed him to rise--"i'll get even with you for this." "all right," responded the younger boy cheerfully. "but don't forget that you will get what's coming to you, too." "don't be so sure, sonny! you took me off guard; you know you did, or you'd never have laid me out. you weren't fair." toady, tasting his first victory over his bully brother, and finding it very sweet, suggested casually, "i'll scrap _you_ any time you say. now, if you like." "my head aches too bad," said the other hastily. "that was a nasty place to fall. it's a wonder it didn't fracture my skull." toady looked back at the spot which billiard had adorned a moment before, and remorse overtook him. "i'm sorry, old chap, if i hurt you," he said contritely. "i wasn't aiming to put you out of business, but you made me so all-fired mad----" "aw, forget it! i was just fooling," protested billiard, shamed by toady's frank and manly confession. "say, ain't that the haunted house the girls are always talking about?" "which? maybe 'tis. it's the last one in town, they said. mercy promised to point it out the next time we climbed the trail behind the house. do you s'pose it really is haunted?" "i dunno," billiard answered indifferently. haunted houses in his opinion were things to be avoided. he had merely sought to distract toady's thoughts from their fistic encounter by mentioning the place. but the younger boy's curiosity was aroused, and as they neared the deserted, unpainted, dilapidated hut, he studied it closely. to him it looked like any other untenanted shack in the mining town, and so he said musingly, "i wonder if that man really did kill himself there, or was he murdered?" billiard shivered. "mercedes said he _died_ there. that's all i know." "she told me he was _found_ dead, with all his pockets turned inside out, and----" "oh, toady," interrupted billiard again, "here's a plant just like those mamma always has in her garden. i didn't s'pose things like that would grow here on the desert." "that's a castor bean." "like they make castor oil of?" "sure! at least, i guess so. glory told me it's the only thing green on the desert that the burros won't eat. folks could have flowers here the same as back home if water didn't cost so much, and the burros didn't eat the plants as fast as they came up." "it's the first castor bean _i've_ seen here." "why, there's a whole bunch down by the drug-store! we've passed them dozens of times. where are your eyes?" billiard's face flushed wrathfully. toady's recent victory had made him suddenly very important and domineering, but his fists were certainly hard enough to deal a telling blow; so the older boy, still caressing his swollen, aching nose, thought it wise to overlook such sarcastic flings, and, pretending to be deeply interested in the queer-leaved plant, he casually asked, "do they all have such funny burrs on them?" "when they're big enough. that's where the castor beans themselves grow." billiard gingerly picked one of the strange balls and minutely examined the hooked prickles of the reddish covering. then with his jack-knife he proceeded to investigate the inside. "do you s'pose they really make castor oil out of these? i don't see how they can." "glory says they do." "the insides _smell_ something like castor oil, but they don't look at all oily." "i'll bet they taste oily." "stump you to eat one!" "huh! it doesn't bother me to take castor oil. i can eat anything!" to prove his boast, he plumped one white bean into his mouth, and chewed it down with apparent relish. billiard watched him with eagle eyes to see that he actually did swallow it, then held out another, and toady obediently munched it. three, four, five,--bean by bean they disappeared down his throat; but at last he rebelled. "you hain't tasted one, billiard mckittrick! how many do you think you are going to feed _me_?" the brother laughed derisively. "wanted to see how big a fool you was," he jeered. "thought you were going to eat all there were on the bush." toady made no reply. the beans tasted anything but appetizing, and already the boy was beginning to feel queer. "sure you don't want some more?" teased billiard. "no. guess i'll go home." "and tat--tell about last night?" billiard remembered all at once the reason they were so far from the eagles' nest, and was alarmed lest toady's threatened confession should involve him also. "y-e-s." "i think you're downright mean, toady mckittrick!" "i shan't tell on you." "might as well! they will know i was in it." "and you know you ought to own up, too." "cut it out, good--toady. if you won't tell, i'll not plague them--nor you--any more." toady silently plodded on, and in exasperation billiard caught him by the shoulder and shook him roughly. "le' go!" muttered the boy. "i'm going home, i tell you! ge' out my way!" the white misery of that round, freckled face as it turned toward him struck terror to the older brother's heart, and he excitedly demanded, "what's the matter, kid? are you sick?" "feel funny," panted the castor-bean victim. "i--want--to--lie--down." "let's hurry then. we'll soon be home." billiard was genuinely alarmed now, and seizing the other's cold hand, he tried to hasten the lagging steps up the rocky trail. but toady was really too ill to care what happened or where he went, and he stumbled blindly on, tripping over a loose pebble here, or bruised by staggering into a boulder there, protesting one minute that he could go no further, and the next instant begging billiard to hurry faster. at length, however, the house was reached, and toady drifted like a crumpled leaf across the threshold and lay down in the middle of the floor. irene had seen them coming, and rushed pell-mell for tabitha, shrieking in horrified accents, "kitty, oh, kitty, they've been to a s'loon and got drunk!" so tabitha was somewhat prepared for their dramatic entrance; but one glance at the livid lips, pinched nose and heavy, lusterless eyes would have convinced her that irene was mistaken, even if billiard had not caught the words and indignantly denied it. however, recalling a certain episode in jerome vane's life in silver bow, she demanded severely, "how many cigarettes has he smoked, billiard mckittrick?" "he hain't been smoking at all!" declared that young gentleman, more ruffled at tabitha's tone than at her accusation. "he--he--i dared him to eat some castor-beans, and i guess they made him sick." "castor-beans!" shrieked tabitha in wild alarm. "go for the doctor at once. dr. hayes at the drug-store! tell him it's castor-beans. he worked all night to save the horan children who ate them once." billiard had shot out of the door before the words were out of her mouth and was half-way down the trail before the dazed girl awoke with a start to the realization that something must be done at once for the suffering boy on the floor, or it might be too late. "we must make him vomit," she said to red-eyed mercedes, who had come out of her hiding-place to see what was the cause of all the commotion. "but how?" "i don't know myself what emetic would be best. they use mustard and warm water for some poisons, and--oh, i remember! bring me that three-cornered, blue bottle from the cupboard, susie. hurry! your mother told me to use plenty of that if any of you got poisoned. mercedes, light the stove and set on the tea kettle. inez, get the boy's bed ready, and irene, bring some clean towels from the closet." tabitha had suddenly grown calm again, and as she issued orders to the panic-stricken sisters, she was deftly at work herself, pouring the vile-tasting emetic down poor, unresisting toady's throat. she worked hard and furiously, fearful that her efforts might fail, and her heart sank within her as she watched the white face grow whiter and listened to the weak moans which escaped his lips with every breath. would the doctor never come? the suspense was horrible. when it seemed as if she must scream with frenzy, the five watchers on the door-step shouted wildly, "he's coming, he's coming! billiard found him and he's got his v'lise!" another instant and he was in the kitchen kneeling beside the limp form on the floor, and working as he questioned. it was over at last, the boy was pronounced out of danger, and tabitha, weak and trembling, felt her strength suddenly ooze from her limbs. "here, here, none of that!" commanded the physician in gruff but kindly tones. "there is no use of fainting now, my girl, when you have done your work so well. but for your efforts before i got here, the chap might have been--well, he can thank his lucky stars that he is in the land of the living." perhaps toady heard, for when tabitha bent over him a few moments later, the brown eyes fluttered weakly open, and the repentant sinner murmured, "how is glory?" "better. she will be well by morning. but you mustn't talk now." "yes, i must, 'cause i made her sick. i burgled--that is, i pretended i was a burglar last night and hid under your bed. i only meant to scare you, though. honest!" "sh! i know all about it. go to sleep now, toady." when seeing an unspoken question in his eyes, she answered, "no, glory didn't give you away. i found it out myself." "the constable----" "i never went for him at all. he doesn't know a thing about it." "uncle hogan--i expect you'd better write him. it was awful mean of me, and i'm sorry, but he ought to know." "not this time, toady. i am sure you will not forget again." a great light of relief crept into the big, brown eyes, and toady answered with all the vim he could muster, "you are right, i won't." chapter viii billiard runs away billiard, white, scared, remorseful, had crept away up the mountainside the minute he had seen dr. hayes bending beside the still form on the kitchen floor, and remained in his retreat, watching the house with frightened eyes, until the physician's bulky figure strode down the path toward town again. then, flinging himself face down in the gravel, he sobbed in unrestrained relief, until, exhausted by the strain of his recent fearful experience, he fell asleep in the shadow of a ragged boulder, where late that afternoon tabitha found him, after a vain search about house and yard. surprised at having caught a glimpse of this unsuspected side of the bully's character, she beat a hasty retreat, and with the tact of a diplomat, sent one of the younger girls in quest of him, feeling that he might resent being awakened by her while the trace of tears still showed on his face. nor was she mistaken in this surmisal, for the instant the boy's eyes unclosed in response to susie's energetic shaking, he demanded, "does tabitha--know where i am?" "she wouldn't have set the rest of us to hunting if she had, would she?" "well, 'tain't necessary for you to tell her i was asleep. the sun was so hot it made my head ache, and i guess it has burned my face to a blister," cautiously touching his puffed, smarting cheeks. susie eyed the swollen lids and scarlet visage suspiciously, but for once held her tongue, only announcing briefly as she started on a trot down the trail, "we're waiting supper for you." "well, you needn't for i'm not hungry. tell tabitha i don't want anything to eat. i am going to bed. my head aches." "all right," retorted susie, too cheerfully, he thought with bitterness in his heart, as he followed her nimble feet toward the house. he had hoped she would at least express some sympathy for his aching head; but what did she care? what did anyone care about him? morosely he shambled along behind his agile cousin; but instead of entering the kitchen, which was of necessity also the dining-room, he chose the front door, and quietly sought the room where he and his brother slept. toady's pale face on the pillow made him pause on the threshold, while a twinge of remorse tugged at his heart, but the victim, hearing the creak of the opening door, opened his round eyes, and smiling beatifically, asked in a weak voice, "seen tabitha?" billiard grunted an unintelligible reply. "tell you what, she's a crackerjack!" continued the invalid. then, as billiard's only answer was a vicious jerk which divested him of collar and waist at a single effort, toady cried in surprise, "why, bill, have you had your supper?" "don't want any!" growled the other, tugging savagely at his boots. "what's the matter? sick?" "headache!" "_you_ didn't eat any castor-beans, did you?" billiard paused in the act of crawling into bed to glare angrily at his brother, thinking he was being made fun of; but toady's cherubic face seemed to allay his suspicions, and he briefly, but savagely replied, "naw!" "you better tell tabitha--" began toady in genuine solicitude; but billiard again misconstrued his brother's meaning, and interrupted, "aw, shut up! let a feller alone for once, can't you?" and as billiard wriggled into bed, puzzled toady lapsed into silence. tabitha, too, was puzzled by the older boy's actions. she had hoped that the poisoning of his brother would awake his better nature if nothing else would, so she was keenly disappointed, as well as surprised, at the change which now took place in him. "it seems so strange," she confided to gloriana. "he acted so terribly cut up the day he brought toady home sick, that i thought it would cure him of his mean mischief, at least. but now he seems bent on trying to find the limit of human endurance--doubling his mischief and being more aggravatingly hateful than ever." "perhaps he is getting even for toady's reform," suggested the red-haired girl, looking worried. "toady--bless the boy!" exclaimed tabitha fervently. "i should go wild if he had taken the streak billiard has." "and yet i can see how provoking it must be to bill----" "why, gloriana!" "i mean that toady's declaration of independence would naturally rouse bill's 'mad,' as rosslyn says, when toady had blindly followed his leadership for so long. and besides, the way toady flaunts his virtues in his brother's face----" "that _is_ rather amusing, isn't it?" "provoking? i should, say! billiard has been used to saying the word and toady has obeyed. it's rather a--a--jar, to be defied, or ignored all of a sudden. bill is bright----" "too bright," sighed tabitha, somewhat sarcastically, gloriana thought. "he _is_ bright!" championed the younger girl warmly. "this morning i happened to overhear him teasing the girls at play under the kitchen window, and he declared that it was a mistake for inez and irene to be twins; that it should have been susie and inez, and then their names would have been suez and inez." tabitha smiled in spite of herself, then said heatedly, "but he is so mean about it! to-day while you were at the bakery and he thought i had gone for the mail, i heard a commotion in the yard, and what do you suppose i found him doing?" gloriana shook her head. "he had the girls and rosslyn lined up by the woodpile and was making them carry in _his_ wood. even little janie was loaded down with two immense sticks, so heavy she could hardly toddle with them." "what did you do?" "made them drop their loads right where they were, and he had to carry it all in by himself." "without even toady's help?" "all by himself!" repeated tabitha emphatically. "i am afraid--we are not apt--to----" "to what?" asked tabitha, as her companion stammered in confusion and paused abruptly. "to gain anything--_much_ of anything by trying to force billiard into being good." "how _are_ we to make him mind, then? he won't coax. you can't flatter him into behaving himself, and threats don't do a mite of good. _i_ think a smart dose of the hickory stick would be the most effective medicine for such cases as his." glory looked dubious. "you don't agree with me?" suggested tabitha. "he is such a big boy to be thrashed," she evaded. "he is such a big boy to act that way!" "yes, that's true, but----" how she would have finished her sentence tabitha never found out, for at that moment a piercing scream broke the stillness of the desert afternoon, followed by a medley of excited accusations, denials, threats, and billiard's taunting laugh. tabitha flew to the rescue of her brood and found irene stretched full length in the gravel, with mercedes and toady deluging her with water, while the rest of the sisters danced frantically about the trio. "he--he shot her!" cried rosslyn indignantly, at sight of the slender figure in the doorway. "i gave her fair warning," said defiant billiard. "hand me your gun!" demanded tabitha in exasperation, after a hasty examination of the victim had convinced her that irene was more frightened than hurt. "gun! ha, ha, ain't that rich?" mocked billiard. "'twas a slingshot," volunteered toady. "and he shooted a rock," added janie. tabitha held out her hand with an imperious gesture. "pass it over quietly, or i shall make you." billiard calmly pocketed the article in dispute, and seeing that irene was recovering under the heroic treatment of her amateur nurses, he seated himself in tantalizing silence upon the saw-horse, as if to enjoy the scene he had created. but his enjoyment was short lived. tabitha, now thoroughly aroused, and forgetful of her dignity, swooped down upon the tormentor, wrested his slingshot from his grasp, and before anyone could divine her intentions, seized a barrel stave from the woodpile and gave the surprised boy a sound drubbing. in the midst of the thrashing, there came vividly to her mind her childish horror of that day of reckoning with her father, when he had struck her with one of his slippers, and she recalled the fact that it was not the physical hurt, but the humiliation of the blow which had wounded her most deeply. flinging down the stick, she released the struggling lad as suddenly as she had seized him; and in tones that sounded husky in spite of herself, briefly ordered, "go to your room!" angry, stunned, shamed, billiard bounced through the kitchen, slammed the door of his room, turned the key in the lock and--stood still in the middle of the floor. whipped by a girl not four years his senior! whipped by a _girl_! it was an unforgivable outrage. he would get even for that. but what was he to do? would _could_ he do? she had beaten him at every turn, she had set toady against him, she had made him the laughing stock of his cousins. he--he--he would do something desperate. he would---as if in answer to his thoughts, he heard a strange voice close beside the open window say, "yes, he has run away. the inspector completed his job this morning, found atwater's accounts five hundred dollars short, and he skipped." "who?" demanded mercedes. "the post-master?" "yep! lit out. can't have been gone more'n an hour, but no one seems to have seen him anywhere around town, and they are scouring the country for him." billiard drew a deep breath. that was an idea. why hadn't he thought of it before! he, too, would run away. stealthily he crept to the little closet, selected a clean shirt, a pair of stockings, a necktie, and his pajamas, tied them up in a bath-towel, not having such a thing in his wardrobe as a bandana handkerchief, although he felt that this was an essential; and after a cautious survey of the premises to make sure that the children were nowhere near, he crawled out of the window, carefully shut the screen again, and darted swiftly down the steep, pathless incline on the west side of the house to the flat below. it was a hazardous undertaking, and at any other time he would have shrunk from attempting it, but in his unreasonable anger and desire for revenge, all else was forgotten; and he arrived at the sandy bottom breathless, badly scratched by the mesquite, and smarting from the prick of cactus thorns, but triumphant. pausing only long enough to shake his fist defiantly at the house on the cliff above, he made off across the desert as fast as his legs would carry him. his first idea had been to follow the railroad, but on second thought he concluded that he might easily be overtaken and brought back if he took that course. so after a brief survey of the pathless landscape, he decided to skirt the mountains in whose hollow lay the town of silver bow, and to strike off to the west, in the direction of a neighboring mining camp called crystal city. "if i _should_ miss that place," he reasoned to himself, "i am sure to get somewhere. perhaps to los angeles that mercy goes so crazy about. say, that's just the thing! it takes only about twelve hours to get there by train; i ought to be able to walk it in two days, and i'll join the navy. i always did want to be a sailor!" so he trudged sturdily on through the heavy sand of the flats, building air castles and nursing his wrath, but paying little heed to the course he was taking, until with a shiver of alarm he discovered that the afternoon sun had set and the range of white-capped mountains which sheltered crystal city was seemingly no nearer than when he had set out. he began to feel faint with hunger and thirst, and was appalled to think he had forgotten in his flight to pack any lunch in his small store of belongings, and was now what seemed miles from civilization, in the midst of the pathless desert with neither food nor drink, and night coming on. night! he shuddered. how could he have forgotten the night part of it? where was he to stay? he was afraid of the desert darkness. somehow, it always seemed blacker and stiller there than anywhere else on earth. but perhaps the moon would come up. that would be lots of company, and the weather was so warm that he would really enjoy sleeping out in the open air. eagerly he scanned the evening sky, and perceiving that the east appeared to be growing lighter, his spirits began to rise. after all, he was not sorry he had run away. wouldn't there be consternation in the eagles' nest when his absence was discovered? how tabitha would regret her unwarranted harshness! and toady--toady would cry and snivel because he had deserted his dear, big brother in his hour of need. and searching parties would be sent all over the country to find him. how he gloated over the pictures his vivid imagination had drawn! but all the while he stumbled on, it was growing darker, the landscape had become an indistinct blur, and night sounds filled the air. the lonely howl of a wolf in the distance sent a chill of fear down billiard's spine; the scream of a night-hawk overhead made him jump almost out of his shoes, and he was just beginning to consider where he should lie down to sleep when a sudden scurry in the underbrush froze him in his tracks. the next minute, however, he laughed at his fright, for it was merely a mother burro and her baby colt which his steps had routed from their hiding-place and sent flying across the flats for safety. a twig snapping sharply under his feet startled him; what sounded like a warning hiss close by brought his heart into his mouth; and trembling from head to foot he paused by a clump of spanish bayonets, uncertain what to do next. oh, if only he had not run away! if only he were sitting with the rest of the lively troop of children around the supper table! or perhaps it was too late for supper now. more likely they would be preparing for bed. what frolics they had enjoyed in the evenings when tabitha made taffy and recited stirring ballads to fill in the moments while the toothsome sweet was cooking. what exciting tales his cousins told of the brave, black-haired maid whom he was trying so hard to hate. he did hate her! that is, sometimes he did. but he could not help admiring her pluck, even though he stood in awe of the fierce temper that blazed up so quickly, and as quickly died away again. she was certainly a wonder for a girl. there was no 'fraid cat about her. he wished she liked him better. but how could she, when he was so tantalizing, mean and sly? perhaps if he went back home, that is, to aunt---"hands up! we've got you at last!" growled a stern voice almost in his ear, it seemed; and poor billiard's hands shot high into the air, he shut his eyes, held his breath and waited for the end. but to his utter amazement, a second voice huskily replied, after an instant, "yes, you've got me, boys. i knew it was no use to run away, but--i--couldn't bear--to stay--and know that everyone looked at me as a thief. i never took the money." the moon, which had seemed so slow in rising, had finally mounted to the crest of the surrounding hills, and poured a stream of mellow light upon the waste below. billiard, his hands still thrust stiffly above his head, now distinguished a few feet in front of him the dark shapes of a dozen or more men, armed with revolvers, clustering around one whom he recognized as atwater, the runaway post-master of silver bow. "that's all right, atwater," growled the first speaker, who was evidently leader of the posse. "tell your tale in court, but be a man and face the music. fall in, boys!" for a long time, billiard watched them as they marched their hapless prisoner back to town, and the leader's words kept ringing in his ears, "be a man and face the music!" suddenly a new thought flashed through his brain. why had he not followed them? it wasn't too late yet. he could still see their forms indistinctly moving across the desert, and by following their lead, would sooner or later reach silver bow himself. stepping out from the clump of spanish bayonets which had formed his retreat, he set out on a dog-trot in the direction the men had taken, and after a long, rough, weary journey, actually found himself trailing up the familiar path to the eagles' nest. he paused as he reached the children's play house and took a furtive survey of the place. one lone light burned in the low cottage. probably tabitha had missed him and was waiting for his return. supposing she should lick him again for running away? "billiard!" 'twas only a whisper from a rock nearby? but the boy almost screamed aloud in his fright at the unexpectedness of it. "sh!" the voice continued. "it's only i,--glory. i had to go to the drug-store for some alum,--janie has the croup,--and i saw you coming up the trail. tabitha hasn't missed you yet. she has been so anxious over the baby. so sneak back to your room and i'll bring you something to eat as soon as i can. run now! tabitha will be expecting me." "but glory, doesn't _anyone_ know i--" began bewildered billiard, much taken back at his reception. "ran away?" finished gloriana. "no one but toady and myself. he won't tell. i made him promise. of course we'd have had to, if you hadn't come back, but i knew--i thought you would--" how could she tell him that she knew he was too much of a coward to persist in running away? "scramble into your room as quietly as possible," she continued, "so as not to disturb the others, and i will bring you some supper in a minute or so." "you're--you're awfully good to a feller," mumbled the abashed boy, wondering how he ever could have disliked the red-haired glory. "i--i'll not forget it." and as the girl hurried up the path to the kitchen door, he skirted the house till he reached the window of his room, through which he wriggled cautiously and disappeared in the friendly darkness within, thankful that he was home again. chapter ix billiard surrenders toady kept his promise not to mention billiard's runaway expedition to anyone else save gloriana; but being human, he could not keep from twitting his brother occasionally, and the days which followed that memorable night were full of misery for the unhappy boy. his cousins avoided him, tabitha ignored him, toady tormented him, and even gloriana seemed indifferent to his plight. in his fright at discovering himself lost on the desert at night, he had resolved to follow toady's example and turn over a new leaf. he could not quite make up his mind to confess his sins to eagle-eyed tabitha, but was really sincere in his desire to do better; and was as surprised as he was disappointed to find that no one paid any attention to the sudden change in his deportment. "might as well have kept on being bad," he growled with an injured air one afternoon when a fortnight had passed without any noticeable change in the atmosphere. "wish i hadn't come back that night. guess they'd have sung a different tune then! maybe a coyote would have got me, or i'd have stepped into a rattlesnake's nest and been stung to death. bet they'd have felt sorry when they found me--," he hesitated. his picture was too vivid, and he shuddered as he thought what a fate would have been his had a rattlesnake bitten him as he tramped across the pathless waste in his flight. "pretty near dead," he finished finally, unable to endure the thought that they _might_ have found him dead. "if i had kept on, i'd be in los angeles now,--maybe in the navy already. i've a good notion to try again. i could almost go by train, now that my 'lowance has come. mercy says it takes twelve dollars, and i've got ten. 't any rate, i could ride as far as that would take me, and--by george, i b'lieve i could beat my way without spending a cent! that's the way tramps travel from city to city." he winced at the idea of being classed with tramps, and fell to debating whether he would buy a ticket and ride like a gentleman as far as his ten dollars would carry him, or whether he would attempt the hobo's hazardous method of transportation. before he had arrived at any satisfactory conclusion, he heard the tramp of feet close by, and the lively chatter of voices, and around the bend of the path came toady with his six cousins. they did not see him at first, half hidden as he was by the heap of ragged rocks on which he lay stretched full length, but even when they did become aware of his presence, they merely glanced indifferently at the lazy figure and passed by without speaking. angered at thus being ignored and left out in the cold, billiard resolved to display no interest in them, either, although he was consumed with curiosity as to where they were bound; but a chance remark of susie's about being lowered in a bucket overcame his resolve, and he called after them, "where you going, kids?" "don't you wish you knew?" inez flung back with a saucy toss of her head. "up pike's peak," said toady, without so touch as looking back. "you mean down ali baba's cave," suggested mercedes laughingly. "shall we tell him?" asked irene, relenting as she glanced back at the lonely figure on the rocks. "he'll just be bad if we let him come," warned susie. "he hasn't been bad for a long time," gentle irene reminded them. "aw, what do you s'pose i care where you are going?" sung out billiard, more hurt by their manner than he cared to acknowledge. "keep on to jericho, if you want to." "we ain't going to jericho," said irene, lagging uncertainly behind the others. "only just across town to that hill over there where is a--a 'bandoned mine. toady's never seen what one looks like, so we're taking him along to get a peek at it. have you ever seen a mine?" billiard shook his head. "tabitha says if we're real good, she'll see if the superintendent won't take us all through the silver legion mine before the summer is over; but to-day we're just going to show toady how the miners go up and down the shaft. he won't b'lieve they use a bucket. don't you want to come too?" "nope, guess not," billiard answered promptly, though the wistful look in his eyes belied his words. "it's int'resting," urged irene, who somehow seemed to understand that billiard did not really mean what he said. "is it a real bucket?" he could not refrain from asking. "yes." "like a water bucket?" "yes, only bigger." "i sh'd think the miners would fall out." "oh, it's big enough so they can't tumble if they mind the rules; but you've got to keep your head down inside, or you'll be killed by the big beans--" she meant beams--"which are built in to hold the dirt from caving in and filling up the mine. come and see for yourself." "well, p'r'aps i will." with a great show of indifference, the boy uncoiled his legs, slid to the ground beside irene, and hurried with her after the others, now a considerable distance in advance; but the little group had reached their goal and were gingerly peering into the black depths of the abandoned shaft when billiard and irene joined them. "ugh!" shuddered mercedes, drawing back with a shiver from the yawning mouth of the hole. "it smells like lizards. i'll bet the bottom of the shaft is full of them." "it didn't use to be," remarked susie, dropping a pebble over the brink and listening to the hollow echoes it awoke as it bounded from timber to timber. "were you ever down there?" asked toady in surprise. "no, but papa was one of the men here when the mine was working." "what did it quit working for?" ventured billiard, testing the weather-stained rope still coiled about the winch above the shaft. "the vein of rich silver stopped all of a sudden and they couldn't make the other ore pay, so they shut down, and the men went to work in other mines, or else moved away." "how deep is a shaft?" asked toady, as susie sent another pebble spinning after the first and counted rapidly until it struck the bottom. "some are _hundreds_ of feet deep," replied mercedes impressively, glad of a chance to air her meagre knowledge of mining affairs. "but this----" "is only a hole," finished inez contemptuously. "what do you mean by that?" demanded billiard, mystified. "ain't this a sure-enough shaft?" "oh, yes," mercedes hastened to inform him; "only 'tisn't the main one. that's all boarded up, and no one can go down it any more. this was dug later. someone thought there was more silver here, and they made this shaft. it's not very deep----" "let's go down it!" proposed billiard, boyishly eager for such an adventure. "oh, horrors!" shrieked mercedes. "with all those lizards down there?" "shucks! lizards won't hurt a fellow." "maybe there are snakes, too," said rosslyn, hastily backing away from the place. "we'd have heard them," billiard answered promptly. "susie has fired enough rocks at 'em to stir 'em up if there was any there." "but tabitha mightn't like it," suggested irene in troubled tones. "did she ever say you _couldn't_ go?" "n-o." "or did your mother?" "n-o." "then what's to hinder?" "s'posing the rope should bu'st," mused irene aloud. "_that_ rope? why, it's half as big as my arm! yes, bigger." "but it has been here a long, long time. ever since i can remember. doesn't rope rot?" "i'll bet that's as strong as iron," boasted billiard. "there's nothing rotten about it. i'll stump any of you to go down with me." "will you go first and see if there are any snakes?" demanded susie, whose love of adventure was constantly leading her into mischief. "if you'll promise honor bright to come next." "i will," susie rashly promised, her eyes dancing with excitement and eagerness. "will you go, too, toady?" "sure, but who's going to let us down? i'll bet it takes some work to keep the rope unwinding just right." "i'll lower you all," proposed mercedes magnanimously, for the idea of descending into that black, musty hole did not appeal to her in the least, but she could not bear to appear less brave than fly-away susie. "you! pooh! you are just a girl! the bucket would get away from you the first thing, and then where'd the rest of us be? no, i've got a better plan than that. you and toady and irene let susie and inez and me down first; and after we have had a look at the thing, we'll come up and let you down. how does that suit you?" "it's a go," toady readily responded. "all right," quavered mercedes. but irene held her peace. nothing could tempt her to crouch in that great, swaying bucket and be dropped into the blackness of that yawning pit, but she did not mean to voice her opinions until the proper moment. so she took her place beside mercedes and toady and puffed and panted as the rope slowly unwound, and billiard, scrooched low in the bucket, disappeared from view. it was hard work and slow, to pay out the rope evenly, but billiard did not seem at all inclined to be critical, and accepted his rough, jolting descent without a murmur. had the truth been known, the boy was too nearly paralyzed with fright to notice anything of his surroundings, and more than once he was on the point of signalling for his companions to hoist him to the surface again, but fear of ridicule kept him tongue-tied until it was too late. with a final jerk and jolt, the bucket stood still, and cautiously opening his eyes for the first time since he had stepped into his queer elevator. billiard beheld a row of black, shadowy heads hovering over the brink of the aperture, and heard toady's voice, sounding strangely muffled and far away, call cheerfully, "well, you've struck bottom, old boy! what does it look like?" bottom? billiard blinked and rubbed his eyes, and peered about him in surprise; but at first in the semi-darkness, he could distinguish nothing. then as he grew more accustomed to the blackness, he could see before him the mouth of a still blacker cavern, which to his vivid imagination seemed yawning to swallow him up; and he shudderingly shrank back into the friendly protection of the bucket. "why don't you answer?" demanded an impatient voice from above. "_are_ there snakes and lizards?" called mercedes. snakes! lizards! billiard had forgotten them, but with a sigh of relief he realized that there was not a sound of anything stirring about him. "naw!" he yelled back, trying to make his voice sound brave and scornful. "guess not. i can't see a thing. might as well haul me up, 'cause no one could tell what a mine looks like in this blackness." "got any matches?" inquired toady. billiard rapidly felt through his pockets. "one," he announced. "then here's a candle. catch it!" toady let it drop almost before the words were out of his mouth, and with a tremendous thump it struck poor billiard on the head before he had caught the significance of the directions from above; and with a yelp of surprise and pain, he tumbled out of the bucket against a timber, which shivered and splintered under his weight. but in some mysterious manner, he found himself in possession of the candle when he had righted himself once more and brushed the rotten wood from his eyes and mouth. he lost no time in striking his one lone match and lighting the slender taper in his hand, much to the relief of the group hovering anxiously about the shaft. "there!" he heard susie ejaculate. "i was sure he had killed himself." "you mean that toady did," spluttered the indignant billiard. "what do you think my head is made of--iron?" "_i_ couldn't tell that it would hit you on the head, could i?" protested the younger boy apologetically. "why didn't you dodge?" "dodge? d'ye think i'm a cat with eyes that see in the dark?" "never mind," soothed irene, who had ventured near enough the curbing to take an occasional peep down into the blackness. "it's too bad it hurt you. put some cold water on the bump----" a derisive shout from her sisters stopped her, and even billiard had to smile, though he felt grateful toward the little twin who was sorry he was hurt. by this time the pale candle flame had ceased to sputter and flicker uncertainly, but burned with a steady light, and with a thrill of exultation billiard looked curiously about him, relieved to find no snakes or crawly things in the abandoned shaft, and pleased beyond measure to think he had actually braved the terrors of the dark to explore this mysterious place, so he could crow over his brother and cousins because of his courage. "say, but it's great down here," he called, venturing just inside the timbered cross-cut and staring at the rocky walls which here and there glistened alluringly. "and there's pecks of silver sticking out of every stone. why don't you come on down, toady?" "can't till you come up. it's susie and inez now. going, girls?" "you bet!" cried susie enthusiastically. "pull up the bucket and help me in." eagerly they turned the creaking old windlass and susie descended to join billiard in his underground explorations. being much lighter than her cousin, it was easier to lower her down the shaft; and still easier with inez in the bucket; but once the trio were safely at the bottom, the little group above became all impatience for their turn. mercy's courage had returned as she saw how simple an operation it was to let down the loaded bucket, and even irene began to feel a desire to explore the mysteries of the abandoned mine with the rest of her mates. only rosslyn and janie hung back, but no one cared. in fact, it simplified matters not to have to bother with such little tads; but it was a nuisance to have billiard linger so long when he knew the others were just dying to go down. at last toady could resist temptation no longer. "i'm going, too," he announced with determination. "before billiard comes up?" he nodded grimly. "but s'posing you're too heavy for just irene and me," suggested mercedes. "i shall slide down the rope. i'd rather do that than have you drop me or let the rope out too fast." "but--how can you?" mercedes demurred. "it's so far down there," said irene. "aw, in gym work at school we slide down poles and bars and all sorts of things. it oughtn't to be any harder with a rope. i'm going to try, anyway." silently but enviously, the girls watched him spit on his palms, test the rope, and finally let himself slowly down into the shaft, with legs wrapped tightly about his slender, swaying support, and hands grasping the rough strands with a desperate grip, for, too late, he realized what a horrible fate would be his if he should fall; but when he would have gone back, he could not. "how in the world will we ever get them up?" whispered irene wonderingly; but before mercedes could frame a reply, there was a crash from below, a cry, a grating sound of falling rock and then hideous, horrible silence. "toady!" shrieked the girls in frenzy, "did you fall?" "no," came back a muffled answer. "i'm all right, but we have knocked down some boards and can't get out." "can't get out!" they repeated dully. "no. run for help! our candle has gone out and it's as black as pitch in here." "who'll i go for?" wailed panic-stricken mercedes, while irene danced frantically around the shaft and wrung her hands as she chanted, "they'll smother, they'll smother, they'll smother!" "anyone, but hustle up!" yelled toady impatiently, for his companions in the disaster had uttered not a sound since their first wild scream, and a horrible fear that they were hurt or even killed gripped his heart. however, little rosslyn was already half-way down the mountain, fairly skimming over the rocks and rubbish, and almost before the distracted girls had recovered their senses enough to be of any aid to the prisoners, the little fellow stumbled across the threshold of the eagles' nest, gasping, "they've caved in--bill and toady and the girls. i guess maybe they're dead by now!" tabitha was on her feet in an instant and the pan of potatoes which she was peeling went spinning across the floor. "where, rosslyn?" mutely he pointed, too spent for words; and the girl, remembering the old, unprotected shaft of the abandoned selfridge mine, flew to the rescue of her brood, pausing only to snatch a lantern from a peg on the wall, and a handful of matches from the pantry shelf. mercedes had disappeared when she reached the spot of the accident, but irene was tugging desperately at the huge windlass, slowly winding up the heavy bucket, moaning all the while in a distracted undertone, while tears of fright trickled down her dirty face. so busy was she that she never heard the patter of tabitha's feet behind her, and the first intimation she had of help at hand was when the older girl jerked her back from the mouth of the shaft, released the half-raised bucket, and sent it hurtling back into the pit once more. "go for the assayer," she commanded hoarsely, seizing the heavy rope with both hands, and preparing to descend as toady had done. "run, hurry! and then get dr. hayes. we may need him." the windlass creaked and groaned, the rope swayed and strained, as tabitha slid out of sight, while irene raced madly away to do her bidding. unmindful of bumps or bruises, and almost unaware that her hands were cruelly burned and torn from her too rapid descent, the black-eyed girl had scarcely touched the bottom of the shaft before she had her lantern lighted and was digging like mad at the fallen rock and debris which almost completely blocked the entrance of the narrow cross-cut. "who is it?" called a voice from behind the barrier. "thank god!" breathed tabitha, working with renewed fury. "that you, toady?" "bet you!" came the cheering response. "are you hurt?" "nope!" "where are the others?" "here!" "safe?" "i--don't know. i can feel 'em, but they don't answer." at that instant, without any warning, one of the fallen timbers slipped from its position, and revealed a narrow aperture into the crosscut, through which tabitha caught a glimpse of toady's white face and the gleam of susie's scarlet dress. "can you crawl through?" she demanded. "yes." "carefully now, so as not to start another landslide. there! now, can you help me make the opening bigger?" but other aid was at hand. the assayer with three men from the town had arrived and the rescue of the quintette at the bottom of the shaft was speedily effected. "are they--" tabitha's voice faltered as she stood at last on the rocky mountainside and looked down into the still, white faces of billiard, susie and inez. how could she ever have let them out of her sight? how could she ever break the news to the mother? "merely stunned," replied the doctor, examining the victims with rapid, practised fingers. "see, the girls are coming to their senses. it's nothing short of a miracle that- hello, susie, what did you say?" "it wasn't gold at all," murmured the child faintly; "just quartz, but he wouldn't b'lieve it." billiard opened his eyes slowly. "she says gold don't look like gold in a mine, but i got a pocketful of--" his sentence ended in a groan of pain, and the hand he was trying to thrust into his trousers fell limply at his side. "aha!" cried the doctor. "let's see what we have here." "a break?" questioned the assayer. "bad sprain, i think, but it will keep the young man out of mischief for one while. are your legs all right? then i reckon we better move on to town." so it happened that no serious results came from their latest prank, but tabitha, in her thankfulness that all her brood was safe and sound, fell into a fit of bitter weeping as soon as the children were back in the eagles' nest once more and the rescuers had departed. "don't," begged janie tearfully. "i loves 'oo! i was dood!" "please don't," pleaded the other sisters in great distress. "we'll never do it again." "it was all my fault," cried toady contritely. "i'm ever so sorry." "it was not," muttered billiard, wincing with the pain in his arm, but truly repentant. "i dared 'em to go. honest, tabby, _i_ was to blame! will you--will you--er--forgive me? i'm horribly--sorry. won't you try me again?" so sincere was his tone, so straightforward his confession, so manly his bearing, that tabitha could not fail to be convinced of his earnestness of purpose, and drying her eyes, she took billiard's proffered hand in a hearty grasp, saying with quivering, smiling lips, "let's all try each other again." "let's!" cried the rest of the brood; and they meant it, every one. chapter x susanne entertains a caller "let's make some candy. it's too hot to play." susie and the twins were sitting idly on a great, shaggy, redwood log in the scanty shade of the house, fanning themselves as briskly as their tired arms would move, and longing for the cool of sundown. irene looked startled at the older sister's suggestion, and began, "tabitha----" "oh, i know she made us promise not to get into mischief," susie impatiently interrupted her, "but taffy ain't mischief. we'll make a big batch so's there will be plenty for the others when they get back." "it's so hot," objected inez, as susie turned to her for approval. "we'll use the gasolene stove." "but you've never lighted it. how'll you----" "oh, irene, you make me tired! don't you s'pose i know how? haven't i watched mamma and tabitha hundreds of times? guess i can manage it if mercy can. come on, inez!" "do you know how to make taffy?" questioned the undaunted irene, following the other two into the sweltering kitchen. "course! molasses and sugar and vinegar and butter. ask me something hard." "tabitha measures 'em." "so shall i. you go fetch the m'lasses jug and a cup. inez, bring the vinegar and butter, and i'll measure things after i get the stove a-going." mopping her face and bustling energetically about the small room, susie marshalled her forces and set to work with contagious enthusiasm. all three donned huge aprons, hunted up long-handled spoons, and rattled among the neat array of pots and pans until it sounded as if a whole regiment had been turned loose in the kitchen. the stove was lighted without any trouble, much to the relief of the breathless trio, and the candy making was soon in progress. sugar was measured and molasses spilled with reckless abandon over table, floor and stove, in their hurry to get their delectable sweet on cooking before the rest of the family should return from their day's outing and interfere, for, secretly, each be-aproned girl, paddling in the pot with her sticky spoon and dribbling syrup wherever she ran, felt that she was not strictly obeying tabitha's parting injunction, and was anxious to have a peace offering ready when she returned with the rest of her brood. they had gone for a drive to the river, and as there was not room in the light wagon for all the large family, susie and the twins had been bribed to remain at home with the promise of ice-cream sodas at the little drug-store. however, that unusual treat had disappeared long ago down the three eager throats, and they had begun to rue their bargain when susie's inspiration fired them with enthusiasm once more. "i wish we had some nuts," panted perspiring inez, stirring the bubbling mess in the kettle so vigorously that a great spatter flew up and struck irene on the hand. "ooo!" screeched the unfortunate victim. "what made you do that?" "i didn't do it a-purpose," indignantly denied her twin. "stop your jumping and suck it off." irene obediently thrust the smarting wound into her mouth, and immediately let out another howl of anguish, for the sticky mass had burned the little tongue sadly, and the tears rained down the rosy cheeks unchecked while the dismayed sisters racked their brains for some soothing remedy to deaden the pain. "try this," suggested susie, hurrying out of the pantry with a can of baking powder in her hand, vaguely recalling that some kind of white powder used in cooking was good for burns. "i will not," sobbed irene angrily. "you don't know what it will do. you're just guessing." "gloriana put coal oil on toady's foot," timidly began inez, half distracted at having been the cause of all her sister's woe. "and you think i'll stick my _tongue_ in _that_?" roared the usually gentle twin so savagely that both her companions fell silent, perplexed at the unhappy situation. meanwhile the bubbling syrup had been forgotten, and with an ominous hiss and a pungent odor, the seething mass boiled over the top of the kettle and was promptly licked up by the eager flames of the stove. a great cloud of smoke filled the kitchen, and the paralyzed girls awoke to their danger with a sickening horror. "oh, oh, oh!" they screamed in frenzy. "the house will catch! we'll all be burned up! what will mamma say?" "hush! shut up! give me your apron!" commanded an authoritative voice behind them, and a big, shabby stranger rushed past them, snatched susie's apron, gave a deft twist to the flaming burner, seized the smoking kettle, and vanished through the kitchen door before any of the sisters realized what had happened. he was soon back with the blackened pot in his hands and a reassuring smile on his lips. "it's all right, kids," he announced cheerily, noting the terror in their faces. "no harm's done. it won't take but a few minutes to clean up that stove and pan and no one will be the wiser. you are housekeeping by yourselves to-day, i see." his quick, restless, eager eyes had noted the tell-tale signs of mischief about him before he hazarded that remark. "yes, oh, yes!" breathed susie in great relief. "tabitha's taken the rest of the children down to the river, and we're all alone." "the river?" "the colorado. we often go there when we can get the assayer's horses, but the wagon won't hold us all, so we three stayed at home to-day." "and had ice-cream sodas for being good," added irene. "we _wanted_ to make some taffy," mourned inez, ruefully eyeing the blackened mass which the mysterious stranger was deftly removing from the stove and floor. "'twas so lonesome here by ourselves," supplemented susie apologetically, remembering that she was responsible for the candy suggestion. "so 'while the cat's away the mice will play'," chuckled the man, beginning a vigorous scraping of the sticky kettle. "why, how did you know her name was catt?" cried irene in amazement. "goosie!" exclaimed susie sarcastically. "he didn't know. that's not what he meant. but truly, mister, i don't think tabitha would have minded a bit if our candy had come out all right. as 'tis, we've wasted such a lot of m'lasses and sugar that i reckon she'll scold----" "if she ever finds it out," broke in inez. "that's it--_if_ she ever finds it out," chuckled the man again. "who is this mysterious tabitha that you are so scared of?" "we ain't _scared_ of her," protested susie loyally. "her name is tabitha catt, and she's taking care of us while mamma is with papa at the hospital in los angeles. she's only a girl herself, but we promised to mind her so mamma could go, and not fret about us all the time, and we're trying hard to keep our promise." "but sometimes we forget," said truthful irene. "we oughtn't to have made that candy, 'cause we told her we wouldn't get into mischief while she was gone. i guess that's why it burnt up." "i guess it's no such thing!" inez contradicted hotly. "you made such a fuss over nothing that susie and me forgot to watch it and it boiled over." "i guess you'd have made a fuss if i'd blistered your hand like you did mine," cried irene in great indignation, suddenly remembering her grievance, and affectionately regarding the white blister on her plump hand. "then on top of that you told me to suck it off, when you knew it was boiling hot and would skin my whole mouth." "tut, tut!" interrupted the stranger, seeing that a quarrel was imminent. "now don't get mad all at once. i've a proposition to make to you----" "a what?" asked susie, glad she had taken no part in the flare-up between the twins. "a bargain. i'll make you a mess of candy that'll pop your eyes out if you will give me a square meal,--something to eat, you know, and plenty of it. i'm hungry as the deuce, and candy ain't very filling. is it a go?" susie looked at her crestfallen companions, and they looked at her. "there were no potatoes left from dinner," began irene. "but there's any number of cans of stuff in the pantry," said inez hastily. "salmon and sardines and veal loaf and corned beef and vegetables," added susie hopefully, yet fearful lest the menu should not prove sufficiently tempting to the queer, unexpected, unknown visitor. "and tabitha cut the cake for dinner." "besides cookies and crackers and bread," murmured irene, seeing reproof in her sisters' eyes, and feeling that she had been inhospitable to their hungry guest. "good!" promptly answered the man. "i reckon we'll make out. just open a tin of salmon, make a pot of strong coffee, and bring on your bread and cake and sauce--lots of it, now, for i haven't had a bite to eat since last night. lost my money, you know, and it hurts a decent fellow's pride to beg." the trio nodded sympathetically, and hurried to do his bidding, while he rapidly measured out fresh supplies of sugar and syrup, and briskly began stirring the mass over the fire, talking all the while. "i just happened to be passing when i smelled your stuff burning, and thinks i, now there's trouble in there. just then you all commenced screaming, and i was sure the house was a-fire, so i rushed in to help. good gracious, but i was scared for a minute when i see the flames jumping so high. you might have had an explosion any minute." "yes," gravely agreed the girls, the look of terror returning to their eyes. "if it hadn't been for you, i reckon the house would have burned down, and it's the only one we've got," said irene. he nodded. "i understand, and so i thought you wouldn't begrudge me a bite to eat, after i had put out the fire and cleaned up the clutter so tabitha wouldn't know that you had been in mischief." "course we're glad to give you something to eat," inez again hastily interrupted. "'specially when you are making us some more candy. are you ready for your--lunch--now?" "in a jiffy. just grease a pan for this dope and i'll pour it out to cool. bet it beats yours all hollow. there! set it in the window--so! now, i'll sample your larder. looks fine and smells bully. which store is best here in town?" "brinkley's," promptly answered the trio, with longing eyes fixed upon the golden flood of syrup cooling in the window. "though dawley's is bigger," added irene. "do they make much money?" "they ought to. prices are high enough," answered susie with a comically grown-up air. "most of the miners trade at dawley's, 'cause he don't hurry 'em so about paying," said inez naively. "but the carsons and catts and dr. hayes, and those folks buy at brinkley's, 'cause his stuff is nicer." "we _did_ trade there," began irene, but susie interrupted, "most of our stuff comes from los angeles now. it's cheaper to trade that way, and anyhow, papa knows the man real well, and now that he's sick in the hospital, he doesn't have to worry about pay day all the time, for this man will wait till he is well enough to work again." "when is pay day?" casually inquired the man. "i mean how often does it come?" "once a month--the fifteenth." the stranger's eyes glittered with satisfaction, and he muttered, "the fifteenth,--that's to-morrow." "what did you say?" asked susie. "i was just thinking," he replied, glancing uneasily from one bright face to the other to see if any of the children had caught his indiscreet remark. "by the way, who lives in that little, unpainted house on the edge of town?" he pointed vaguely over his shoulder, and the sisters looked at each other in bewilderment. "the pest house?" suggested irene. "the ramsey place?" said inez questioningly. "the haunted house?" ventured susie. "you see, there are so many unpainted houses on the edge of town." "the haunted house!" laughed the stranger incredulously. "whoever heard tell of a haunted house in a mining camp!" "silver bow has one," stoutly asserted the twins. "where? which one? i confess i am curious." "it's the last one on the east end lode," replied susie with dignity, feeling that the reputation of her town was at stake. "the queer old shack beyond tabitha's," added inez. "there are only three houses in that hollow," explained irene. "the carson's big house, the catt's littler one, and this haunted house." "what haunts it?" jeered the man, pushing back from the table and glancing sharply down the trail toward town. "a--a ghost," the twins half whispered. "a man killed himself there once," said susie. "or was murdered," shuddered inez. "or else he just died," put in practical-minded irene. "anyway, they found him there dead." "and sometimes now folks hear queer things there." "and see lights." "tabitha never has," irene declared. "and she lives nearest it." "well, 't any rate, it's haunted and no one ever goes there now, not even tabitha, who ain't afraid of a _thing_." the stranger rose slowly to his feet, yawned as if bored by their chatter, picked up his hat, and started for the door; then paused, and casually surveying the pan of taffy on the window sill, remarked, "believe if i was you, i'd eat that all up before the rest of the folks get back. there's just about enough for three, and i've a notion that miss tabitha will think you didn't keep your promise very well if she ever finds out how near you came to setting the house a-fire. she'll never dare trust you again. it might be well not to mention that i dropped in, either. tramps aren't often welcome visitors, even in a mining camp, you know. but i appreciate your dinner, and thank you kindly. good-day, ladies." "good-day," they echoed mechanically, and with puzzled eyes watched him disappear in the direction of the railroad station on the flats. then they faced each other. "do you s'pose we better--" began susie slowly. "not tell?" ventured inez. "and eat all the candy ourselves?" added irene. there was a moment's pause while three active brains worked furiously. then susie sighed, "i b'lieve he's right. tabitha would never trust us again. we better keep still about the whole thing." "then we'll have to hurry and clear up this mess," said irene. "we can hide the candy until later, but this table would give everything away." so the trio flew to work again, put away the remains of the tramp's dinner, washed the telltale dishes, and had the kitchen in its usual spick and span order when the rest of the large family returned an hour later from their sojourn to the river. if their consciences pricked them a little for their deception, they said nothing, not even to each other; and it was several days before the young housekeeper discovered their secret. chapter xi in the canyon the next day was saturday, and the morning dawned so hot and sultry that almost before the old kitchen clock struck five, the restless eaglets were stirring once more. "now's the time i wish we didn't live so far up the mountain," sighed mercedes, mopping her perspiring face on her sleeve as she struggled to button the dress she had just donned. "yes, summer's an awful trial here in this house," agreed susie, trying to decide whether to put on her shoes and stockings and suffer from the heat in that manner, or to go bare-footed and burn her tender soles on the hot sands. "le's do down to the river to-day," lisped janie, lifting eager eyes to scan the dark face bending over, as tabitha patiently brushed the tangled curls into smooth ringlets. "oh, let's!" seconded the twins. "you know we had to stay at home yesterday when the rest of you went," wheedled inez. "and 'twould have been awful lonesome," began irene, "if it hadn't been for that----" "ice-cream," hastily interposed susie, giving the little blunderbus a warning glance. "can't we go, tabitha? it would be so much cooler there." "i don't see how we can manage it," answered the flushed housekeeper, glancing longingly out of the window down the yellow ribbon of a road which wound its way in and out among the rocks and yuccas on its way to the muddy colorado, seven miles away. "the assayer will be wanting his horses to-day and it's too far to walk." "can't we hire a team from the stables?" proposed inez. "and pay ten dollars a day for it?" scoffed mercedes. "where are you going to get your money to foot the bill?" "then let's catch enough burros to lug us all," suggested the resourceful susie. "no one would care. they run loose on the desert all the time." tabitha shook her head slowly, although her eyes gleamed appreciatively at the plan. if only rosslyn and janie were older! how she would enjoy such a frolic as susie's suggestion would mean. only gloriana remained discreetly silent. she shuddered whenever she recalled her first and only ride on one of the wicked little beasts,--that wild new years even when she and tabitha had tried to keep mr. mckittrick's claims from being jumped,--and she drew an audible sigh of relief at tabitha's decision. but the next instant her heart sank within her, for with a scurry of feet in the narrow hallway, the door of the room was unceremoniously flung open, and two eager, boyish faces peered in. "i say, tab," began billiard, so excited he could hardly refrain from shouting his news, "your uncle decker is out here----" "and he's brung a whole--flock--of burros," broke in toady, so anxious to tell part of the good news that he could not stop for choice of words. "saddled," billiard hurried on, trying to beat toady to the climax. "for us!" cried the smaller boy. "to ride to the canyon on!" bellowed the two as with one voice. "really?" gasped tabitha. "how perfectly scrumptious!" squealed the tribe of mckittrick. "but janie and rosslyn," faltered gloriana faintly. "aren't they too small----" "oh, he's got a buckboard, too," grinned billiard, who had recently discovered the red-haired maid's poor little secret; but forbore to make unkind remarks about it because he himself stood somewhat in awe of the sleepy-eyed demons of the desert, since one had unexpectedly kicked him when he was trying to mount. "he drove in for some provisions, and your father told him to bring us all back with him, and we're to _camp_ at the mines until monday. won't that be great? whoop-ee!" he leaped into the air, cracked his heels together and came down with a resounding thump which shook the whole house and made the dishes in the pantry rattle. but no word of reproof was uttered, for tabitha had seized the half-dressed, half-combed janie in her arms, and rushed from the room. it seemed impossible that anyone could have come up that narrow, rocky trail to the eagles' nest with a half dozen or more burros and a buckboard without her having heard them, but there they were lined up by the kitchen steps,--seven sleepy-eyed, wicked little burros, saddled and bridled, and a pair of small, wiry mustangs hitched to a light wagon, and driven by decker simmons, mr. catt's partner. "why, uncle decker!" tabitha began. "didn't we tell you he was here?" exulted the two boys who had followed her. "but--but--" she stammered. "but she didn't b'lieve us," crowed toady. "i thought you must be mistaken," she confessed, "for i could not imagine anyone so crazy as to want _ten_ children under foot at a mine. whatever possessed dad, uncle decker?" the man laughed good-naturedly. "thought we all needed a vacation, i reckon," he answered. "are you anywhere near ready? better hurry. sun will soon be unmercifully hot, and the canyon isn't exactly within walking distance. can't i help?" "no, thanks. it won't take us long----" "we're ready now," announced the procession of girls crowded around her. "mercy finished janie's hair while you stood here gabbing. glory packed up what duds we'd need, and billiard's got the house all locked up. who's to take which burro?" "makes no difference," answered the man, chuckling at the despatch with which preparations for the outing were made. "put the little tikes in here with me, and any of the rest of you who perfer the buckboard can pile in. that red--the girl with the game hip--you better ride with us, too." this suited gloriana perfectly, and she lost no time in making herself comfortable among the leather cushions with rosslyn and janie beside her; but the rest of the party declined that method of transportation, and mounted the animals standing patiently in the scant shade of the porch. in less time than it takes to tell, the hilarious procession was on its way to the canyon, and the baking town was left behind. "let's race," cried billiard, who was mounted on an innocent-looking, lazy beast. "come on!" cried susie, giving her animal a prod with a sharp stick she had snatched from the woodpile as they clattered out of the yard; and away they flew, shouting and flapping reins, urging the stolid little burros out of their poky gait into a surprised run. but the race came to an abrupt and unexpected end. susie's mount seemed more ambitious than its mates, or else the youthful rider goaded it to desperation; for, with a mighty spurt, it took the lead, and shot three lengths ahead of the rest, cantering off across the desert as if racing were its daily delight. rosy-cheeked susie glanced back over her shoulder, waved the sharp stick triumphantly in the air, and jeered, "yah, yah! why don't you come along? has you burro gone to sleep?" this was too much for billiard, and grabbing a needle-pointed spanish bayonet frond from the hands of his brother, he gave the brown-coated beast beneath him a vicious stab, as he yelled in disgust, "giddap, you old demon! wake up and stretch your legs a lit----" brownie awoke into surprising activity, leaped forward with unseating suddenness, planted his forefeet firmly among the rocks, and with one deliberate, energetic kick, sent billiard flying through the air. the watchers behind held their breath in terror. would the boy be killed for his folly? then a wild shout of laughter rose from eight throats. but who could have resisted it? for the luckless billiard, after turning a summersault high in the air, fell astraddle the neck of toady's burro, and slipped to the ground in a sprawling heap, while the second startled beast bolted across the desert with its plucky rider still clinging to its back. the dazed billiard picked himself up from the ground considerably shaken but not hurt, and gazing ruefully first after his own fleeing burro, and then after toady's, now far in advance of susie's little animal, remarked, "well, the old thing has got _some_ ginger in him after all! do you suppose i can ever catch him?" "i'll help," quickly volunteered tabitha, trying hard to suppress her mirth, so meek and woebegone was the tumbled figure standing in the roadway; and with a nimble spring she landed beside him, tethering her burro to a yucca, growing close at hand. mercedes and the twins followed her example, but it was a lively chase they had before the unruly animal was finally captured, and the party continued its journey, reaching their destination without further mishap. gloriana was disappointed at first, as she looked about her while her companions were dismounting, for she had expected to see a canyon like those lovely spots hidden among the san bernardino hills; but this place was no different from the rocky, barren mountains surrounding silver bow. however, there was little time for lamentations, for with surprising ingenuity, mr. catt had arranged a delightful program for the two days the young folks were in camp, and not a moment of the brief holiday was dull even for rosslyn and janie. so it was with reluctant hearts that the party mounted their burros monday morning for their return trip. "where are the boys?" inquired mercedes curiously, as she sprang nimbly into her saddle and gathered up the reins ready to start. "susie isn't here, either," said tabitha, pausing in her task of packing to count noses. "they must be in the tent. i saw them not very long ago. dad, are the boys ready?" "haven't seen them," he answered emerging from one of the tents with a light grip and dumping it into the back of the buckboard. "i saw billiard and toady whispering something to susie just as the wagon drove up," tattled inez, provoked to think she had not been included in the secret, "and they all ran off that way." she pointed up the mountainside, where the mesquite and cacti grew thickest, and huge boulders made climbing difficult. "what in the world possessed them to go off like that?" fretted tabitha, impatient at the unexpected delay. "bet i know," irene piped up. "they prob'ly went for a last look at the puppies." "puppies!" cried the others in amazement. "where are there any puppies about here?" "quite a piece up there on the other side,--they weren't going to tell the rest of us, but i happened to find them myself." "here they come now," rosslyn excitedly interrupted; and sure enough, the trio had appeared on the hillcrest, each tugging something which squirmed and twisted, and snarled and yapped until their flushed, panting owners could scarcely hold them. "holy snakes!" ejaculated decker simmons. mr. catt whistled. the rest of the party stared. "what in creation have you got, susie mckittrick?" demanded mercedes, with all the severity her gentle nature could muster, as the three children came within speaking distance, susie in advance. "a pup," gasped the red-faced girl, taking a fresh grip on the wriggling, sharp-nosed little animal, half hidden in the torn skirt of her dress. "isn't he cute? see what bright eyes he's got." "and see how you've snagged your clothes," said irene reprovingly. "and scratched your face," added inez, glad now that she had not been a party in the expedition. "that's nothing to what billiard's did to him," susie retorted sharply, nettled at her reception. "he picked out the prettiest of the bunch for tabitha. we told him how much you used to want a dog all your own, kitty. but it's the wildest thing i ever saw. here he comes now. billiard, didn't you choose your pup for tabitha?" "would you accept it?" he panted somewhat shyly, embarrassed and a little provoked that susie should have announced his intentions the first thing. "i--i got the handsomest fellow of them all, but i pretty near had to club it to death before it would come along peaceably." "but billiard," gasped tabitha, finding her tongue at last, "that isn't a pup!" "what is it then?" susie bristled so aggressively that she forgot to keep a tight hold on her unwilling prisoner, and with a final scratch and yap of exultation, it freed itself from her arms, and darted away among the sagebrush. "a coyote." "no!" toady dropped his as if it were poison, and lifted startled eyes to tabitha's face. "you're fooling!" cried susie in exasperation over her loss. "dad, uncle decker, isn't that a baby coyote?" both men nodded silently, a look of amusement flickering about their lips. "but--but--" spluttered billiard, still hugging his half-smothered treasure to his bosom. "it--they _look_ like pups." "yes, they do, but you found them pretty frisky for pups, didn't you?" "they _were_ pretty lively," admitted the older boy slowly. "and as scratchy as--" began toady. "as _cats_," finished susie, angry at tabitha for calling the animals coyotes, angry at her sisters for laughing, and angry at herself for not knowing the truth of the matter without being told. "that's so, too," agreed mr. catt amiably. "it beats me how you ever managed to catch them." "it was a job," sighed billiard regretfully, freeing the pretty little ball wrapped so snugly in his coat, and watching it skulk away after its two brothers. "we had some empty sacks----" "but they weren't much good," susie broke in contemptuously. "if it hadn't been for that can of meat we swiped, we'd never have caught 'em. they bite like everything, as well as scratch." "yes," said billiard mournfully, taking the reins from tabitha's hands and mounting his burro, "and we had all our pains for nothing." "not quite," whispered tabitha sympathetically. "i understand, and i'm glad you took such trouble for me. but hurry. it's late already, and will be terribly hot before we reach home." so the party said good-bye to the canyon and set out briskly on their long ride back to silver bow, but tabitha was exultant, for billiard, unruly, rebellious billiard was at last completely won. chapter xii the bank of silver bow is robbed "it must have rained here since we left," observed toady, as they drew near the town. "why?" asked irene curiously. "'cause there's a puddle of water in that hollow rock and unless it had rained, how would it get there?" "by jove, the lad is right," muttered decker simmons to himself. "queer we didn't get any at the canyon, though. wonder what's the trouble ahead. town seems excited. do you suppose the new postmaster has embezzled his funds already?" "uncle decker," tabitha's voice interrupted his meditations. "yes?" "something must have happened in town while we were gone." "why?" "main street is full of people and the bank platform is black with them. do you suppose there is another run on the bank, or can it have failed?" "why, so 'tis!" ejaculated the man, noting for the first time what tabitha's keen eyes had seen,--that the greater crowd of the people were gathered in front of the silver bow bank. "wonder what's up." "hello, simmons," called dawley, the grocer, from his position in the doorway of his store. "you don't look as if you'd heard the news." "no. let's have it." the whole party halted and waited curiously. "bank robbed." "you don't say so! when?" "saturday night." "get much?" "don't know yet, but reckon 'twas only a few hundred. brinkley lost a lot of provisions, too, but fortunately his safe was empty." "well, i declare! any clue?" "not so far. rain wiped out all tracks that might have been made. had a corker of a thunderstorm that night." "well, well! now what do you think of that! what steps are you taking toward the capture of the thieves?" "posse out scouring the desert." "humph!" "well, what else can we do without clues?" "_find_ some clues. you'll never catch the rascals by scouring the desert with a handful of men. they must have gone into camp close by, or they would never have stocked up. bet they are new at the business. _must_ be to make a mistake like that. i'd laugh if they had never left town." and gathering up the reins, he drove on, followed by the cavalcade of burros. the children were greatly excited. burglaries in that lonely little desert town were unheard of, and this novel experience furnished food for their lively imaginations to feed upon. tabitha was particularly impressed, for never before in her short life had a robbery occurred so near home, and she could think of little else. a reward of two hundred dollars had been offered for the capture of the thieves, and as soon as the little brood in the eagles' nest heard of this, they began to amuse themselves by telling how they would spend the money if by chance they could win the reward. "i'd buy me a pony," said toady, as they sat on the shady side of the house discussing the all-absorbing topic. "ma said she never should get us another after spotty kicked her when she struck it with the whip." "i'd save it towards a motorcycle," declared billiard boastfully. "no ponies for mine! with another hundred i could get a dandy machine, and then wouldn't you see me spinning about the country just as i pleased!" "it would almost pay for another term at ivy hall," sighed mercedes, who, though she never mentioned the matter, knew that the family purse was too flat to permit of her returning to her beloved school with the coming of september. "i'd buy a little house in los angeles and go there to live," said irene. "it must be pretty where there are real trees and flowers the year around." "it's not your turn," susie objected. "i'd buy--i'd buy--what _would_ i buy? there are so many things i want, but i b'lieve i'd go travelling. two hundred dollars would take me quite a piece, and i'd see lots of big cities." "and i'd go along," breathed inez in ecstasy, "and we'd beat our way back on freight cars." "ho! that wouldn't be any fun," scoffed rosslyn. "i'd buy candy, 'n' ice-cream, 'n' peanuts, 'n' popcorn." "and a doctor," laughed mercedes. there was a pause, and seven pair of eyes turned expectantly toward gloriana, who, perceiving the look, said shyly, "there are probably heaps of things i'd like to get for myself now and then, but i think the most of my two hundred would go to granny conover for taking care of me all those years. i'd like to see her have plenty of money to do as she pleased with before she dies." "wouldn't that be splendid?" cried the children, who were never tired of hearing the pitiful tale of gloriana's life. "now, tabitha," suggested billiard. "why, where _is_ tabitha?" "gone to put janie to bed, i guess," said toady, seeing that the youngest member of the family was also missing. "it's her nap time." but in reality, tabitha was far down the mountainside, speeding like a deer in pursuit of a tiny, white-clad figure toddling in and out among the sagebrush and greasewood toward a forbidden playground, where, half-hidden by rocks and rubbish, were several unprotected prospect holes, mysterious and alluring to the investigative baby eyes. even as tabitha came within calling distance of the child, janie discovered that she was being pursued, and quickened her steps into a run, heedless of the path she was taking, until with a shrill cry of fright, she slipped over the brink of one of the very holes she had stolen away to visit, and disappeared from sight. "o, god, don't let her be killed!" prayed the black-eyed girl, and her feet fairly flew over the uneven ground, till she, too, reached the edge of the deep excavation. but before she could discover the plight of the runaway, she felt the ground give way beneath her feet, and echoing janie's cry of alarm, she, too, shot out of sight. fortunately, however, little sand fell with her, and as by a miracle, she landed free and clear of the frightened, sobbing, but unhurt figure crouching in the opposite corner. scrambling to her feet, she seized the scared baby in her arms, exclaiming over and over again, "janie, janie, are you sure you aren't killed?" till at length she had soothed the child's fright and had coaxed her into laughing again. "now, miss mischief," she cried, setting the baby down and beginning to investigate their prison, "we must find some way out of this place. 'tisn't very deep, to be sure; but the sides seem pretty crumbly, so i don't dare to climb out. i reckon we'll have to shout. help, help, help!" they screamed themselves hoarse, but no one came to answer their call, and janie began to wail dismally, for the minutes seemed like hours to her, and she was tired and cross. "never mind, honey," tabitha comforted. "if they don't find us around the house by supper time, they will know something has gone wrong and send general to find us. now let's amuse ourselves for a while, and then we'll shout again. here is a stick. see if you can dig a deeper hole than i can. why, what's this?" stooping over to pick up a fragment of redwood bark at her feet, she uncovered a small bag, which rattled as she touched it; and as she untied the drawstring, a shower of glittering gold pieces fell into her lap. "pennies!" cried janie, making a dive for a share of the shining coins. "yes, dear, gold pennies, but janie mustn't touch," answered tabitha, busily sorting the money into various piles according to its denomination. "it doesn't belong to us, and we must take it to the-say, janie mckittrick, what will you bet this isn't the money stolen from the bank saturday night? mr. dawley said they got only a few hundred. let's count it. one, two, three, four, five hundred dollars. janie, that's just what we've found! the robbers didn't dare take it with them, and so hid it here, thinking it would be absolutely safe." "well, tabitha catt! of all things! look, girls, she's as calm and cool as if she had gone on a picnic, instead of tumbling into a prospect hole." so intent had the two prisoners become in their find that neither had heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and as breathless susie's voice rang out above their heads, both started guiltily. "why, how did you know where to look for us?" cried tabitha, bouncing to her feet, and slipping the bag out of sight, lest the children see and ask questions. "well, when we couldn't find you about the house anywhere, glory remembered that janie had slipped off down the trail while we were talking, and so we decided that you must have chased her. then mercy happened to think of these holes. janie is always possessed to play down here, and has run away three times before; so we came down to look, and here you are in the very first one," explained susie. "you hauled us out of the abandoned mine one day, and now we are going to fish you out of a prospect hole," exulted billiard, much relieved to find the two girls unhurt, but unable to resist crowing a little over their mishap. "how?" asked tabitha, a frown of anxiety gathering in her forehead. "don't get too near the edge there, or some of you may join us in our retreat. you must go for help. you can't get us out all alone." "mercy has gone for the assayer," began inez. "and here he is now," billiard interrupted. "he has got a long board and a rope. stand back, irene, so you won't be in the way. there, now, tabby, tie up the baby, and we'll lift her out first." in a surprisingly short time, both girls were hoisted from the sultry pit and landed laughing gaily among their mates. "well," said the assayer, shaking his gray head in a puzzled fashion, "i don't understand how you kids work the stunt." "what stunt?" they all inquired. "why, tumbling into every hole you come across and not getting hurt. you aren't hurt, are you?" "no, indeed!" "and kitty finded a whole sack full of gold pennies down there, but her won't div janie any," volunteered the baby quite unexpectedly. "she--what?" "gold pennies!" "what does she mean?" the children lifted questioning eyes to tabitha's crimson face, and even the assayer looked down at her curiously. she had not meant to let the children know about the money; at least, not until she had consulted older and wiser heads than theirs; but now that janie had betrayed her secret, she displayed her find, and explained how it had come into her possession. the assayer's eyes grew thoughtful, as he examined each coin minutely, and counted the treasure, to make sure that tabitha's figures were right. "what shall you do with it?" he finally asked, as he dropped the last piece into the sack and returned it to tabitha. "take it to the bank. i thought it might be part of the money the robbers got." he glanced at her quickly, keenly; then answered, "that's the thing to do, all right, and i don't believe your surmise is far off, either. but see here, children, don't you dare lisp a word to a single soul about this money until we know for certain whose it is." "we won't," hastily promised the wondering, round-eyed flock, for they stood much in awe of the silent, almost taciturn man who worked wonders with the rock which the miners brought him; and the little company set out for home, leaving tabitha and the assayer to carry the precious find over to the bank. "do you know," said gloriana, as the black-eyed girl finished relating the afternoon's happenings to her, "i half believe that man snooping around the pesthouse is the robber." "what man?" demanded the startled tabitha. "well, i don't know who he is, but it is someone i've never seen here in town. he was there this morning, but i didn't think much about it then. we were so excited over the robbery. but this afternoon while the assayer was dragging you out of the prospect hole, and i was watching through your field glasses, i happened to turn them in the direction of the pesthouse, and there he was again, humped up on the doorsill, watching through glasses of his own. when you started off toward town, he hustled into the house and shut the door. now, it seems to me no one would stay in a _pesthouse_ unless he was hiding from someone." "no one ever had smallpox there." "then why does everyone avoid it so?" "i don't know. the name, i reckon. it was built for a pesthouse, but the doctors decided the patient didn't have smallpox after all, so the building has never been used." "then perhaps he knows there is nothing to be afraid of in the house." "that may be, of course. is he there yet?" "yes, i think he is. i've kept a close lookout ever since i discovered him, and i haven't seen him leave." tabitha seemed lost in thought a moment, then turned an eager face toward her companion. "gloriana, the reward!" "could we?" "can't tell till we try!" "but how----" "there are only two small windows in the house,--funny, isn't it, when air is so necessary in case of sickness,--he can't get out of them. so all we have to do is guard the door." "but how shall we get him to the--police?" "sheriff? i hadn't thought of that part. we couldn't tie him up and march him to jail,--we aren't strong enough, just us girls. we'll have to make sure he is there, lock him in, and then while one of us guards the door, the other must go for help." gloriana shuddered. she hoped it would not fall to her lot to guard the door, and yet she could not bear to think of tabitha's staying there alone with only a flimsy structure between her and a desperate character. "i--we--had we better try it alone?" she asked timidly. "wouldn't it be wiser to tell the assayer and get him to help?" "the more people there are connected with his capture, the smaller our share of the reward will be. we can do it all right." tabitha's daring swept away her objections. "that's so," she answered. "well, we better not wait any longer then, or perhaps he will get away yet." "i'm ready," tabitha replied promptly, and with quaking hearts but determined steps the two set out, armed with a stout stick and the rusty old pistol which gloriana had used the night the boys had played burglar. "what is that broom handle for?" questioned the red-haired girl, wondering if she would be expected to crack the desperado over the head with it. "to lock the door with." "_lock the door_?" could tabitha have gone suddenly crazy? "yes. it's the only way we can fasten him in. the door has an iron handle on the outside, instead of a knob, you see." "oh!" "is that the man?" the door of the pesthouse had opened abruptly and a short, portly man roughly dressed, unshaved and florid of complexion, appeared on the threshold a moment, eyed the approaching girls indifferently, glanced searchingly toward town, and again vanished within, closing the door behind him. gloriana's heart seemed to stop beating, then pounded so loudly that it sounded to her like the pulsing of the engines in the silver legion mine. "yes," she gasped. "then we've got him!" scared but exultant, tabitha leaped to the door, thrust her stick through the handle, and cocked her revolver, just as the man, hearing the noise outside, grasped the knob and tried to open the door. "what the deuce!" they heard him exclaim, and then he wrenched again. "who's out there, and what do you want?" he bellowed in rage, when the door refused to budge. "you're our prisoner," tabitha answered boldly, though trembling like a leaf with nervous dread; "and you might just as well keep quiet as to make a fuss. glory, hurry for the sheriff, the assayer--anyone! he's desperate!" and indeed he sounded desperate as he kicked and banged the door, shouted and swore, tearing about his small prison like a madman, and breathing threats of vengeance against his jailer, who stood pale but undaunted in front of the door, with a cocked revolver clinched tightly in both hands, waiting anxiously for the return of gloriana with help from town, and thanking her lucky stars that neither of the small windows was on the door side of the house. then suddenly the tumult ceased within, and terrified tabitha began to take courage again. "he has decided to behave himself at last," she thought. "it's the only sensible thing to do, for he can't get away from here now without being caught. there comes glory at last, but oh, gracious! look at the crowd following her. half the town is out." just then a subdued grunt from around the corner of the house caught her attention, and beckoning wildly to the approaching throng, she crept cautiously forward to investigate, but paused again, paralyzed at the sight which met her eyes. the portly prisoner had attempted to escape by means of one of the small windows, and now hung suspended by the middle over the sill, his hands clawing the air helplessly inside, and his heels waving frantically without. at another time, tabitha, would have shouted with laughter at the ridiculous figure he cut, but now her only thought was to prevent his escaping, and flinging aside her pistol, she plunged toward the body seesawing through the air, and clutched the feet with a determined grip, while the helpless victim protested in emphatic language. thus the crowd found them and went wild with delight at the spectacle, much to the discomfiture of both captor and captive, and when at length the florid prisoner was freed from his uncomfortable position, his face was purple with rage and exertion. "what is the meaning of this outrage?" he exploded as soon as he could find sufficient breath to voice his indignation. "who put you up to such a trick as that, you young minx? do you know who i am?" "why, jerry weller!" exclaimed an astonished voice from the interested throng of onlookers. "what are you doing here?" "i bought this old shack and was to have had it moved onto my claims to-day, if the movers had showed up," exclaimed the irate man, his voice thick with anger. "but along come these jades and fasten me in----" "we thought he was the bank robber," tabitha murmured faintly, sick at heart over the mistake. "he was acting so--so suspiciously." "bank robber!" echoed the speaker from the crowd. "why, jeremiah weller is owner of the biggest placer mines in the country. he made a fortune in alaska. he's a millionaire! bank robber! ha--ha! that's rich!" the crowd roared appreciatively, but the victim of the mistake quite unexpectedly lost his glowering look, and gruffly declared, "well, you needn't laugh at her. she's pluck to the backbone. show me another girl who would have undertook to corral a bank robber as she did. i don't wonder she thought that was my occupation. i certainly look rough enough--" suddenly his roving eyes fell upon the timid, shrinking gloriana, so depressed at the way matters had turned out that she could scarcely keep back the scalding tears. if it had not been for her, tabitha would never have gone on such a wild-goose chase. why hadn't she kept her suspicions to herself? "what's your name?" demanded the stranger so abruptly that he seemed positively rude. "gloriana holliday," she managed to articulate. "did you ever have an uncle jerry?" "if i did, he never came near us that i can remember," she candidly replied. the purple of his face deepened. "that's right, too," he muttered. "but your mother ran away to get married." "and her folks told her never to let them see her face again," supplemented gloriana bitterly. "was her name weller at one time? but of course it was. there couldn't be two people on earth look as much alike as she and you unless they were mother and daughter; and besides, she married a holliday,--jack holliday." gloriana nodded. "then, my girl, i'm your uncle jerry, and if you didn't catch your bank robber, you made a pretty good haul anyway. your mother--she--she's--dead, isn't she? and your father? you're an orphan----" "she's not any longer!" tabitha broke in savagely. "we've adopted her and she's my sister." "oh! well, that simplifies matters, too, for i'm a bachelor and have no _home_ to offer, but- say, i want to talk with you. where's your adopted father? not in town now? well, isn't there some place we can go where we won't be gawked at by all these hoodlums? bring your black-haired sister,--my jailer. i certainly do admire pluck." at this broad hint, the curious crowd reluctantly withdrew, and left the trio alone at the pesthouse threshold. standing there bare-headed with the waning sunlight glinting through the heavy, red locks, gloriana told what she could remember of the pitiful struggle of her parents, their deaths, and her unhappy lot until the scholarship at ivy hall had opened the way to better things. so affected was the bluff stranger by the sad tale that he made no effort to check the tears which filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. "well, the past is passed," he said when the story was done, "and we can't do anything now to change it. i've been downright sorry at the way we treated your mother, but she effaced herself pretty well. we never got a trace of her whereabouts, though years afterwards we heard that she was dead. we never knew there was a child, but never mind, you shall not want again as long as i live. being a rover and unmarried, i have no home to offer, as i said before; so i am glad to find you settled with such good friends. but i've got all kinds of money, and insist upon paying for your education from now on. here's a check for pin money." drawing a check-book from his pocket, he rapidly scribbled a few lines, tore out the slip and handed it to gloriana. mechanically she took it, and her gray eyes grew round with wonder as she read. "one hundred dollars! oh, you must have made a mistake, mr.----" "uncle jerry," he corrected her. "uncle jerry," she dutifully repeated. "not a bit of it! and what's more, there will be one of those ready for you every quarter." "oh, that's too much!" she protested. "whatever would a girl do with four hundred dollars a year spending money?" the sum appalled her, and well it might, for never before had she possessed more than five dollars at one time. he laughed at her dismay. "why, i often spend that much in a day. you can lay in a stock of jimcracks like the other girls have. you'll find plenty of ways to dispose of every cent, i know." "maybe," she half whispered. "you see, i never had so much as a dollar all my own that i can remember until i came to live with tabitha, but perhaps when i get used to knowing it's really mine and--genuine, i'll find ways to spend it. i--i thank you. it's nice to have an uncle jerry." "it's nice to have a niece gloriana, too," he answered gruffly, clearing his throat with much gusto; and as there seemed to be nothing further to say, the trio turned from the lonely pesthouse, and silently climbed the hill toward town. chapter xiii the robbers and the haunted house "billiard, did you ever see a ghost?" it was almost a week since the bank robbery had occurred, and still no clue as to the identity of the robbers had been found, although posses were still searching the country, determined to catch them if such a thing were possible. but the excitement of the event had already died down in the youthful minds of silver bow, and other topics of conversation absorbed their attention. "naw," answered billiard contemptuously, without looking up from the stick he was whittling. "what's eating you, toady? there ain't any ghosts, and you know it." "what about that haunted house in the east end of town?" "'tain't haunted." "susie says it is." "and tabitha has lived alone near it for six or seven years and she has never seen anything stirring there." "but ghosts walk only at midnight. she's never been there at night." "aw, you softy----" "susie says the gates boy declares he saw a ghost in the graveyard one night." "well, that's different. i don't blame a ghost for walking there." "why, billiard mckittrick, what do you mean?" "did you ever see a lonesomer place on earth than the silver bow graveyard?" demanded billiard. "why, it's the worst looking cemetery in the country, i believe,--just heaps of rocks and wooden sticks to show where folks are buried. tabitha says they _blast_ out the graves with dynamite, six at a time, and fill them up with people as fast as they die. would you rest easy if you were planted in that style? wouldn't your ghost want to get out and walk?" "_billiard mckittrick_!" toady looked positively shocked. then after a moment, as the older boy made no reply, the younger one continued thoughtfully, "maybe that's what is the matter with the ghost in the haunted house." "oh, pshaw, toady, i tell you there ain't such a thing as a ghost!" "i'll stump you to go down to the haunted house some time and find out." "all right, come along!" "not during daylight. it must be after dark. midnight is the best time, susie says." "bother susie! why don't you get her to go with you?" "you are afraid to go!" jeered toady. "am not!" retorted billiard angrily. "then why don't you take my dare?" "it's all tommy-rot," insisted billiard, with a fine show of scorn. "'fraid cat!" "oh, i'll take you up," cried the other, stung into recklessness by toady's taunts. "we'll go to-night." "to-night?" stammered toady, much abashed at his brother's sudden acceptance of the dare. "yes, to-night!" "what's your hurry?" "who's the 'fraid cat now?" taunted billiard. "not me! to-night's the time. we'll set the alarm-clock for half-past ten." "suppose it wakes the rest of the bunch?" "they'll think it's a mistake, and in a few minutes will be asleep again, and we can steal outside without their hearing us at all." so it was decided, and though each boy, deep down in his heart, hoped that the other would back out before the hour set, both resolved not to show the white feather, and as the alarm-clock pealed forth its summons in the silence of the night, two sleepy lads crept stealthily out of bed, drew on their clothes, and without exchanging a word, started for the haunted house at the other end of town. never, it seemed to the quaking boys, had the desert night seemed so black. the stars were shining, to be sure, but the very heavens seemed further away, and the silence was appalling. nervous, excited, dreading the ordeal, each boy waited for the other to propose that they give up their wild-goose chase; but neither was willing to acknowledge his cowardice first, so they stumbled fearfully on, clutching each other's hands to keep from falling, they told themselves, but really to feel the nearness of another human being. at length, however, they reached the old, abandoned shack, where they were to keep their ghostly vigil, and with bated breath they opened the sagging door and crept trembling over the threshold into the black shadows of the interior. fear held them tongue-tied, and they crouched upon the dusty floor as close to the door as they could get. the silence was intense, terrifying. then the stillness was sharply broken by a hoarse whisper, "what was that, bill?" billiard, thinking toady had spoken to him, was about to reply when a second voice answered, "only the wind, i reckon. shut up." "but it sounded like someone opened the door." "you're as bad as an old woman with the fidgets," said the second voice crossly. "go to sleep, can't you? at least, let me sleep. i tell you we're safe enough. the fools will never think of looking for us here. this is a _haunted_ house and no one ever comes here. when they get tired of scouring the desert and give up hunting for us, we'll light out, but until then we've _got_ to lie low; and we might as well spend our time snoozing as to be worrying all the while." "the bank robbers!" thought each boy to himself. what should they do? it would be impossible for two small boys to capture such desperadoes in the dead of night, especially as neither lad was armed, they argued. their only course was to steal noiselessly away, rouse the sheriff, bring back a posse and surprise the men in hiding. with one impulse, the terrified boys clasped hands, slipped cautiously out of the house, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being heard, and raced off along the road toward the sleeping town with all the speed they could muster. once they fancied they heard a voice call to them, but this only increased their head-long flight. their feet seemed fairly to skim over the ground, and when they reached the main street of the town they were breathless, exhausted and frightened almost past speaking. "where--does--the sheriff--live?" panted billiard, as they tore down the last steep slope. "dunno," gasped toady. "then how'll we find him?" "drug-store." "it's shut." "ring the night bell." and ring they did, sending peal after peal echoing through the silent building until the sleepy proprietor, dishevelled and wrathy, stumbled through the doorway, and demanded fiercely, "what the deuce is wanted?" "the robbers--" half sobbed the boys. "well, they ain't here," snarled the angry druggist, not catching the meaning of their words. "now you hike for home and the next time you want to play a practical joke----" "oh, this isn't a joke!" cried toady imploringly. "we've found the sure 'nough robbers, but----" "we aren't big enough to capture them," finished billiard. "aw, come off!" said the man, beginning to see from the boys' demeanor that something was really wrong. "you are having a bad dream. how do you happen to be wandering around town this time of night?" "we dared each other to visit the haunted house to see if there was a really ghost, like susie said." "and you found one, did you?" the druggist laughed sarcastically. "oh, this ain't a ghost. it's burglars, truly! they talked and we heard what they said," cried toady with convincing earnestness. "and what _did_ they say?" persisted the druggist, though in a different tone of voice. briefly they recounted their adventure in the vacant house, and as the man listened he took down the telephone, said a few words which the boys could not hear, and hung up the receiver again. almost immediately there was a sound of footsteps without, and an armed citizen of silver bow appeared in the doorway, then another, and another, until a score or more had gathered just outside the building. there was a hasty consultation one with another, then the boys were bidden to repeat the story they had told the druggist, and after the men had heard the meagre details, the posse separated, vanishing one by one in the blackness. but instinctively the boys knew that they would attempt to surround the haunted house, and taking its occupants by surprise, would compel them to surrender. they wanted to remain at the drug-store until the capture was effected, but the keeper ordered them home to bed, and they reluctantly obeyed, listening every step of the way for the sound of shots. but nothing occurred to mar the stillness of the night, and they wondered if the desperadoes had after all escaped. so anxious were they, and so nervous over their unusual experience that it seemed as if sleep would never come to close their eyes, as they lay once more in their bed at the eagles' nest; and they were astonished to find themselves waking up the next morning at the sound of someone knocking at their door. "who is it?" called billiard, vaguely wondering if he could have dreamed all that had transpired during the past twelve hours. "susie," answered a voice from the hall. "the sheriff wants to see you." "the sheriff?" "yes. hurry up! the bank robbers have been caught and you have to go to the justice of the peace's office." "then it's really so," sighed billiard in relief. "course it is!" retorted toady, now thoroughly awake. "but what do you s'pose the _sheriff_ wants us for?" "dunno. quickest way to find out is to go down and see." susie and the twins were waiting for them when they emerged from their room, and ecstatically announced, "we're all going, too. they want you to be _witnesses_, and tabitha to take notes. no one else in town writes shorthand." "but what is it all about?" demanded billiard. "ain't the robbers in jail?" "we have no real jail here," explained tabitha, who chanced to overhear his question. "when a man does anything that he has to go to prison for, they take him to the county seat. this court only tries to prove whether or not there is evidence enough to hold him for trial by the county. hurry up, they are waiting for us. and children, remember, you must come straight back here after you take a look at the prisoners. queer how youngsters want to see such things, isn't it? perhaps it will be quite a while before i can get back, but i know i can trust you to keep out of mischief and mind mercedes. oh, glory, i've got nervous chills already about taking that dictation. the lawyer who is to defend the robbers can talk like lightning." "fudge!" replied gloriana reassuringly. "you won't have any trouble at all, i know. they will take into consideration the fact that you have no experience outside of school. is this the place? what a funny looking court! does he live here, too? the justice of peace, i mean." "why, tabitha!" interrupted irene, clutching the older girl by the arm. "look there! that's our candy man,--the tallest one--and they've got him hand-cuffed. does- is _he_ the man they say robbed the bank? i don't believe he ever did it!" "hush!" warned inez, giving her twin a vicious dig in the ribs. but the damage was already done. "what do you mean?" demanded tabitha, pausing on the threshold of the tiny, dirty room that served as courthouse for the town of silver bow. "yes, what do you mean?" asked one of the lawyers, who had chanced to overhear the remark. "he made candy for us the day you went to the river and left us at home," explained irene, ignoring the frowns of her partners in guilt. "tell us all about it." bit by bit the story came out, and to irene's great grief it forged another link in the chain of evidence already so strong against the cheery stranger. "i don't want him to go to jail," she sobbed. "he's an awfully nice man." "but, dear, he is a thief," tabitha told her. "he ought to go to jail." "if they'd only let him loose this time, i'm sure he would never steal again," the child staunchly maintained. but in spite of her faith in him, the "candy man," as the children continued to call him, was sent to the county seat for trial, convicted, and sentenced to a long term in prison. "he shouldn't have stolen if he didn't want to go to prison," asserted billiard virtuously. "if he hadn't robbed the bank, he never would have had to hide in the haunted house and we wouldn't have found them there." "but as 'tis," added toady, "they paid billiard and me each fifty dollars for finding them. i mean the town paid us." "though you didn't discover whether there are any ghosts or not," said susie much disappointed. "who cares?" retorted the boys, drawing out their little hoard of gold pieces and gloating over them. "i wish there were more haunted houses if they'd all pay us as well as this one did. now, what shall we do with our money?" chapter xiv the unexpected happens "only two weeks more of vacation," sighed tabitha, sinking wearily into the hammock one august afternoon, and looking longingly away to the west where the train was just puffing into view. "i never dreamed we should be here all summer when i offered to take care of the kidlets for mrs. mckittrick." "are you sorry?" asked gloriana, glancing up from her sewing in surprise at the tone of tabitha's voice. "no, oh, no!" she answered hastily, for fear her companion would think she was complaining. "i don't regret staying here at all, for that was the only way mr. mckittrick could get well; but still--i should have enjoyed getting a peek at the ocean again, and having a good time all around, like we'd surely have had with myra." "yes, that would have been lovely," sighed gloriana, who could not help feeling sorry that their vacation had not turned out as they had planned, although she admired tabitha more than ever because of the unselfishness which had prompted her to shoulder such a responsibility in the first place. "you see, i never have spent the summer at the seashore," tabitha continued; "nor anywhere else, for that matter, except here in silver bow, since we came here to live; and i had planned so much on myra's invitation. she is such a whirlwind for fun." "it's too bad miss davis didn't let us know any sooner that she didn't intend to come back to the desert till fall. perhaps we could have found someone else--" "i'm afraid not. it's awfully hard to get anyone dependable away out here. _hired help_ is simply out of the question. they think silver bow is beyond the bounds of civilization, i reckon." "i don't blame them," began gloriana impetuously; then blushed furiously, and stammered, "oh, what did i say? what will you think of me? i didn't mean--" "yes, you did mean it," laughed her companion. "and i don't blame _you_. i used to feel the same way myself." "and did you _really_ get over it?" gloriana eagerly asked. "do you truly like this--this desolate place now?" "i _love silver bow_," she answered slowly, yet with emphasis. "i sometimes wonder what kind of a girl i would have been if we had stayed on at dover or ferndale, where there was no carrie. then there would have been no ivy hall, either, i suppose." "and no me," half whispered the red-haired girl. "then i should be thankful for the desert, too; because if it hadn't been for you, i never should have been adopted by the best people in the whole wide world, nor found an uncle jerry who really belongs to me. and anyway, there will be other summers, and the ocean will keep." "no, it won't, either!" thrilled a bubbling voice behind them, and a red-faced, perspiring, disheveled figure swept around the corner of the house and plumped itself down in the hammock beside tabitha whom she proceeded to hug rapturously. "myra!" gasped the black-haired girl, trying to return the embrace, but finding herself held fast by a pair of strong, sinewy arms. "myra!" echoed gloriana, dropping her sewing and staring with fascinated eyes at the newcomer, who promptly dragged the lame girl from her chair into the already overloaded hammock and hugged her vigorously. "where did you come from and _how_ did you get here?" "on the train," myra paused long enough to pant, "and as to finding you,--haven't you described and sketched the eagles' nest often enough in your letters for me to know it when i saw it? i never even had to ask directions how to find the trail. now just rustle your things together and we'll catch that train back to los angeles this afternoon. it leaves at three o'clock, doesn't it? i simply had to come after you, but it's too beastly hot to stay here a minute longer than necessary." "but myra, the children!" cried the two maids, looking oh! so eager at the mere thought of the seashore, but determined to turn their backs on temptation at once. "hark ye!" answered myra in tragic tones. "what sound doth smite your ears? or be you _deef_?" her abrupt change of tone and manner was too comical to be resisted, but her upraised hand checked the mirth of the other two, and they dutifully cocked their heads on one side and listened intently. "the youngsters at play," both replied in the same breath. "is that all?" "yes." "then i guess you're _deef_." at that moment sturdy rosslyn flew around the corner of the cottage, and throwing himself into tabitha's lap shrieked out, "kitty, kitty, mamma's come, but papa must stay down there till it gets cooler." "what!" whispered tabitha, her face paling. "it can't be! is she truly?" myra nodded solemnly. "what wonderful things are happening--" there was an ominous crack, the hammock rope snapped in two, and the quartette found themselves a tangled, huddled heap of arms and legs upon the piazza floor. "indeed, and i see nothing wonderful about that," spluttered myra, who had just opened her lips to speak, when their downfall came, and in consequence she had shut her sharp teeth together on her tongue. gloriana scrambled to her feet, then laughed. she could not help it, for long-limbed myra did look so funny, sprawled on the floor like a huge spider; and amazement was written so large upon tabitha's face that sterner hearts than hers would have made merry at the picture which they presented. rosslyn's wail of grief checked her mirth, however, and she came hastily to his rescue, but his mother had heard the outcry, and now appeared on the scene with the remainder of her brood clinging to her skirts, and billiard and toady following close at their heels. "well, for the land sakes!" she ejaculated, holding up her hands in surprise and amusement. "what a sight! are any of you hurt? that's good! now, girls, perhaps it will seem rude and ungrateful to rush you off this way, but i had orders to see that you caught the train back to los angeles this afternoon. so i reckon you will have to move lively, with your packing and all." "who gave you such orders?" demanded tabitha in bewilderment, rubbing her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming. "your father. i met him in the city just as i was about to board the train for silver bow." "but--but--" "no 'buts' about it," put in myra, still sucking her injured tongue. "i accidentally ran up against mrs. mckittrick in los angeles, knew her at once because mercy looks so much like her, discovered that she was planning to come back here before school opened; so i just attached myself to her and came along--" "aha!" crowed gloriana jubilantly. "then all that tale about finding the eagles' nest without help was a--fib!" myra's face crimsoned and her tell-tale eyes dropped, then lifted again, twinkling like twin stars. "huh!" she giggled, "our detective again! say, are you going to catch that train at three o'clock? if so, just take wings to your feet and fly for home. mrs. mckittrick can hear all about everything when you get back. the children are alive and well, and that's the main point. i told her everything you had written me and--" "myra haskell!" "well, she was on her way home and 'twas time she knew." she glanced across at mrs. mckittrick, who smiled back through her tears. "and she says you are bricks. also i told the station agent to send up his rig for your trunks, and if you don't make haste pretty lively, he'll be there before we are. i suppose your trunks are at your own house? that's where i told him to call. now sling out the duds you've got here, and i'll pack them while you are getting slicked up. no, mrs. mckittrick, i don't want another bite to eat, and it's evident from the looks of the house that either these folks don't get dinner, or else they have already eaten it." "we've had it," volunteered irene, "but it wasn't very good." "irene mckittrick!" gasped her mother. "she is right," laughed tabitha. "to-day was scrap dinner. we have it once a week to get rid of all the odds and ends. however, it isn't very popular. no, thanks, we won't need a lunch put up for us. if we get hungry before we reach los angeles, we'll patronize the diner. sorry we can't stop to tell you all the news, but if dad said we must go back on this train, i suppose we must. where are you staying, myra? avalon? catalina island?" "the very same." tabitha clasped her hands together and drew a deep breath. "how perfectly splendid!" "i guess i'm dreaming," murmured gloriana, half aloud, pinching herself vigorously to make sure she was really awake. "do you get there by boat?" "of course, goosie! did you think we took an airship? hurry up, slowpokes!" laughing and chattering gleefully, the trio gathered up their possessions, made a hurried visit to the catt cottage, packed their trunks, and were at the station long before the train rumbled its way back to the great city by the sea. "we are going to have the grandest kind of a time," myra told them. "all sorts of high jinks. we've got a dandy site for our camp,--a dozen tents--" "a dozen!" cried tabitha in a panic. "why, who are with you? i thought it was just your family." "you knew gwynne was there?" "yes, but she wouldn't occupy a dozen tents. i'm scared!" "you needn't be," mocked myra soothingly. "i'll bet you will vote it the jolliest bunch you ever got mixed up with." "do i know any of them?" "do you consider yourself acquainted with gwynne and me?" "of course. i meant any of the others." "well," myra spoke dubiously, "if you don't, i think you will get acquainted easily." and with that remark she adroitly turned the conversation and managed to avoid that subject during the rest of their journey. when the train drew into the dingy little depot the next morning, and the trio gathered up their wraps preparatory to alighting, tabitha was suddenly heard to ejaculate, "why, there is dad! and he's talking with--miss pomeroy, as sure as i'm alive! myra haskell, is miss pomeroy occupying one of those twelve tents?" myra glanced hastily through the iron gates, saw that tabitha was right, and demurely nodded her head. "then i can imagine who the others are." "bet you can't! at least, not all." "bet i can!" "who, then, smarty?" "grace tilton, bessie jorris, jessie wayne, julia, chrystie--_is_ chrystie there?" "wait and find out," teased myra. "possibly madeline and vera,--in fact, all our bunch." myra merely laughed, and as they were now spied by mr. catt and his companion, there was no further opportunity for discussion; for, after a hasty greeting all around, the man seized all the grips he could manage, and made for the street, saying briskly, "we must hurry. the boat goes at ten, and it is quite a ride to san pedro." "i hope," panted tabitha, trotting along at the rear of the procession, tugging a heavy suit-case, "that you don't have your fun in such a hurry." "what do you mean?" myra demanded. "well, it's been nothing but hustle since we started out yesterday afternoon, and i was just wondering if that's the atmosphere of your camp, too." "perhaps you will think so," laughed myra; "for there certainly are few idle minutes with us." "how long has the bunch been at avalon? surely not all summer, or you never could have kept it secret for such a while." "no," myra acknowledged, "only--but there, not another question till we reach catalina. then you can ask all you want. i've said too much already. first thing i know, you will guess the rest of our surprise." and the girl resolutely closed her lips. "_rest_ of the surprise," mused tabitha to herself, when further questions failed to bring forth any more information, and myra was devoting her attention to quiet gloriana. "i wonder what it can be. seems as if there had been about all the surprises one human being could expect in twenty-four hours. who would ever imagine that dad would go on a jaunt like this? isn't it great to be alive in this day and age?" she fell to dreaming over the many changes that had come to pass in her life during one short year, and was only roused from her revery by myra's gripping her shoulder and shouting in her ear, "the boat is whistling its warning now. not a minute to spare. run, kit, run!" and again the little company tore frantically down the street toward the dock where the _cabrillo_ was tugging at her anchor, waiting for the signal to steam away to the enchanted isle on her daily voyage. it was the first time either tabitha or gloriana had been on the ocean; and with rapturous hearts they drank in every detail of their brief trip, counted the flying fish that darted out of the water on either side of them, watched the foam dashing high against the bow of the vessel, wondered at the long ribbon of silent water which the ship left in its wake, and were sorry when suddenly myra called, "there's the island. we are almost there. now for the fun! there's a bride and groom on board." "how do you know?" "didn't you hear the whistle blow?" "sure, but i supposed it was to tell the islanders that we were coming. doesn't it always whistle?" "yes, but not like it did just now. that's the way they have of letting the folks at avalon know when there is a recently married couple on board. then the men are ready and waiting at the dock with a wheelbarrow." "a wheelbarrow! what on earth do they want of a wheelbarrow?" demanded both girls at once. "just for fun. they cart the groom all around the island in it and make a fearful racket. regular chivari." "how mean!" cried gloriana compassionately. "oh, it's fun," myra declared. "they like it. i believe an avalon citizen who didn't get treated that way would feel insulted, really. here we are at the landing, and there is the wheelbarrow brigade. it's murphy, the ice-man, who got married this time. see, he's as proud as a peacock at the prospect." "yes, but look at the poor little bride," said gloriana indignantly. "she is scared stiff." "bet she's game," replied myra, after a quick scrutiny of the little, shrinking woman, clinging to the arm of the big, burly irishman, as they stepped briskly down the gangplank. "do they put her in the wheelbarrow, too?" cried tabitha in amazement. "oh, dear, no----" "they will this one," said the bride with startling suddenness, having chanced to overhear both question and answer. "if they cart my pat around town in that kind of a rig, they cart me, too." and to the delight and amusement of the crowd gathered to greet the _cabrillo's_ passengers, the little lady tucked herself in the barrow beside her husband and was trundled away by the surprised citizens, who had never wheeled just such a cargo before. "'here comes the bride'," a voice began to sing; the crowd took it up, and amid a shower of bright-colored confetti, the plucky bride disappeared down the street still seated beside her smiling pat. so intent was tabitha in watching the queer procession that she had not noticed the quiet approach of a bevy of happy-faced girls; but now, as she turned toward myra with the remark, "she's clear grit. i'd choose a wife like that if i were a man," she found the laughing eyes of grace tilton staring at her, and before she could find her tongue to voice her surprise, gwynne's regal head bobbed through the crowd toward her. jessie and julia, vera and kate, all her particular friends at ivy hall, seemed to spring up around her, and although half expecting to find them there, she stood transfixed with amazement, silently regarding them one by one, while they in silence stared back at her. then the circle parted, and among the familiar faces of her schoolmates appeared another, which dimpled and smiled and nodded engagingly, and tabitha awoke with a start. "carrie carson!" she cried, and ran straight into the outstretched arms of the golden-haired girl. "kitty, my puss!" whispered carrie, cuddling the black head dropped on her shoulder; and the other girls thoughtfully turned away to watch the sea-gulls careening about the mastheads of the big _cabrillo_. but after a moment, that sweet, familiar voice spoke again, and turning back, the ivy hall girls saw carrie stretching out her hands to timid gloriana, as she said, "so this is my other sister, my gloriana! it seems as if i had always known you. we are going to have great times at ivy hall this year. come on, girls, the glass bottom boat is to take us to the marine gardens right after dinner, and we'll have to hurry, or be late." myra turned to tabitha with a comical grimace, and said, "what did i tell you? hurry's the word." then a babel of voices broke loose, all laughing and talking at once, and in triumph tabitha and gloriana were escorted to ivy hall camp. chapter xv myra's climax "well, vacation is over, and we had just begun having a good time," sighed tabitha mournfully, drawing back the curtains and peering out of the window that september morning into the gray fog of early dawn. "it doesn't seem possible that we are back in los angeles again. i 'most wish we had stayed at catalina for this last day." the catalina campers, after a delightful two weeks' outing on the island, had returned to mainland the day before; but as ivy hall had not yet opened its doors to its pupils, and most of the girls lived in neighboring towns, myra haskell had invited them to spend the night with her at her aunt's house. the aunt, mrs. cummings, was herself away on a brief vacation, but had given her harum-scarum niece permission to take possession of her pretty bungalow for the two nights the party would be in los angeles before school commenced. so, as the gray day dawned, it found a dozen mummy-like figures stretched about the floor of the great living-room, wrapped in blankets and quilts, and snoring blissfully. this was the audience which tabitha addressed, but she did not realize that she had spoken her thoughts aloud, and was startled when myra, without opening her eyes, grunted, "huh! you'll sing another tune before night. this is to be _the_ gala day of your life. you will never forget it. when dad starts out to do a thing, he never stops half way. the only trouble is to get him started." "i didn't mean to grumble, truly," cried tabitha, dismayed at having had her ungracious complaint overheard by her young hostess. "it is just grand of your family to invite all of us out to your ranch for the day, but i believe it's going to rain. it certainly looks like it. you could cut the fog with a knife." "whist! my young friend," murmured gwynne, wakened from her slumbers by the sound of voices in the room. "don't be so pessimistic. don't you know it never rains in california? at least not in the summer time." for from the opposite corner of the room someone had sleepily murmured, "what about the ostriches?" and the whole company laughed reminiscently, recalling that thanksgiving night when the storm had frightened the ostriches at the park until they broke loose and created a panic among the returning theatre-goers. "who said rain?" demanded grace, lifting a tousled head from the pillow to survey the hilarious group scattered about the floor of the spacious room. "go back to sleep,--you dreamed it!" teased bessie, who had begun to slip on her clothes. "'twas snow we were talking about. feels like it, anyway." "it _is_ pretty chilly," admitted tabitha, shivering under the thin folds of her borrowed dressing-gown, as she turned away from the window and prepared to follow bessie's example. "wake up, thou sluggards, 'tis time you were dressed. remember we have a long and arduous day ahead of us." "kitty must be tired," said julia in mock sympathy, crawling out of her warm nest and jerking the blanket off her nearest neighbor with ruthless hand. "is that it, kitty? first you want it to rain, and then when you can't make it do that, you begin to moan about the length of the day before us." "all wrong," vera spoke up suddenly. "she is merely thinking of that dear, cross-eyed boatman at avalon. you know he promised to give us a free ride to the marine gardens this morning, and here we all came away and dragged tabitha with us. shame on us! what could we be thinking about!" tabitha wisely joined in the laugh which followed this sally, and sent a pillow flying after her tormentor, who had made a wild dash for the hall. "no, sir, i'm not bemoaning my fate," she vigorously denied, with her mouth full of pins. "i know we shall have a splendid time at the ranch. only it seems as if vacation had only just begun, instead of being nearly ended; and the day looks so cloudy and gray that it doesn't seem like a fitting climax for our lovely two weeks at catalina." "it is too bad that you got cheated out of all the fun this summer," myra sympathized heartily. "but just you wait until the day is done before you say it is not a fitting climax- gracious caesar! here's one of the autos already! surely they can't be coming so soon! what time is it, anyway?" "half-past six," gloriana answered, glancing at an open watch that lay on the library table. "half-past nothing!" cried vera, tumbling hastily into the room with her eyes as big as saucers. "it is almost eight o'clock!" "you are joking!" cried the rest of the group in wild alarm. "am not! true as you're alive, the kitchen clock says a quarter of eight o'clock." "oho!" murmured myra guilty. "i--i--really, i forgot----" "forgot what?" they demanded, as she doubled up and shrieked with laughter. "i--i must have set all the watches in the crowd behind time," she managed to explain at length. "when?" "last night." "what for?" "just a joke." "a joke? i can't see any joke about that!" spluttered jessie indignantly. "did you think we wanted to go for a forty-mile auto ride on empty stomachs? i'm as hungry as a bear this minute." "i am awfully sorry," cried myra penitently, sobering at the realization of just what would be the outcome of her joke. "i meant to set them two hours ahead, so you would all get up at daybreak and be ready long before the autos came." "just like you!" they exclaimed, half amused, half provoked. "what are you going to do about it now?" "what can we do? the autos are here already with the rest of the people. there are the carsons and here comes miss pomeroy." "and there is tabitha's father in his new machine." "yes, and mine," said myra. "my! won't he be mad to think we aren't even dressed? if there is one thing above another that he abominates, it is having to wait for a woman to get ready to go somewhere. well, i suppose i'll have to break the news to him. then after you have all gone home again, won't i get the dickens?" "hold on!" cried tabitha, as myra started for the door. "there is no need of that, is there? i've got a brilliant inspiration. didn't you say when you investigated the larder last night that your aunt must have baked just a-purpose for our visit?" "yes, words to that effect. there is a whole crock full of doughnuts and another of cookies. she must have had baking day just before she decided to take her little trip. but why?" "we'll just fill our pockets----" "haven't any!" "well, our hands, then, and eat our breakfast on the sly." "on the _fly_ you mean," said gwynne, sarcastically. "to be exact, yes. or perhaps it would be better to pretend that we just found the supplies as we were about to leave the house. that will be the truth, so far as the most of us are concerned. won't it?" "but cookies and doughnuts are pretty slim fare for hungry bodies," grumbled vera, tugging at an unruly collar. "better than nothing," said bessie cheerfully. "dinner will taste all the better." "but we aren't ready," objected julia, slipping the last hairpin in the heavy coil at the back of her head. "my shoes aren't buttoned yet, and i can't scare up a hook in the whole outfit." "bring 'em in your hand, then," suggested gwynne. "i'm ready now, and i elect myself commissary general to distribute the rations as you pass out. who'll be first in line? gather up your bedding, jessie, and stack it in the corner, else myra's aunt will think tramps camped here instead of civilized human beings. now, are you all clothed and in your right minds? then, grace, poke your head out of the window and announce to the audience that we will be out in a minute. where are your hats and coats? yes, kate, there'll be time for you to wash your face if you haven't been able to do so before. look pleasant, please! no one must suspect that we've had no breakfast; but in my mind's eye, i can see this bunch stowing away their dinner three or four hours from now. hope they serve it as soon as we get there. do you suppose there will be enough to go around? how far did you say it was, myra? forty miles?" laughing and joking, the dozen hungry, breakfastless girls hurried into their coats and veils, seized their pitifully small allotment of doughnuts and cookies, and boisterously climbed aboard the autos waiting for them. "only ten minutes late by actual count," mr. haskell complimented them, as the merry crowd poured out of the door. "well, well, that's doing fine! how did it happen?" "it's all myra's fault," began vera plaintively, but myra, fearful that she was about to be betrayed, hastily asked, "where is the dinner, dad? didn't mother tell you to bring----" "some stuffed squabs, fruit and cake? yes, she did; and it's packed in that trunk hitched onto the step there. you'll have to sit on it, i guess. there doesn't seem to be quite room enough to accommodate all the crowd." this arrangement just suited myra, who loved to romp like her brothers; so she gleefully perched on top of the long, flat chest strapped on one side of the auto, and the procession slowly set out on its long journey. "my! but it's a beautiful day," sighed tabitha at length, her eyes wandering from the fog-wet landscape below to the sky above, where the blue was already chasing away the gray, as the sun struggled up behind the eastern hills. "didn't i tell you so?" crowed gwynne, regretfully studying the last bite of a doughnut before popping it into her mouth. "it doesn't rain in california. is this the river we cross eighteen times, myra, in order to reach your ranch?" "only eight," mumbled myra, with her mouth full of cookie crumbs. "this is it. allow me to introduce you to the great----" "great!" echoed tabitha, looking down at the shallow, sluggish stream with critical eyes. "is it _really_ a river? looks to me like the little puddles we used to sail boats in after a heavy rain-storm back home when i was a little tot." "it isn't very awe-inspiring now, is it? but you should see it in the spring after the rains. it certainly can play havoc then. changes its channel every two or three years, and causes all sorts of damage. what is the matter ahead there?" their auto had slowed down suddenly, and now came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "what has happened, dad?" "carson's auto is stuck in the mud." "mud?" "well, the river-bed, if that suits you any better. i'll get out and see if i can help them----" "no need; they've started up again," said tabitha, waving her hand at carrie and wishing that she had been fortunate enough to get a seat in mr. carson's machine. the delayed procession started onward again, and without further difficulty crossed the muddy river-bed and sped swiftly away down the smooth road on the other side. but that same river had to be reckoned with seven more times, and each time at least one of the cars sank in the treacherous mud and had to be dug out. "well, thank fortune, this is the last time we cross!" breathed myra, as they approached the winding river for the eighth time. "ours is the only auto that hasn't stuck fast so far. let her out, dad, and we'll be on the other bank in a jiffy. i never knew the river to be so high at this season of the year." "knock on wood, myra, knock on wood!" cried gwynne in mock alarm. "too late, we've stuck fast! why on earth couldn't you wait until we had safely reached the other side before you commenced bragging?" "huh! you superstitious duck, did you think we could escape? oh, pshaw, we're out! not even the fun of having to be helped across like the others were! well, never mind, mr. catt's machine is sure to stick again. it has every time so far. there, didn't i tell you? hurrah! watch your father puff, kitty. ain't he a sight? get out your shovel, mr. catt!" myra was excitedly dancing on the lid of the luncheon-filled chest, as she hung precariously over the back of the tonneau, and bawled her remarks at the unfortunate occupants of the auto behind them, which seemed to sink deeper and deeper in the mire with every effort to dig her out. "fasten this rope to your car and we'll try dragging you out," finally suggested the ponderous mr. haskell, clambering heavily down from his seat at the wheel and going to the aid of his unlucky neighbor, who was not yet much skilled in the art of running an automobile. so they tied the two cars together with a heavy rope, and tried to drag the captive machine loose, but without success. "let me drive," suggested myra, after they had tugged in vain for several minutes, "and you get out and pull on the rope, too." "what good will that do?" growled her father crossly. "if sixty horse power won't budge the thing, do you suppose man's puny strength will?" nevertheless, he crawled out of his seat once more, and seized the great rope dangling between the two cars. mr. catt, resigning his wheel to the driver of the next machine in line, followed mr. haskell's example, and with three or four of the other men of the party, they added their strength to that of the machine, and pulled with all their might. myra, at the wheel, was in her element, and putting on full power, she gave the lever a vicious jerk. the car leaped forward like a thing alive, and bounded up the opposite bank at break-neck speed. "ah!" she cried in triumph, "i knew i could get her started. i'm a bird!" "oh, daddy," shrieked tabitha's voice from the rear seat. "let go, oh, let go! mr. haskell, you'll be killed!" "myra, you chump!" hissed gwynne in her ear. "shut that thing off! the rope's bu'sted and you are dragging our precious men folks uphill." myra glanced hastily behind her, reversed the wheel, and as the car came to a standstill, she sprawled across the seat, doubled up with merriment, half hysterical. "oh, didn't they look funny hanging onto that rope? what fools some mortals be! why didn't they let go? bet dad's got his nose skinned good, for when i looked back, he was plowing up the road on his head. is he hurt? i don't dast to ask! mr. catt, your clothes are pretty dusty." "dusty i'll admit, but not very pretty," he smiled grimly, as he wiped the perspiration from his grimy face. "however, you got the car out of the rut, so perhaps we can proceed on our way now." "then it might be wise if i resigned my seat to the chauffeur before i am requested," chuckled myra, still laughing immoderately at thought of her father's undignified attitude as he was dragged through the dust, clinging desperately to the frayed end of the broken rope. so she scrambled nimbly to her place on the running board, and there mr. haskell found her sitting prim and decorous when he had finally recovered his breath and made himself sufficiently presentable to face the rest of the party. "your nose is a little--soiled," she told him, as he climbed stiffly into his seat, "and somewhat scrubbed, i'm afraid." her voice shook a little in spite of her efforts to control her mirth, and he scowled darkly at his irrepressible daughter, though he only said, "are you all ready?" so again the procession of autos took up their journey, and with no further accident finally reached the great walnut ranch where the haskell family lived during the summer. the rosy, smiling mother greeted them from the veranda as the cars rolled up the smooth driveway and unloaded at the door. "you are late," she said cheerily. "did you have any mishaps? i knew you would be hungry after your long ride, so we are serving dinner early. dave, did you get the squabs all right?" "yes, he did," myra answered. "i sat on them all the way out here. dad, bring on the 'eats'. why, what is the matter?" mr. haskell stood in the driveway frowning heavily at the car, much as he might have done at a naughty little boy. at myra's boisterous call, he raised his eyes and inquired, "where _are_ the 'eats'?" "in the chest, of course. what do you--" her voice died away in a husky, bewildered squeak. the rest of the party came closer, followed the direction of her glance, and gasped. the hamper full of stuffed squabs was gone! "well, of all things!" cried gwynne, when the silence was becoming oppressive. "how could it have happened?" "with myra sitting on it!" chorused the girls. "didn't you miss it?" "n-o." "ha, ha, that's one on you, miss haskell," laughed mr. carson. "_sitting_ on the lunch box and never missed it when it tumbled overboard. how did _you_ manage to stick on?" "how did the other machines manage to come along behind us and never find it?" retorted myra, nettled at the hilarity of her companions. "_that_ is the question!" "we must have lost it in the river," suggested tabitha. "of course! when we were trying to pull out the other machine and i shaved dad's nose. didn't i do a good job, mumsie? must we go hungry now because i lost all your little stuffed scrubs,--i mean squabs?" anxiously she turned toward her mother and scanned that sober face, for her eighteen hour fast had left her half famished, and there were at least eleven other girls in the same boat, all because of her stupid attempt at joking. "we-ll, i have cooked a kettle of new potatoes and another of green corn,--plenty of both. but it looks as if you must go without meat." "oh, we can get along nicely, i know. vegetables are better than meat anyway, you know. come on, let's eat!" at that moment she felt hungry enough to swallow the dishes themselves, and anything sounded appetizing to her. as the rest of the party were equally as hungry, they were not slow to respond to her invitation, and in a very short time the tables were stripped; but the ravenous appetites were appeased, and the little company scattered in groups about the ranch to enjoy the few brief hours of their stay. the return trip was as tame as the first part of the journey had been exciting, for not a single car stuck once, and just as the city clocks were striking nine, the tired, sunburned, but blissfully happy girls again found themselves entering mrs. cummings' deserted house, where they were to spend this last night before ivy hall opened its doors to receive them. "oh, kit, your father gave me a letter for you, hours ago," suddenly exclaimed myra in dismay, as they were unrolling their blankets ready for bed, and she dragged forth a crumpled envelope from her blouse and presented it to her surprised companion. "i'm so sorry i forgot it. really, it's inexcusable in me." "it's of little consequence," tabitha assured her, scanning the unfamiliar handwriting with puzzled eyes. "i don't know anyone in boston. oh, it's from billiard and toady, i reckon. they live at jamaica plains, and--why, there's money in it! one hundred dollars. what in the world- will you listen to this, girls? you know i told you about their getting part of the reward for helping capture the bank robbers in silver bow? well, they are sending it back and want to know if it's enough to give mercedes another year at ivy hall." a deep hush fell upon the group of tired, sleepy girls preparing for the night. each maid recalled with a twinge of conscience the picture of quiet, sober-faced mercedes mckittrick, as she had said good-bye to them that last day of school. "i can never forget any of you," she had said shyly, "and i'm glad of that, for it's nice to remember pleasant times when you can't have any more." they had not understood then, but now they knew it was her way of renouncing the happy school days which she must give up because of her father's illness; and they were ashamed of their indifference. "i'll add fifty dollars of the check uncle jerry gave me," whispered gloriana, breaking the painful silence at last. "and there's my birthday money in the bank," said tabitha. "that's another fifty." "oh, if only i hadn't spent my allowance for clothes that i didn't need!" groaned myra. "but i still have nine dollars and ninety-nine cents left. can anyone make it an even ten? ivy hall will be open to us to-morrow, and school begins monday. i can get along nicely on my nerve until my next allowance comes in. here, let's pass the hat." "me, first!" cried bessie enthusiastically, reaching for her purse. "i'll give ten dollars." "my money is _all_ gone," mourned grace, "but i'll _promise_ ten dollars if you will take pledges." in utter amazement tabitha sat curled up on her pile of blankets, watching the shower of gold and silver which poured into her lap. "oh, girls," she gasped, when she could find her tongue. "how can i ever thank you? mercy will be transported with joy. here's more than enough to pay all her expenses, and carrie will want a share in it, too. aren't friends splendid!" her voice was husky and tremulous, and two bright drops glistened in her black eyes. what a beautiful world this is to live in! somehow, the spontaneous gift to little mercedes seemed a gift to her also, and she thoroughly appreciated the loving act of her classmates. what a beautiful climax to her summer vacation! jessie sniffed audibly, and vera surreptitiously wiped a big tear off the end of her nose. myra, who hated scenes, brought the group back to the earth with a thump, saying briskly, "come, let's to bed! i'm half dead already, and my face is smarting like sin. i don't like your cold cream, kitty." "cold cream?" repeated tabitha in surprise. "yes, i helped myself to the contents of the jar i found in your suitcase. no one else had any, and my face was burned to a frazzle." "did you put that stuff on your face?" screamed tabitha, holding up a tiny white jar of creamy paste. "sure. why?" "because it's corn salve. no wonder it smarts. go wash----" but myra waited to hear no more. there was a wild scamper of bare feet on the hall floor, the bath-room door banged noisily, water splashed vigorously, and just as the girls were drifting off to sleep, they heard myra, snuggling down in her blankets, murmur sadly, "it's lucky the hall opens to-morrow. otherwise these girls would soon be the death of me." reno the holy bible i quote the following: "when a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it came to pass that she find no favor in his eyes, because he hath found some uncleanness in her: then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. "and when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife." from the fifth book of moses, deuteronomy, chapter xxiv. [illustration: lilyan stratton] a book of short stories and information by lilyan stratton author of "the wife's lesson" "feminine philosophy" etc. etc. scenic views by van-noy interstate company of san francisco 1921 lilyan stratton corbin i dedicate this book to all good husbands and to my own in particular..... l.s. chapter part 1. social and industrial life part 2. reno tragedies part 3. reno romance part 4. reno comedies part 5. reno and its people part 6. nevada divorce laws part 7. sons of the sagebrush i do not guarantee the statements and information contained in this book, but they are taken from sources which i believe to be accurate. lilyan stratton. list of illustrations washoe county court house, reno, nevada one of the court rooms in famous reno court house palisades canyon showing humbolt river lovers' leap blue canyon truckee river canyon off to donner lake amid the snow at truckee, california donner lake truckee river dam honeywood of the wingfield stables views of reno's public play grounds university of nevada general view of reno, looking n. w. wingfield home the truckee from riverside drive looking north of virginia street glenbrook cave rock lake tahoe lobby of the golden hotel mt. rose school reno national bank building interior of reno national bank elk's home y. m. c. a. view of nevada university campus facsimile of round trip ticket from new york to san francisco renoites as seen by a reno cartoonist riverside hotel, reno, nevada captain j. p. donnelly, former state police superintendent senator h. walter huskey governor emmett d. boyle of nevada governor's mansion at carson city frank golden, jr. introductory the magic little word "reno" makes a smile creep over the face of anyone who hears it mentioned, as a rule in recognition of the one thing for which it is known. i have smiled myself with the rest of the world in the past; in the future my smile will have a different meaning. i have lived in reno. i have felt the pulse of its secret soul, and have learned to understand its deeper meaning, and it is therefore that i am able to uphold my intimate conviction in an attempt to change the world's opinion of reno and its laws from ridicule to admiration. and if my book has any reason for being, it lies in this attempt. those whom fate forces to visit "the big little city on the truckee river" will find in this book a great deal of carefully gathered information for which before my pilgrimage i would have been so thankful, and with the aid of which so much worry and heartache would have been saved. this book is not written with any intention whatsoever to propagate divorce; i want this clearly and conclusively understood, so that there can never be any misunderstanding. to me there are three things sacred above all others: the first is motherhood; the second marriage; the third is the home. he or she who promiscuously profanes these sacred things is unworthy of them and must pay the severest penalty. my book is meant to be an appeal for happiness and health; an appeal for peaceful homes, happy and contented husbands, happy wives and mothers of happy, healthy and well bred children. after all, unhappy and discontented human beings are unfit physically and morally to produce the best work and the finest healthiest children. the children are the forthcoming bearers of the world's burdens and responsibilities. to them belongs the future, and already too many social problems of the present age are due to the unhygienic and illogical mating of the human male and female. the divorce courts should only be appealed to as a last resort, to free some tortured soul from a life of misery, caused by humiliation, shame and hatred, the very essence of all evil. when the sacred state of matrimony becomes so profaned and degraded that it soils everything it comes in contact with; when even the minds of our children are poisoned and distorted by the atmosphere, and the last ray of hope has vanished, only then the hour has struck to ask the law for justice; to appeal to the judge for redemption for humanity's sake. why have i written my book in parts, and why has each part its individual interest and charm? because readers may choose any part or parts that especially interest them. if they are not interested in the book for the information it gives, they will always find the short stories and tales of reno interesting and amusing. part 1. social and industrial life: is written to acquaint the intended colonist or visitor with every phase of social and industrial life. this is very important to know for many reasons. first the law requires that one go to reno for some other reason than divorce. so you may go there for instance to become a student; it is a healthful and therefore a fine place for study. the well equipped university gives ample opportunity; and if one is taking one's children, which often happens, it is well to know about the schools. it is well to have some other purpose in view when joining the reno divorce colony, and to carry that purpose into effect. also if one is not blessed with over much of the goods of this world, one can earn one's way while waiting. this part contains much information that is practical, useful, essential and interesting. the industries are very important. there are plenty of pleasant positions to be had; plenty of opportunity for business, as you will learn by reading this part; also many sorts of amusement, so that no one need be bored. it is best to keep busy; busy people seldom get lonely; lonely people often are too much in quest of companionship.... moral, don't play with fire; and if you do get into trouble don't blame it on the "altitude." reno's altitude has been somewhat abused by colonists in the past; loneliness is much more to blame for the unhappy state of mind so often experienced out there, and loneliness is mostly the result of idleness. part 2. reno tragedies: consists of a few short tales of people who have been members of the divorce colony. whilst the comedy part describes characters who find life is all froth, who skim its surface, so to speak, those portrayed in this chapter are people who take existence seriously; who want to drain the cup of life to its last dregs! if one listens as one reads one can almost hear the steady heart throbs..... these are not exactly blue law stories, but as many great authors have taken the liberty of depicting things just as they found them in real life, my humble self has availed itself of the same prerogative. these tragic little tales of the divorce colony should be dear to you as they are to me; they are most appealing sketches in life..... part 3. reno romance: relates the story of a fair virginian whose youthful mistake is righted through the reno divorce courts. the fair heroine is reunited with her girlhood sweetheart, and they live happily ever after; a short story depicting another type of reno divorce case. "let us begin dear love where we left off, tie up the broken threads of that old dream.".... part 4. reno comedies: has been written to give the reader, whether a would-be colonist or not, a glimpse of the humorous side of the occurrences in this much-talked-of little city. happiness after all is not a question of the place, because "the city of happiness is in the state of mind." however, any person, place or thing that has not its funny side becomes rather dull, to say the least, and likewise the mind that cannot appreciate the humorous side. this part consists of a few plain tales from the humorous side of the lives of departed celebrities of the divorce colony, and should be amusing and entertaining to any reader. naturally fictitious names have been used. part 5. reno and its people: is meant to give prospective residents or visitors an insight as to just what kind of place they may expect to find, and to dispel any fears that the accommodations would not be comfortable. it will acquaint newcomers with the kind of men and women one finds oneself associated with in daily life, which to strangers in a strange land, is most important, i think. newly arrived colonists, perhaps lonely and heartsick, will not find it quite so hard to go to a strange country, if they know in advance that the people are generous, big hearted and sympathetic; progressive and interested in all things that stand for the betterment of humanity. part 6. nevada divorce laws: gives the reader any and all information required to secure a divorce in nevada; and besides it contains the opinion of many great thinkers on the question of divorce, coupled with a plea for universal divorce law. one should find this an interesting chapter, whether a prospective colonist or not; its contents, however, are absolutely indispensable for anyone anticipating divorce in nevada, and consequently ought to be read most carefully; more especially so, as for the actual legal advice in this part, i am greatly indebted to one of reno's ablest lawyers, senator h. walter huskey. part 7. sons of the sagebrush: a few short biographical sketches of men i met, read about and heard about during my stay in reno. it is well to know the kind of men we may come in contact with, both in business and in a social way; most certainly it is well to know the type of men we may have to come in contact with in a business way. for that reason i have written a few little sketches of these men. among them are lawyers, judges, mining men, hotel men, politicians and pioneers. aside from giving some useful information this part is interesting for its character studies and its amusing little incidents. lilyan stratton. november, 1921. [illustration: washoe county court house. reno nevada] part 1 social and industrial life dull in reno? why no; how can one be bored in this delightful "big little city," when here you will find a concentration of all the most picturesque phases of life--a conglomeration of gaiety and tragedy, humor and drama, frivolity and learning! what a fertile field for the psychologist and sociologist. it is wonderfully interesting not always to turn to books only, with their rigid, lifeless rules and laws; books can only convey to us the things someone else has learned! those who desire a real understanding of human nature's handiwork must work and play on human mountains, in human fields and human swamps. being an ardent student of life and character, i have found reno highly interesting and amusing, and dear reader, if you will do me the honor to accompany me through the following pages of this chapter, i am sure you too will be interested. first we will visit the restaurants, cafes and hotels which are teeming with the vigor of life, vibrant and pulsating; and if you know and understand human relationship, or wish to, then you may overflow with sympathy, laugh in conviviality, or perhaps weep in the privacy of your own room for what is and for what might have been.... the fashionable restaurant is not a large pretentious place, elaborately decorated, but there is something in the atmosphere which is not tangible but which we yet can sense. who are all these people? and if each told his own story, how tremendously interesting it might be! unconsciously, you know that the atmosphere is distinctive; that things are different; so many interesting personalities grouped into such a small place is something most unusual. over in the corner is a new york banker; his strong, handsome face marked with character lines and crowned with white hair: the stamp of long years of struggle in the financial world. see, he is smiling across the table at his companion, and his face is almost boyish as he chats and laughs. such a companion! i wonder what fate has sent her to cheer the desert city; a modern cleopatra, even more beautiful than she of egypt: a radiant beauty, this dark-eyed queen of the orient; ruby lips and teeth of matched pearls; hair black as midnight, and fires smoldering in dreamy eyes as if in pools of mystery... bored in reno? how could one be? this is only a cafe such as you might visit in any other city. one might see the same banker and the same oriental beauty in a new york cafe. but there they would not be nearly so interesting; for such people to be in reno means either a domestic comedy, tragedy or romance. each one is a puzzle, and one finds oneself intent upon divining the mystery embodied in these personalities, as they come and go like shadows on a screen. now the waiter comes: there is something unusual about him also; one can't help noticing his big, powerful form as he bends over the table to take the order; he is a new york chauffeur working his way free from a nagging wife, so that he may marry a popular society belle. you can forgive her, can't you, for admiring his handsome physique; a greek god he is in spite of his irish brogue and bad ear for grammar.... but then she probably does not hear much of that, and won't if he is wise. that little woman over there with the carmine lips and black eyes, she is the wife of a methodist minister and is here for the "cure" of course, like the rest. she is going to hitch her matrimonial wagon to a vaudeville "star" by way of a change! "the very day i get my decree," she told me. there comes an interesting couple. i think the woman is moroccan. doesn't she look a barbarous relic with those immense rings in her ears? you feel that there should be one strung through her nose, too. there is a story abroad that she is the consort of a well known millionaire of chicago; after several unsuccessful attempts on her part at stabbing him, he is giving half his fortune in alimony to get rid of her. the other night at ricks' she threw a plate at a man because for five minutes he paid more attention to her woman friend than to her.... a dangerous playmate, methinks! that charming little lady in a symphony of blue, surrounded by a company of admiring friends, is mme. alice, a broadway opera star; her story is very interesting indeed. no, i dare not tell; it is sufficient that you should know that she is a gentle, sweet little mother, although she looks a mere girl herself. she has a voice of unusual quality and dramatic sweetness. i have had the pleasure of hearing her sing at several concerts which she gave for charity. she is extremely generous in that direction and always draws a packed house. she got her divorce while i was out there and passed on like the other shadows on the screen. the last i saw of her was when she was singing the "battle cry of freedom" in the hotel golden lobby, as her decree had been granted. her face was just radiantly happy as she repeated several times: "i am free, i am free.".... at a table, back in the shadows of the palms by the piano, sits another interesting little lady from gay new york. she is also a singer of note and the wife of a well known author. she has taken a mansion on the banks of the truckee, and brought along her retinue of servants. of course she is beautiful, the golden haired, blue eyed type, with a complexion like tinted rose leaves.... who is that lone man at the table just opposite? ah! that bearded gentleman with light hair, wearing a black tie; an artist-looking sort of chap? that is a world-famous portrait painter. i had the pleasure of meeting him and his beautiful bride at cannes, southern france, some years ago. yes, he does look rather forlorn; there is a pathetic droop to his mouth. no, he is not here for a divorce; one of the exceptions. he arrived a few days ago from tangiers; it was while there that he received by registered post his wife's summons in her divorce suit, and he took the first ship back to america to fight the suit and to try to win back his beautiful wife, who, by the way, is also a talented artist. but alas! cupid is a stubborn little beggar; though blind as a bat and not very large, yet he has a will of his own, and won't be driven or led.... though the man seated over there is apparently very interesting and is internationally known as a great artist and an exhibitor in the royal academy in london; though he must have loved his wife very much, to have traveled half way around the world from the northern coast of africa to reno, in order to try and bring about a reconciliation, still the beautiful wife has gone on with her divorce, which was finally granted, though bitterly contested! and so there he sits as though lingering over the grave of a great love. bow down, ye gods, and weep.... the hotels also are filled with interesting types; the pretty girl at the news-stand today suddenly disappeared! yes, she got her divorce! in her place is the homeliest man you have even seen, and all the traveling men look disgusted and buy their papers from the newsboys in the street. the hotel stenographer has also taken her departure, and now we see a dainty blonde in place of the statuesque brunette. the brunette has gotten her divorce and has gone to san francisco to marry a millionaire sportsman, so i hear. the beautiful lady with the sparkling black eyes, between that little boy and girl, is a violinist. they have the rooms over mine, and for several months i have heard the patter of tiny feet and childish free laughter; but i fear the mother does not laugh so much. i have been told that she lives in constant fear lest her husband come and take the children from her. in this case, i am told, there is a chance of reconciliation. i hope so with all my heart! the tall, handsome old gentleman speaking to her is a retired civil engineer; very wealthy i believe. he lived twenty-one years with his first wife who died; after some time he married again, but after one year of married life he is here for the "cure." he is an enthusiastic sportsman, a good horseman and very popular. the court house is the next place of interest to study character, to find interesting personalities and new types. you may go over any day and watch some poor victim's case being tried. if one is doing time one self, it is a very good way to obtain inside information, though it is a bit like being at your own hanging..... not exactly, of course, but enough to make the anticipation peculiarly gruesome. each searching question of the judge seems to draw the noose around the plaintiff's neck tighter and tighter; you will hold your breath: a word, and the six months' exile and more are all in vain..... not until the final decision, "judgment for the plaintiff," is pronounced do you heave a sigh of relief. [illustration: one of the court rooms in famous reno court house] each day the divorce mill grinds the steady grist, and it is there that one has a splendid opportunity of studying personality and character. the wife who is nagged and abused; the one who is obliged to support herself and her children; the one who has outgrown her charms; the luxurious beauty who has spent her husband's fortune and is preparing to spend another in the same way; the wife who has made a mistake and found the right man at the wrong time; the wife whose husband another woman has taken; the wife of a drunkard or a gambler. the husband who is nagged; the husband whose wife is a spendthrift; the husband whose wife wins prizes at bridge and neglects her home; the husband whose wife has deserted him when he needed her most.... naturally the stories you hear from the "aspirants" are always plausible; and so they go by, the endless passing show. next we will go to dinner; we will dine at the hotel golden tonight; they have just opened their new restaurant, and the food is excellent; so is the cabaret. there are two beautiful girls, new arrivals, who sing very well indeed; one is tall and fair and more than usually interesting. this beautiful girl sings with wonderful expression; a sweet tender passion, expressing at the same time a great love and a world of sympathy .... it is said that out of suffering comes sympathy, out of pain tenderness.... this girl might well burst into fame on the heart throbs of her songs; they are the voice of a soul which has suffered much, loved much and has become all tenderness and all sweetness. another interesting type whose story will be told at the court house in a few months. there is a violinist who is exceptional also; he draws the bow over his violin, and low, sweet strains of music come floating to our ears; then the music will suddenly change to the wild ecstasy of joy which will compel you to notice the player. when you look at him, you will know that his soul is not there; your heartstrings will quiver until the music stops; then you will suddenly find that you have forgotten to eat, and that the food is cold.... but you ponder on: you wonder who that artist-dreamer is; he must have been leading his love through poppy fields, kissing away from starving lips love's hunger, while he played.... yes, he is here for the "cure." after dinner we will go to the theatre. there are several theatres, but the large productions usually go to the majestic, which is modern in every respect and has seating capacity of more than one thousand. all the new york productions that make the pacific coast tour play reno. all the eminent musicians such as kreisler, misha elman, the boston symphony orchestra, and others, stop here on their western tour, and their concerts are always well attended and tremendously appreciated. tonight we will hear the boston symphony.... you are surprised at the large ultra-fashionable audience; there are as many in evening dress as one would expect to see at a new york first night; here one can't tell the members of the divorce colony from the residents. they are an aggregation of well dressed, appreciative people, anxious to enjoy the evening's wonderful music. dancing is the next in line of indoor amusements; most of the hotels and restaurants have splendid floors and excellent dance music. at wilsonian hall there is a beautiful ball room, and those who wish to learn the latest steps will find an expert teacher in mrs. wilson who takes special trips to new york every season in order to become acquainted with the very latest dances. her classes and receptions are patronized by the best people, both of the colony and city, and are very interesting and popular. those who take their pleasure in life a little more seriously will find an excellently equipped public library, thanks to mr. carnegie. there is also a very fine collection of books at the university of nevada, which is conveniently located in a very beautiful part of the city. i should like to pay a passing tribute to the university staff. they are as fine a set of professors as one could possibly desire to have. i had an opportunity of attending some of the lectures during the summer course and found them exceedingly interesting and well delivered. of special interest to women would be the century club, a well organized body of the best women in the city. they are interested in home economics, child welfare and improvement of social conditions generally. they own their own spacious club house, which has a large assembly hall, lecture room, banquet hall, service kitchen and large grounds facing the river, with tennis courts and other conveniences for entertaining. there is also a suffragette club which is known as the civic league, and is also instrumental in promoting public welfare. the mothers' clubs or associations too, are better developed than those in many a large city; a fact which rather agreeably surprised me and proves how decidedly progressive are the women of the west. and now we will have a look round and visit the out-of-door attractions, which are many and varied. in summer, there is belle isle, a beautiful little amusement park on the banks of the truckee, almost in the center of the city and the scene of many jolly carnivals. the city park is also a pretty little spot, and here are given many festivals and concerts for the red cross and other charitable organizations. it is a delightful place to spend a summer afternoon or evening. the gay music, flying colors and beautifully tinted light among the branches of the trees are all an inspiration to free happiness. there too it is delightful to sit when all is quiet, and watch the moonlight on the snow-capped mountains, while the warm summer breeze stirs the leaves above and the distant rushing waters of the truckee float out to you like fairy laughter on the summer air. [illustration: palisades canyon showing humbolt river] nature has many delightful surprises in store for the new arrival in reno; when you have strayed out to moana hot springs and have taken a refreshing dip, you will agree with me. i thought the water was heated until a friend explained that it came gushing out of the ground almost boiling hot and had to be cooled off for the pools. there had been jeffries' quarters during his training for the jeffries-johnson fight. from moana one can see steamboat springs; these springs can be seen from a distance of several miles, owing to the fact that they send a steady stream of hot steam into the air, which spreads over an area of a mile or more; it is a strange sight to see this stream ascending into the clear atmosphere from the roaring regions below. the various hot springs to me are the most wonderful part of nature's loveliness. here one may watch lonely colonists and native maidens dive and play in the water whilst listening to their laughter. an early morning dip in the pool and a swift canter back to town will start your blood tingling; clear the city-cramped lungs and fill them with nevada's fresh invigorating air. it will make one feel like a two year old and add ten years to one's life..... ricks, the famous road house, and training quarters of jack johnson, the black champion prize fighter, is within walking distance of reno. its chicken dinners have helped to make the place famous. there are private rooms for those who seek seclusion, a splendid dance floor, and i am told that here the mechanical pianos grind out waltzes, one steps and fox trots, whilst glasses clink far into the night and parties of colonists make merry. farther on is laughton hot springs, another popular bathing resort. this place is mostly patronized by motorists and equestrians and is more fortunate than the others in its location. the little rustic hotel is built in the cosiest nook, just at the bend of the river; the fine old trees bend their graceful branches over the rushing waters in which the majestic mountains reflect their wondrous beauty. here one may obtain private dressing rooms and bathing pools, or a party of two or more may have a number of dressings rooms opening onto the same pool. the water in the pools changes every fifteen minutes. i am told there is a continuous inflow and overflow, which empties out into the river. what a wonderful spot to build a modern structure with beautiful steam rooms, modern dressing rooms and marble bathing pools, in place of the crude board sheds which rather spoil the natural beauty of this place of many charms, where one may bathe in the hot springs pool, fish in the river, wine, dine and dance! what more could the soul in exile wish for? if you wish for seclusion, seek a tranquil spot on the banks of the river; dream to your heart's content, watch the silvery moonbeams play among the branches and sparkle on the river, and listen to the sighing of the summer wind. i know of no place near new york endowed with so many of nature's charms. fishing in the river is good, but fishing in the mountain brooks and streams is much better, and one can take a pack-horse, ride up over the mountains and discover places which look as though they dropped right out of a picture book. rubicon springs is such a place; a quaint old hunting and fishing camp, where a few nature lovers hide away from; the world every summer and really "rough it." i caught there some of the finest mountain trout i have even seen; i also saw a party of men bring in a very fine deer one afternoon, a feat which caused quite a little excitement among the guests. this isolated spot cannot be reached by automobile, it being about fifteen miles from the main road over a rugged mountain trail. there is certainly everything to be wished for in the way of out-ofdoor amusements in and near reno. there besides motoring, riding, fishing, hunting, swimming and dancing are the tennis courts and the golf links. the golf club gives many interesting tournaments and is one of the social centers in summer for the elite, as is the race track where one may meet the world and its wife. the track is good and the horses as fine as one can see anywhere, all of which helps to render this sport most fascinating. [illustration: lover's leap blue canyon] talking of horses reminds me of one of my never-to-be-forgotten rides to laughton springs. those who have never seen a nevada sunset, while riding over the sierras at the close of day, can have no conception of its wondrous beauty. i will try to tell you about it. we started one evening at a brisk canter over the swelling foot hills along the truckee river, whence we could see mt. rose lift its stately head, clothed in royal robes of crimson and purple which half revealed and half concealed its snow-capped peaks and pine-clad grandeur. as we rode over the mountains which tower above the rivers and the greenest valleys, a storm came up; storm clouds dark and threatening, the most imposing i have ever seen. in a short while the storm passed over and the last rays of the setting sun shone on three mountain peaks across the river and valley. it is impossible to imagine a more exquisite display of colors. i think it must have been like the light that shines on a happy mother's face when she holds her love-child in her arms. and then a rainbow encircled the illuminated mountains, like a beautiful filmy halo about the head of the madonna, while beneath lay the truckee; its water like silvery veins and sparkling gems, glistening and trembling in the golden light. and stretching away to the north and east lay the sagebrush plains, wrapped in the silence of a dying day and illuminated with the sheen of god's promise of a tomorrow to come..... a wonderful picture: nature's own masterpiece! the motor trips are the next in line of outdoor amusements and these trips will afford one the splendid opportunity of seeing, apart from the unexcelled scenery, the numerous places of interest. first, carson city, the capital; the state penitentiary and the government indian school, also the indian homes and reservations; you will find them all interesting. carson city was founded in 1858 and was named after kit carson, the famous scout. the capital is thirty miles from reno, fourteen miles from lake tahoe and twenty-two from virginia city. [illustration: truckee river canyon] the elevation of virginia city is six thousand feet above sea level. there you may don skin garments and go down three thousand feet in a mine on the famous comstock lode. the heat in some of the mines is so intense it is impossible to stand it for more than a few minutes at a time. there is so much of interest in these famous old mining camps and in the strange freaks of nature. here are the numerous hot springs and pyramid lake, an enormous body of water forty miles out in the desert, which possesses no apparent outlet although the truckee flows into it. and apart from that, the development of agriculture and irrigation is interesting. i will try and describe some of my motor trips through nevada and california. one fine sunday we set out on an automobile trip to virginia city over the great gieger grade, which has become so famous through the wonderful comstock lode from which over seven hundred millions in gold and silver have been extracted. the ride was most exciting, and the magnificent scenes unrolling themselves continuously upon each swerve round a sharp curve or a dangerous bend, just held us all enthralled. often i was reminded of switzerland, and then as i gazed, more and more enraptured by the delirious orgy of multi-colored hues, and looked at the precipitous ascent we had made; at the heights we had yet to climb, and at the undulating peaks that stood like an army of sentinels guarding us on every side, i forgot i was in the land of nevada. i had drifted into an arabian night reverie, and not till the forty horse-power winged horse suddenly lost its equilibrium and gave a most ungainly lurch, not till then did i redescend to earth. while the incapacitated horse partook of first aid to the injured, i got out and gathered some of the prettiest little flowers i have ever seen; all the more marvelous because nature takes care of them in some mysterious way which we cannot understand, since rain is practically unknown in nevada. there was the beautiful spotless desert lily; the delicate desert violet, the fascinating yellow blossom of the pungent native growth--the sagebrush--and many others. [illustration: off to donner lake picture shows a dogsled team] my next motor trip was from los angeles to santa barbara; there the scenery compares with that of nevada as an exquisite water color compares to a grand old oil painting. we went spinning along over a perfect road from los angeles to santa barbara, and i felt that america might well be proud of this wonderful state. surely none other possesses such a variety of climate, or such a variety of beauty. hardly do i dare attempt a description of all this magic scenery. it seemed a dream to me; just color everywhere. green valleys and turquoise skies; snow-capped mountains and rosy sunsets. for many miles we wound round and round the mountain side, through orange groves, laden with golden fruit, tucked away in the emerald green foliage, and fruit orchards abounding with spring blossoms. and then we came to the pacific ocean which stretched far out into the infinite, reflecting the rose-colored sky just at sunset. the dream of it all is still with me. i could hardly realize that a week before i had been flying through the pure white sparkling snow in the same state; and yet, here i was only a few hours away.... one sojourning in reno should not miss a trip through california while in the neighborhood of that glorious state. san francisco is only a day's journey by rail, and the trip is truly worth while. reno is not without its out-door winter sports; it has the advantage of being only thirty-six miles from truckee, california. while flowers are blooming and birds singing their spring songs in southern california, the snow queen reigns at truckee in the mountains, six thousand feet above the sea. here people from san francisco and other large cities gather to indulge in winter sports, such as skiing, tobogganing and sleighing, and many professionals go there to display their art in skiing and skating; the switzerland of the west, i would call it. it was all too fascinating and too beautiful: six feet of snow everywhere, and everything sparkling white in the sunshine. [illustration: amid the snow at truckee, california illustration shows a dogsled team] once i started out to see donner lake, which reposes between summit, the highest point on this trip across the great divide, and truckee. we were in a sleigh drawn by a team of huskies: real alaskan dogs. i have ridden pretty much everything from a broomstick to a bronco, but this was my first experience with huskies. i thought it was going to be hard work for the dogs, but they frolicked about in the snow with their pink tongues out, showing all their teeth as though they were laughing in fiendish glee and enjoying every moment of it. truckee is only about thirty-three miles from reno by automobile, and the distance by train is thirty-six miles, so there should be no excuse for not visiting this american switzerland. another point of information which i discovered and think will interest you quite as much as it did me, was that most all the great moving picture companies go to truckee to take their alaskan scenes. and now whenever you see a beautiful arctic picture on the screen, you will realize that you are not looking at the frigid regions of alaska, but at the glories of california. the snow queen knows, however, that when she tires of her realm of snow, a really, truly fairy land awaits her only a few hours distant, where she may play fairy queen and wander through fields of golden poppies, filling her arms with spring blooms, in beautiful southern california. in reno itself moonlight skating parties on the river and the university pond are popular also. dull in reno? absurd! nevada is necessarily a mining state. apart from the $700,000,000 in gold and silver taken from the comstock lode, nevada's mines have supplied the world with thousands of tons of other materials, such as lead, zinc, etc., and thus when one thinks of the industries in nevada, it is quite natural to think of mining first. there it is in the air. everywhere you are confronted with specimens of ore: in the offices of mining companies, in your lawyer's office, on the doctor's desk, on your friend's dressing table, next to the bible in the minister's home. a chubby baby will gurgle and coo over a piece of this polished rock, and hold it in a little pink fist; old, white haired men will feebly finger a rough specimen streaked with green and amber. the spell of nevada..... walk out over the desert or ride over the hills, and as far as you can see, the sides of the mountains are perforated with holes made by prospectors; thousands and thousands of them, every one representing a hope. a promoter will take a piece of this beautifully colored rock and explain to you about the percentage of gold or copper it contains, the cost of extracting it and the enormous profits to be made; a friend will show you a marvelous specimen and explain that he or she owns a half interest in the claim which is sure to turn out at least half a million..... then you will perhaps think of robert service's "spell of the yukon" and you will understand the enthusiasm and spirit of optimism. after all, why should they not be enthusiastic and optimistic? the whole state is piled high with mountains which look just like the ones in which so much gold and other valuable minerals have been discovered; if they are the same on top, why are they not the same below the surface? tell us, you opal colored mountains of nevada, what stores of precious treasures are you guarding from the greedy hand of man and how soon will you throw open another door of your treasure house? after having lived in the west and visited the mines and talked with the old-timers, i can easily understand the fascination of prospecting and mining, and why, in spite of all the hardships it entails, so many have become enslaved by the spell of it. the crystal saloon, at virginia city, was built during the days of the first great boom, and on its register are many names of famous people. under the year 1863, i saw written the following: "clemens, samuel l., local editor of territorial enterprise..." mark twain! the old-timers will tell you stories about mark twain's adventures in nevada's mining camps almost as funny as those he himself wrote about in his book "roughing it." in the register of the washoe club, organized in 1875, are the name of thomas a. edison, fred. grant (son of general grant), and many other famous names. [illustration: donner lake] i have been informed of a new discovery in connection with the native plant, the sage-brush. i am told there are splendid prospects for the development of potash and denatured alcohol from the huge sagebrush fields of the state. the principal business of reno consists of banks, hotels, shops and restaurants. the shops do the city credit; they are up-to-date and well kept, and you will find almost every kind of shop. the electrical stores display every new electrical device on the market. the stationery shops are equally well equipped; the candy stores most tempting and excellent in every way, and the music store, hardware, drug, corsetiere, gents furnishing, shoe, fancy goods and department stores, the hair dressing parlors and florist shops are all up-to-date and as fine as you could find in any city twice reno's size. the grocery stores and butcher shops and markets are of the finest. these places employ hundreds of people and the department stores send their buyers to new york and paris. reno has two daily papers, namely, the "evening gazette" and the "nevada journal." the "nevada journal" belongs to the associated press and has its private telegraph wires by which it receives the news direct. the hotels and apartment houses are always well filled. they are upto-date, well kept and flourishing; the cafes are constantly being enlarged. the real estate business is also progressive; one may rent splendidly furnished houses, or modest cottages, or apartments at very fair prices. there i first saw the automatic elevator, the kind that you ring for and that runs down by itself and opens its own door; then you get in, press a button at the number you wish to get off at, and the elevator runs itself up to the floor indicated, stops and opens its door. the same apartments have beds that fold up automatically into the wall, leaving nothing in evidence except a beautifully paneled mirror. the reno commercial club, which was founded in 1907, is made up of a body of the representative men of the state, who are organized to encourage educational and social intercourse, and to aid in social and material up-building of the city and state. its executive board is as follows: charles s. knight, h. h. kennedy, tasker l. oddie, b. adams, fred stadtmuller, r. l. kimmel, e. h. walker. the club's efforts are continually directed toward the encouragement of new enterprises, the securing of capital for new industries and investments; the dissemination of literature regarding the resources of nevada; the building of good roads and cooperation with other states for a national highway; the immigration of settlers upon the agricultural lands of the state, more intensive farming, expansion of dairy interests, fruit growing and other agricultural industries. the commercial club is always obliging in extending the courtesy of its information bureaus in matters pertaining to the affairs of the city or state. write to it! nevada has made very broad strides in the direction of agriculture owing to its irrigation development. the easterners somehow have an idea that nevada has made very little progress since pre-historic days; that the west is still wild and wooly and consists of cow-boys, cattle ranches and rattle-snakes; but this impression is very erroneous. the picturesque cow-boy is practically a thing of the past, and so is the highwayman; the picturesque stage-coach with its four to six teams is almost forgotten; and i did not see one rattle-snake during all my exploits in the mountains and over the deserts. what has become of all those historic things which we so closely linked with the wild and woolly west of the past? they have retreated into oblivion before the great wheel of progress..... it is a mistaken idea to imagine that because nevada is such a mountainous country it is unsuitable for agriculture. there are many broad green valleys, flourishing and producing splendid farm products. this of course is the astonishing result of artificial methods of irrigation. alfalfa and potatoes are nevada's greatest crop; wheat, rye, oats and other cereals are also grown. some of the ranches have splendid orchards consisting of pears, apples, plums, cherries, etc., and the production will undoubtedly increase as greater irrigation developments are introduced. [illustration: trucker river dam] what irrigation will do for the parched deserts of the west remains as yet to be seen, but when i stop to consider that all the famous spots of california owe their beauty almost entirely to irrigation, then i dare predict great things for the desert states. in a 1918 issue of the united states geographical survey press bulletin is an article which is particularly interesting for the possibilities it suggests at once to the reader for the utilization of waters. it reads as follows: "'underground water in nevada deserts.' "in nevada the bedrock forms a corrugated surface consisting of more or less parallel mountain ranges and broad intervening troughs that are filled to great depths with rock waste washed from the mountains. these great deposits of rock waste were in large part laid down by torrential streams and are relatively coarse and porous. because these deposits are porous the rain that falls upon them and the run-off that reaches them from the mountains sinks into them, and the valleys in which they lie are exceptionally arid. these deposits, however, form huge reservoirs in which the water is stored and in which, to the limit of the capacity of the reservoirs, it is protected from evaporation. so well is this water hidden that its existence was not suspected by many of the early travelers, and even today long desert roads on which there are no watering places, lead over areas where ground-water could easily be obtained. "in a desert valley, even where no wells have been sunk, it is generally possible to ascertain and outline the areas where ground water lies near the surface and to make an intelligent forecast of the depths to water in other parts of the valley. if a sufficient number of observations are made, it is also generally possible to form a rough estimate of the quantity of water that is annually available in such a valley and to predict to some extent the capacity of wells, the quality of the water, and the cost of recovery." to anyone familiar with nevada, there are dozens of such desert reaches which must instantly suggest themselves to the mind, and it is interesting to speculate, not altogether idly, on how advantage might be taken of such conditions. the bulletin particularly speaks of one of these areas: "in an investigation recently made by o. e. meinzer, of the united states geological survey of the department of the interior, in big smokey valley and adjacent area near tonopah, nev., the character of the vegetation and other surface criteria show that the ground-water stands within ten feet of the surface over an area of 130,000 acres. the measurements made indicate that tens of thousands of acre feet of water are annually contributed by mountain streams and by rainfall to the underground reservoir, and that about the same quantity of groundwater is annually discharged into the atmosphere through the soil and the plants in the shallow water areas. it was estimated that in an area of 240,000 acres the ground-water lies within 50 feet of the surface and that in an area of 335,000 acres it lies within 100 feet of the surface. detailed maps were made showing the location and extent of these areas." nevada, because of its peculiar geographical and climatological situation, will always need to irrigate its land to produce crops. where irrigation waters are available, the soil has proved abundantly fertile, but nevada has been handicapped by a lack of water for these very soils which would be capable of producing the best crops. if, perhaps, underlying those fertile though now arid areas there is such a reservoir of untapped waters as the bulletin describes, there must instantly occur to the mind the question: "cannot these waters be made available?" elsewhere in nevada great arid areas have been reclaimed by tapping such underground reservoirs and raising the waters to the surface for irrigation purposes with gasoline motors, where they have not flowed of their own accord, in artesian wells. nevada has not ventured far into this field because it has not felt the necessity. but why wait on necessity? why should not nevada attempt to reach this water? it could easily do so and so add much valuable fertility to the state's already important resources. of course, if these new irrigation resources of the state were to become sufficiently utilized, then there would seem no reason why nevada should not be one of our best agricultural states. the truckee river is a splendid asset to reno. fed by the eternal snows of the sierra nevadas, with a fall of 2,442 feet between lake tahoe and pyramid lake, it affords a water power equalled by few rivers in the u. s. a. its power plants now supply light and power for all near-by mines; mason valley, youngton, virginia city and the comstock lode; yet these power stations do not generate one-tenth of the power that could be obtained. it is said that it would easily be possible to develop 40,000 horse-power within five miles of reno. this means that reno has great advantages as an industrial center, and as water power is known to be low in cost and as there is an immense quantity of iron ore in the state, it might eventually be considered a fine place to manufacture war supplies, especially for use on the pacific coast. the southern pacific shops are at sparkes near reno and are of great advantage to reno merchants. these shops do the general repair work of the salt lake division of the southern pacific; they employ between five and six hundred men at an approximate payroll of $125,000 per month. the verdi lumber company near reno employs from 350 to 400 men in its mills, box factories and logging camps, at a monthly payroll of approximately $25,000. in addition to these industries there are the reno and riverside mills, and large stock yards and packing houses. nevada is a noted stock growing state for great droves of sheep, hogs and cattle; nevada's beef is famous throughout the united states. reno, as well as all nevada, is proud of the world-famous wingfield racing stables, and not without reason. mr. george wingfield is a great connoisseur of horseflesh and has spared neither pains nor expense in order to add the best thoroughbreds to his stock. even as i write, the news reaches me that an expert has left for england to purchase for mr. wingfield four mares and a stud, atheling, a great english favorite. [illustration: honeywood of the wingfield stables] at present mr. wingfield has in his stables about 75 horses. i had the privilege of visiting them some time ago, and made the acquaintance of some of his prize yearlings. they were wonderful animals, just as fine as any i have ever seen, and i think i know and understand horses pretty well. there is one, honeywood, a beautiful stallion, who was the winner of the cambridgeshire stakes at newmarket, england, in 1911. i don't think i have ever seen a more beautiful animal. the fact to be deplored is that the federal and state legislatures are not taking sufficient interest in the reforestation of nevada; they should enforce the planting of two or three trees for every one that is felled. i believe some such law is now in force in the state of washington and elsewhere. near the big mining camps in nevada around reno, the mountains have been literally stripped of all their trees in the development of the mining industries. it has been a case of: "all take and no give." and now we come to "divorce" which, if not actually an industry, can all the same easily pass for one, for there is no doubt but that the influx of prospective divorcees, of both sexes, contributes a goodly portion toward the financial welfare of reno. not only do hotels, restaurants, cafes and shops reap an abundant harvest from the luxuryloving wealthy colony, but even real estate prospers, as many "aspirants" rent cottages for the "season." lawyers are kept busy all the time; the banks are opening new accounts for every patient who comes to town, and therefore on more mature consideration, why should we not call it the "divorce industry"? after all, what's in a name? [illustration: views of reno's public play grounds] reno has all the advantages of a big city with none of its disadvantages the following is a reprint of a circular prepared by the reno chamber of commerce: location--reno is situated in western nevada, twelve miles from the state line, and on the borderland of the lofty sierras and nevada plateau. the city lies in a fertile valley through which the beautiful truckee flows, and is surrounded by high mountains. area of reno--three square miles. population--power company, telephone company and school census show over 15,000; government census, 12,016. elevation--4,500 feet. climate--winters short, moderately cold and open, with very little snow. cool, dry, delightful summers, with cool nights, allowing refreshing sleep. no thunderstorms, hail, fogs or earthquakes. average number of days without a cloud in the sky, 195; partly clouded, 105; and cloudy, 65. doctors prescribe reno's sunshine, dry atmosphere and altitude for health. railroads and rates--three railroads enter reno; the southern pacific, the western pacific and the virginia and truckee, affording the city transportation facilities enjoyed by few western cities. at the present time reno enjoys full terminal rates or better for goods shipped from eastern points and the distribution rates to the nevada and eastern california territory are also very favorable. all three roads furnish ample freight handling and side track facilities. highways--reno is the center of the highway system of nevada, and an important station on three transcontinental highways; the lincoln highway, the overland trail and the pike's peak ocean to ocean highway. city government--the government is a municipality with a mayor and six councilmen elected by popular vote. appointive officers are city clerk, chief of police, chief of fire department, city engineer and city health officer. the city attorney is also elected. industries--reno is not an industrial city, but may be termed the office of the big industries of the state. its biggest industries are a packing plant, machine shop and foundry, soap factory, planing mills, brick plant, flour mills and railroad yards. financial strength--the six banks in reno have a total capitalization of $1,745,000 and total deposits of $14,782,751.92. total resources amount to $18,363,651.94. the clearings average $4,500,000 monthly, indicating that reno does a business of a city at least twice its size. of the six banks, three are national. tax rate and indebtedness--the tax rate of reno, including state, county and city taxes, is $3.55 and the bonded indebtedness $433,000. jobbing center--due to its central situation reno is the jobbing center for the territory of nevada and eastern california. reno has several warehouses and wholesale grocery, automobile supply, produce, tobacco, building materials, hardware, bakery and confectionery store. cost of living--the cost of living is about the same if not lower than in the middle west and western communities. the surrounding country supplies reno with wholesome and cheap food and reno's location on the main lines from the east and california enables the merchants to sell imported goods at a reasonable figure. one person can live well on $75 a month and the average family of five lives on $150 a month. housing conditions--like most of the cities of the country there is a shortage but not an acute one of apartments and small homes in reno. however, the amount of building done in reno this year was almost three times that of any previous year, and the housing problem is expected to be solved by the summer of 1921. health conditions--the clear, dry air, altitude and sunshine of reno's climate are especially beneficial to health, and persons with lung trouble find relief in reno. there are no tenements or unsanitary conditions and the city health authorities enforce the laws strictly. dairies, restaurants and bakeries are inspected regularly, and no refuse is allowed to accumulate in streets or yards. the water supply is pure. labor conditions--labor conditions are good in reno, which is the shipping point for the labor of the mines, lumber mills, ranches and construction camps of the nevada and eastern california territory. there is always work to be found in the trades and unskilled labor markets. the supply of office and store positions is about equal to the demand. there are no strikes or other quarrels between employer and employee in reno. the trades are on a union basis. schools--there are five grammar schools, a kindergarten, business college, high school and university in reno. plans are now being perfected for the establishment of a junior high school which will take care of the eighth grades and freshman high school classes. the scholarship standard is high and the best laboratory and playground facilities are offered. the teachers are paid salaries above the average, enabling the schools to maintain an efficient teaching force. churches--there are twelve churches as follows: baptist, congregational, presbyterian, episcopal, christian scientist, lutheran, methodist, methodist colored, roman catholic, salvation army, seventh day adventist, spiritual. [illustration: university of nevada] hotels and apartments--reno has excellent hotel facilities with three large, first-class hotels and forty smaller hotels and apartment houses. clubs and civic organizations--headed by the reno chamber of commerce there exists a live and aggressive group of civic and other organizations in reno. enumerated they are the rotary club, lion's club, woman citizen's club, italian benevolent society, g. a. r., women's relief corps, nevada bankers' society, nevada historical society, nevada livestock association, nevada mine operators' association, reno clearing house association, nevada highway association, y. m. c. a., y. w. c. a., american legion, veterans of foreign wars, red cross, salvation army, reno grocers' association, reno automotive dealers' association, washoe county medical society, w. c. t. u., spanish war veterans, washoe county farm bureau, washoe county tax payers' association, truckee meadows water users and washoe county bar association, twentieth century club, reno nurses' association. fraternal organizations--ancient order foresters, b. p. o. e., fraternal brotherhood, f. o. e., i. o. o. f., daughters of rebecca, knights of columbus, knights of pythias, ladies of the maccabees, loyal order of moose, masonic orders, modern woodmen of america, royal neighbors, u. a. o. druids, woodmen of the world, women of woodcraft. there are four lodge buildings maintained by the elks, masons, odd fellows and woodmen of the world. public buildings--reno has many imposing public buildings, among them the county court house, city hall, public library, post office, y. m. c. a., high school building, churches and university buildings. a new post office and federal building is contemplated, and $100,000 a year is being spent on new buildings at the university. theatres--reno has four first-class theatres: the rialto, majestic, grand and wigwam. the first is a combination vaudeville and picture house and during the show season the best road shows are brought to reno by the management and staged there. the other three are motion picture houses which secure the highest class films to be had. their combined seating capacity is over 5,000. publications--two daily newspapers, five weekly journals, and three monthly journals are published in reno. the reno evening gazette and the nevada state journal give full associated press reports. parks and playgrounds--the city maintains two parks and one playground, and there is a playground at each of the public schools. wingfield park is a recent acquisition given the city by george wingfield and consists of a beautiful island of over two acres, situated in the truckee river within three blocks of the business district. the city is now improving this park and connecting it with the playground on the shore. the playground has three tennis courts, swings, and teeters and is used constantly during the year. in addition to the municipal parks the children of reno have all outdoors to play in. [illustration: wingfield home] [illustration: general view of reno, looking n. w.] hospitals--there are three hospitals in addition to the county hospital and the state hospital for mental diseases. the st. mary's hospital is also a training school for nurses. with a staff of thirtythree physicians, these hospitals are well able to take care of any emergency and the most expert treatment can be obtained in reno. libraries--reno has a carnegie library, university library, county law library and the high school library. the elks club, y. m. c. a. and chamber of commerce maintain reading rooms. telephone--the bell telephone company of nevada furnishes telephone service in reno with 3,729 stations in the city. of this number 1,725 are business phones and 2,004 residence phones. the rates are lower than most cities on the coast. the company plans to spend $300,000 in reno the coming year in a new building to house its exchange. long distance communication with most of the points in nevada is also provided. city water supply--the city water supply is taken from the truckee river by the reno power, light & water company, twelve miles west of reno, and is of the purest quality. it is snow water and is treated by a purification plant near the outskirts of reno. two large reservoirs store the water and give it ample pressure for distribution. a monthly rate of $2.75 for an unlimited supply of water is charged each residence. this allows for irrigation of small gardens and lawns. gas and electricity--gas is manufactured by the reno power, light & water company and distributed to nearly every home in the city through thirty-one miles of mains. the minimum rate is $1.10 a month and averages $2 per 1,000 cubic feet. electricity is sold by the same company for light and power purposes from three hydro-electric plants on the truckee river. for domestic uses the electricity is sold at seven to two cents a kilowatt hour, and for power at a minimum of five cents a kilowatt and as low as two cents for large users. street cars--the reno traction company has five miles of track in the city and connecting with sparks, three miles to the east. cars are run on the half hour during the day and on the hour at night until 12:30 a.m. city paving--reno now has six miles of paved streets with five additional miles on the program for 1921. there are forty miles of sidewalks covering practically the entire city. sewers--rena has thirty miles of sewers emptying in the river at a point below the city. shipping--the railroads entering reno do a large business in the local yards, and reno's importance as a distributing center is growing rapidly as shown by the following figures: imports 1915, 155,000 tons of freight; imports 1920, 207,000 tons of freight. exports, 1915, 45,000 tons; export 1920, 89,000. several trucking lines also operate out of reno to surrounding points and handle a large tonnage which it is impossible to estimate. building activity--the building permits issued for 1920 totalled in round numbers $300,000, which is twice the figure of last year. contemplated civic improvements--the city council is working upon a comprehensive plan of civic improvements which includes paving work already mentioned, landscaping the river banks west of the virginia street bridge, and improvement of wingfield park. a new bandstand costing $5,000 is being completed in the city park and close to $100,000 is being spent in purchasing an aviation field and building a hangar. a free tourist camp ground is to be modernly equipped. building and loan associations--there are two building and loan associations in reno. the union building & loan association and the security savings & loan association. both offer material assistance to the home builder on long payment plans. fire department--the equipment of the fire department is valued at over $75,000, and consists of the most modern fire-fighting apparatus. high speed motor trucks which can reach any point in the city within three minutes after the alarm is sounded, are used, and twenty-four men man the trucks on the platoon system. the department has a record of efficiency and the loss by fire is very low in reno. police department--reno also has a very efficient police force of fifteen men. an identification bureau and emergency hospital is maintained by the police department. only sixteen burglaries occurred in reno in 1920, and eight of the perpetrators were apprehended. eleven robberies were reported and six apprehended. reno chamber of commerce--the reno chamber of commerce is an organization of 1,300 members employing a managing director, a secretary and a traffic manager on full time. these men maintain a credit bureau, mining information bureau and traffic bureau, and are carrying out a program of civic improvement and state development. the rooms occupy the fourth floor of the reno national bank building in the heart of the city, and are used by some thirty organizations as a civic center. the business and community life of reno revolves around the chamber of commerce. [illustration with caption: the truckee from riverside drive] [illustration with caption: looking north of virginia street] aviation field--the municipal aviation field consists of some sixty acres of land one mile south of the city, and is headquarters for the aerial mail service. the county is building a hangar costing $30,000 and the government stations over thirty men at the field. two mail planes arrive each day and are repaired and overhauled at the field. in the event of the mail service being extended to los angeles and the northwest, reno will be the point at which the mail transfers are made for these points. university of nevada--the university of nevada is located in reno, on a beautiful eminence overlooking the city. it is an accredited university offering for study all the regular courses for matriculation and bachelors degree in mining, agriculture, arts and sciences, civil engineering, electrical engineering and mining engineering. the teaching and scientific staff number 75 and the registration, 465 students. the state is expending $100,000 a year on new buildings at the university and it costs $170,205 a year to maintain from state and federal funds. laboratory service is afforded the mining, agricultural and stock raising industries of the state and the university is looked upon with great pride by the citizens of nevada. fishing and hunting--the country surrounding reno abounds in game and fish and outdoor life is the fashion. the streams and lakes are all well stocked with game trout and a good basket of trout can be caught in the truckee river within the city limits of reno. deer, grouse, sagehen, rabbits, coyotes and wildcats are plentiful on the ranges and can be reached within a few hours from reno. valley farming--the valley in which reno is located contains some 30,000 acres of fertile land, and is especially suited to the raising of garden truck, fruits, chickens and grains and grasses. there is a ready market for all the produce that is raised in the valley. a small farm of a few acres can be obtained within a mile of the city for a reasonable figure, and a good living earned in spare hours after work in the city. part 2 reno tragedies mrs. smith did her little six months in reno and the world's sympathy was with her, and the recording angel, i dare say, winked solemnly to himself and said: "another domestic tragedy!".... it is certainly a tragedy to be told outright by the husband one has borne children for and has been a good wife to, and has loved and cherished for the best part of one's life, to "cash in one's old face and make room in his heart and home for a younger and more fair." this was the case, apparently, with the smiths. and yet during my short stay in reno, i have heard of more tragic cases than that of mrs. smith. mrs. smith had been left her child and money. we can't buy happiness with money, it's true, but we can at least buy comfort, and that is something after all. i knew of a different case where there was no money to buy comfort: a mother, with a baby in her arms and the one desire in her heart, to make it legitimate before it should grow old enough to understand..... i met this heart broken mother in a hospital in reno, six years after her arrival there. i had heard about her and went to see the child. "the divorce colony, all frivolity and gaiety," you say? pardon me, i know better! this devoted mother had loved the father of her child. she had left an impossible husband and gone with a man who had shown her sympathy, kindness and love when her life was all unhappiness. she had fought bravely for her freedom, but for some reason had been unable to obtain it. the months had dragged into years, the woman toiling day by day in a shop to support herself and baby, until years of work and worry had claimed their prize at last, and she had fallen ill; and it was then i heard of her and went to see her. i could still see traces of beauty in the now hardened lines about her mouth and sunken eyes. it has been said that "absence makes the heart grow fonder," but alas! there are too many cases where "absence makes the heart grow... yonder." the man whose wife she had hoped to become forgot her in less than a year and passed out of her life.... i shall never forget the day i saw this fatherless child, with her little pale face, rose-bud mouth and big brown eyes, which when she lifted them to mine were filled with unshed tears. i knew that this little lonely child of fate understood.... even at the age of six. i just wanted to take her in my arms and cry.... one beautiful morning a mother arose and called at the door of her daughter's bedroom. what, no answer? she opened the door and looked in. why, the bed had not been slept in! the mother knew that marjory had been despondent of late, and she knew why. can you imagine the icy hand that gripped that mother's heart when she looked upon the empty couch. an hour later marjory's beautiful young body was found floating in the stream that runs through the university grounds among the green trees, with sunshine filtering through and the birds singing their glad notes of life among the leafy branches. as pure and sweet as a desert lily, and as dainty as an apple blossom was this daughter of nevada. he who said "truth is stranger than fiction" well nigh spoke truthfully indeed. why wish to leave, marjory, when you possessed youth, beauty and loving friends; when the month was june and all the world rejoiced? indeed, why? if marjory's stiffened lips could have answered, she would have said: "yes, but my lover proved untrue: yesterday he was married to the queen of the divorce colony; today they are on their honeymoon, and i am in the great unknown...." it is between the hours of twilight and night. the last fading light of the setting sun is reflected upon the waters of the truckee river, in a silvery, rose-tinted hue, indescribable in its delicate beauty. there is a strange lady seated on the veranda of an imposing colonial home overlooking the river. she is writing; sometimes she stops to gaze upon the glory of the sunset with great dreamy eyes, whose depths seem unfathomable. how the soft twilight glow enshrines her face! but now the sun has disappeared, yet the light seems still to cling about her beautiful form. in a brighter light you might see that her lips are crimson with the glow of youth, though her face is pale. her hair, parted in the middle and dressed straight back, and her white gown give her the appearance of a madonna. in her bodice, she wears a white rose which from time to time she caresses in a dreamy fashion..... just here eileen--her name is romantic isn't it?--is attracted by a young man who comes up the street whistling as he walks full of the joy of youth and life. he runs up the steps, two at a time. the lady on the porch lifts her eyes just one moment, but womanlike she sees much in a glance. she sees that his eyes are of a wonderful dark blue; that his hair is thick and wavy; and that he is tall, straight and strong. how lithe and supple he seems, too, as he runs up the steps and disappears into the house. has he seen the lady madonna? she does not know. there is indeed something strange about this dark haired man; something out of the ordinary and fascinating.... the holbrooks had been immensely wealthy at one time but owing to gambling and unsuccessful mining deals their fortune had dwindled, and at the death of mr. holbrook his widow had found that her sole possessions consisted of a beautiful home and three lovely children. eileen reed had come to mrs. holbrook with a letter of introduction from a friend in the east, and had been taken into the home for the period of her exile. it was young holbrook who had tripped up the steps and entered the house without apparently seeing her. having a keen woman's understanding, i wondered if this apparent ignoring of the lady's presence was not what first caused her keen interest in the young man, for eileen was not accustomed to being ignored. she bore her crown of beauty with added brilliance and grace because of the passing years, and was fully aware of her power to sway the will of those about her, and move the hearts of men with her irresistible charm and perfect splendor, alike persuasive, compelling and all-powerful. she had never really loved: a poor girl of a respectable family, she had taken up nursing; had married a wealthy doctor, and had been in the position of the penniless but beautiful wife of a rich husband. at dinner eileen was presented to young holbrook. i happened to be a guest at dinner on that particular evening, and noticed a slight effort on the part of the new arrival to interest the young man. however, young holbrook was cordially polite only. after dinner they sauntered out on the piazza and chatted, for some time. during the conversation, eileen got the impression that if he had expressed his opinion about divorces, it might not have been altogether complimentary. he had grown up in reno and for more than fifteen years had seen the divorcees appear and vanish, and oh!--what a tale he could have told. however, he evidently thought this woman different or at least out of the ordinary, and he was right; she was a most unusual and unusually interesting woman. they drifted into a rather serious conversation; they spoke of the old-fashioned chivalry; the profound respect men had for women in the old-fashioned bygone days; he spoke of his father with so much reverence, dignity and pride, and this boy-man with all his premature experience, gave eileen glimpses into a soul, into his soul, which was pure and clean and good. eileen was rapidly becoming interested in this young head of the household; she found herself listening most attentively to every one of his words. after hearing nothing but silly wordly chatter for years, it seemed good to listen to this man who seemed to have absorbed all the romance and mystery of the land of his birth. at one time he would speak like a boy of twenty; the next moment like a man of forty; always there seemed to be present two personalities, one the care-free, happy boy, the other the all-wise, far-seeing man, with a keen intellectual understanding of every phase of life. so much were these two people interested in each other that neither noticed that it had grown quite late and a little chilly. eileen shivered slightly and rather unconsciously; young holbrook noticed it. "why, you are cold, and it is late; i am sorry i did not realize it," he broke out in astonishment as he glanced at his watch; "really you must forgive me for keeping you up!" he extended his hand as he bade her good night. eileen returned his good night in her most charming manner, though rather mechanically; something had come over her; she did not know it, but for the first time in her life she seemed to have fallen in love.... much to my surprise and strangely enough after that evening these two people seldom met and were never alone together; it seemed to me as though young holbrook avoided eileen without seeming to do so. i could not understand his attitude unless he felt himself slipping and was trying to avoid temptation. i felt that his apparent indifference only served to fan the flames in eileen's heart. she struggled with her wounded pride though there never was any outward sign of her feelings until she became ill. the first day's illness brought a gorgeous bouquet of red roses. "oh, why did he do that, and why did he send red roses, the emblem of love and passion?" and why did eileen clasp them madly to her heart and drink in their sensual sweetness? for three long weeks eileen lay ill with burning fever, and always there were fresh red roses, but he himself did not come until eileen began to convalesce. and one day he came and stood by her couch, and looked down, at her. he saw that she was paler, but the lips were still as scarlet as the petals of the american beauties on the table by her side. the rose-colored light cast a glow over the prettiest breast and shoulders god had ever moulded! they said very little; it would be interesting to know what their thoughts were..... shortly after eileen came out of the hospital she sent a little token of appreciation to mr. holbrook, in recognition of his unfailing kindness during her illness. that same evening they met, by chance, and as he clasped her hand and thanked her for the little gift, the pressure of his hand sent a strange thrill to her heart; she stammered something in a tremulous voice and rushed away. later in the evening they met, shall we say again "by chance", at dinner. they danced together, and the pressure of his strong arms nearly maddened eileen.... oh, why do we play with fire and why is forbidden fruit so sweet! a strange woman this, with her dual personality: a madonna and a lover of all things good and beautiful, but a cleopatra when the passionate fires of her soul were stirred; and this night, a passionate love that lacked all reason, dominated everything else in her being. when they had parted and she was alone in her room, sleep refused her offices: twelve: one: two.... and her eyes still were staring into the darkness.... not a sound; all was quiet. she rose from her couch, her hair streaming, her body all aglow. she donned a flimsy, rose-colored dressing gown, opened her door, crept silently down the hall and went bodily into young holbrook's room. in a dressing gown and slippers he sat, reading a magazine; he must have been restless, too. "why mrs. reed--eileen--what is the matter?" "the matter is, boy, that i love you with all my heart and soul." and as he held her in his arms he whispered: "and i love you." for the first time since he had held her in his arms early that evening her reason asserted itself for a moment, and she pressed her hand over his lips to stifle the words. she had thought of poor little marjory and her white face in the stream, and of a thousand other reasons why they should part. there were sacred promises on both sides to be kept. "but be mine," she pleaded, "just for tonight." he held her in his arms; she was his very own, and she counted his heart-throbs as they beat against her breast. he scented the perfume of her breath against his cheek, and drank deep of the wine of her red lips, as she whispered again her sweet confession through a mist of tears.... "the woman thou gavest me!" no one could better grace love's throne, nor rule more royally. voice so low and tender and heart so warm, all herself she gave, and gladly, thoughtlessly, recklessly. is it true that all humanity means to do right though often wrong: that the heart at times must obey the mandates of circumstances and environment: that even the purest and best succumb to temptation? another day, and reason rules! he was engaged to a girl who had been his little sweetheart as far back as he could remember. he had carried her books and pulled her sled and fought her battles, and now he surely would never break her heart. there is duty; an invention of the devil, but it must be met, though hearts break and burn; though we wander through a desert of hallowed love and damning desire. this dream was to end. for months those two beings faced their little world with only a nod as they passed by; not even as much as a hand-clasp. who can tell what the man thought, or if he cared? but the woman wept out her sorrow in my arms. confession is good for the soul, so it is said; there is joy in a heartache sometimes, and sweet content in tears. she told me how she lay awake and listened for his footsteps. if he came into the room her heart would almost cease beating. she almost fainted once when she met him coming in with his fiancee... but in silence she suffered; pride and duty ruled. "how exquisitely he tortures me," she said. "he uses roses as his weapons.... but what think you of this my friend? i shall bear his image into life! what matter laws and customs, and sins forbidden.... i shall be happy again when i hold my baby in my arms".... so terribly shocked was i that i could only gasp in amazement, but when i looked into the face of the woman, behold.... the madonna! there seemed to be a spiritual light illuminating her face and she was far away in the land of dreams, looking into the face of her blue-eyed baby; born of a great, great love, sacrificed to duty. life.... what a tragedy! fate, did you say? thank god for time, the healer of all wounds. as someone has said: "never a lip was curved in pain that could not be kissed into smiles again!" just half an hour before she was leaving reno, as we were dropping the last of the little silver toilet articles into her small traveling bag, and gathering up the odds and ends here and there, the telephone rang. at eileen's request i answered. a manly voice said: "mr. holbrook speaking; i would like to come and pay my respects to mrs. reed if she has a few minutes to spare, and will permit me!" of course she would, poor girl; she looked as though heaven had suddenly opened and beckoned her enter. i left them alone. whatever was said must have taken the bitterness out of the parting, because it was a sweet-souled, courageous girl that joined me ten minutes later, to take her departure for life's everlasting battle fields; to begin anew. perhaps she knew his love would crown the awaiting beyond with divine fulfillment...... when i saw her off on the eastbound train, she answered my questioning look by taking a small photo from her bodice--"no, i have not forgotten," she said with a smile that was more tragic than all the tears the world has ever shed. "here, next my heart, i shall carry my love always, but there is his duty and mine, and so much do i love him, that i want to bear all the pain myself...." being a trained nurse, eileen when she got her divorce went to france with several other red cross nurses, "where," she said, "i shall try to mend my broken heart while i help to patch up some of our mutilated soldier boys. my only hope is that i may be of some use, and i feel sure that my own miserable little wail of bereavement will get lost in the shuffle, when i am face to face with the tragedies of the battle fields..." shall we forgive her? yes, if we follow the teachings of the nazarene..... i sometimes hear from eileen; she is somewhere in france, and so is young holbrook, i am told! i may yet continue their story some day. methinks it is a promise; a whisper across the miles of unrest; a pledge of the fulfillment of a prayer; a surety for tomorrow's sunshine! already i can see a smile in the east: may i hope, and hoping believe?.... "to helen, my full blown rose, spirit of perfect womanhood, my inspiration and guide; to her whose love exceeds all others, to her memory i bow my head in everlasting devotion and admiration...." thus spoke a man who had watched the train disappear eastward with the body of his sweetheart, four years prior to the writing of this book. when i think of all the tragic stories of the divorce colony, helen's was perhaps the most pathetic. she was the daughter of a wealthy family in new york state. she ran away when only sixteen, and married a man whom she thought she loved, and for years she struggled to find happiness, ignored by her people because of her choice of a husband. she found herself poverty stricken and unloved, paying the price of her folly. what a pity that we must be young and know too little, and then grow old and sometimes know too much! ideals are simply mental will-o'-the-wisps, of which we are always in pursuit, but which we see realized but seldom. for ten long years this woman faced neglect, humiliation and days and nights of anguish in her efforts to fulfill her duty, until she could stand it no longer, and crept back to her father's door to ask forgiveness. the millionaire father sent her to reno, with ten dollars a week to live on, and a promise of forgiveness if in future she would promise to live according to his wishes. poor little helen! for years her heart had been starving for love, and now reno meant to her the call of honor and duty, the sworn obligation of her family. but, alas, helen was beautiful: a girl who had only just become a woman; whose sufferings had only served to develop a strong personality with an intangible charm; whose whole being suggested unnumbered possibilities of mind and character. her face was like a lily, so fair, and almost classic, yet showing unmistakably the warm heart and emotional nature of the woman. a wealth of golden hair that crowned her regal grace, and eyes that had stolen the tenderest blue from a turquoise sky beneath the shade of modest lashes. appealing lotus-like lips, rosyripe and moist with the dew of promised bliss; sensuous curves and graceful feminine lines..... such a woman was helen. and he! six feet of western manhood; a graduate of yale, and still an athlete at 35. a man with the highest ideals of fine, clean, strong manhood. he had gone west shortly after leaving college and had made his fortune, but he liked the west and its people, and there he made his home. the rough mining life he had led had worn off a little of the drawing room polish of his younger years, which made him even more fascinating, and something had turned his raven-black hair just a little bit gray at the temples. this man sat in a lawyer's office one afternoon, his wide brimmed stetson pulled low over his eyes, and a cigar between his teeth, when a rather timid little blonde lady entered. he removed both cigar and hat and stood up. jack worthington was the man, and he was presented to helen by his old friend, dick sheldon, who was also helen's lawyer. were you ever alone in a strange land, sitting between the four walls of a barren, stuffy room with the blue devils swarming thick around you? that had been the case with poor little helen for two long weeks before her meeting with jack worthington. two whole weeks!....it had seemed an eternity to this beautiful woman, with the wreckage of her youth staring her in the face: a youth which should have been all sunshine and flowers. she had risked all for the price of love and lost.... "gee! some woman!" said worthington to sheldon when the door closed upon helen, after a private consultation with the lawyer. "what's the matter, old boy; captured at last, after all these years? well, they say: 'the longer you wait, the harder the blow!' but i'll have to hand it to you, you're a good picker. that little woman is an angel if there ever was one in reno, and you will be a lucky boy if you can win her!" two days later there was a little dinner given at the home of mr. and mrs. sheldon, and strange to say, helen and worthington were among those present. from that time on it was jack who chased away the shadows and kept helen amused. there was something wonderfully sweet and soothing about this strong, self-reliant man of the west. life cannot exist without sunshine, and this man was slowly becoming the sunshine of helen's life, with each walk in the moonlight along the banks of the truckee, and with each ride through the wonderful, silent places, while they enjoyed nevada's matchless sunsets, and glorious freedom of open country. [illustration with caption: glenbrook] in spite of all jack could do in the way of chasing away the shadows, helen continued to grow more like the lily and less like the rose. it was terribly hot in reno as the summer months came on, and there were reasons why helen could not have all the comforts. worthington, with his thousands, was hopeless. she should be up to the lake where the cool, fresh breezes could fan the roses back into her cheeks, but how could he manage it? "i know, i shall have the sheldons go up to their camp at glenbrook, and invite us up for the week.".... the very next morning a very sweet feminine voice called helen over the 'phone. "good morning, helen dear, aren't you nearly cooked? yes, i know it's a hundred and ten in the shade. i say, dear, mr. sheldon and i have a cozy nook up at glenbrook, on lake tahoe. won't you come up and spend the week with us there?.... oh, yes, we will call for you at 8 a.m. tomorrow .... oh, no, don't thank us, you will be so welcome.... all right, good-bye." when helen tripped lightly down to the big touring car the next morning, she showed no surprise when jack jumped from the back seat and assisted her to a place by his side. it was a gay party that landed at the camp a few hours later. did these two people know that they had grown to love each other? there had been no word of love spoken between them but that night they went for a row on the lake of many colors, just as the sun dropped over the hills and the moon shone out in all its glory. mr. and mrs. sheldon stood on the shore and watched them with a knowing smile. jack was the salt of the earth, and he meant so well.... he did not mean to speak to helen until she was free, but alas! for the infinite cry of infinite hearts that yearn. for weeks and weeks, when the days were the darkest, it had been jack who happened along just at the right moment with a book or some flowers, accompanied by a funny story or a joke, some little kindness that would brighten the path a bit. what a mixture he was, of tenderness and brusqueness; of common sense and poetry; of fun and seriousness, this adopted son of the sagebrush. these were helen's thoughts as she watched his strong body bend gracefully over the oars, which sent them flying through the sapphire water of lake tahoe. already the color was beginning to appear in helen's cheeks and she looked happier and more bewitching than ever before. "an angel pointing the way to paradise," thought jack. they discussed the moonkissed glades and leafy woods of shadowland. did they know that in each leafy bough cupid awaited with love's weapon poised? jack drew in the oars and allowed the little boat to drift; it is sometimes wonderfully sweet to drift; sometimes we drift into the harbor of happiness; sometimes we smash against the rocks, and are left shipwrecked. little did helen dream that soon this new found happiness was to vanish; that her lips burning for kisses yet unborn, might soon unbend and voice deepest anguish and piteous appeal; that those eyes which betokened unsolved depths of fondest affection, of laughter, love and life, might soon lose their lustre and dreamy languor, in an ocean of tears..... there two people drifted silently along, conscious only of the fact that they were supremely happy in each other's company .... but lo! out of the quiet a storm is born: why had they not noticed that the moon had hidden her silvery face behind a black cloud? the spray and rain beating upon their happy faces was the first incident which made them aware that a terrific storm was upon them, and that they were many miles from home. the wind was whipping the waves into a perfect fury, thus rendering unmanageable the little boat. the thunder rolled and roared, and finally the wind drove the frail craft against the stony wall of cave rock. jack managed to grasp a part of the jagged surface and drag helen with him; the boat hit against the rocks several times and finally broke up. [illustration with caption: cave rock] all through the struggle helen had sat motionless and fascinated at the strength and skill this man displayed in his efforts to pull for the shore, but when at last they were there, and she felt his strong arms about her, all her courage and strength failed her, and she fainted. he clasped her closer to his heart and looked into her colorless face. her clothes were dripping, and her golden hair was streaming about her face. jack stopped for a moment and pressed his burning lips to hers--they were icy. "my sweet burden of glorious womanhood," he whispered. "thank god you are safe!" and he climbed up the rocky mountainside to the only available shelter.... cave rock. there he took his dripping burden and laid it on the damp, cold stones. there was no sign of life. he took off his coat, rang the water out as best he could, and spread it on the rocks and laid helen upon it. he rubbed her hands and arms, and bathed her head, but she remained chilled. if he only had a dry match to start a fire with, or some brandy, but alas! they were storm-tossed souls, with no means of warmth, except that of the man's palpitating body..... he was aglow with warmth from the exertion of rowing and climbing up the mountainside. he would bring back life and pulsation to this woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul, by the warmth of his own glowing body. as he drew off his waistcoat and threw it aside, something fell to the ground. he felt about in the dark until he found the object; it was a tiny silver match case, some silly christmas present which he never used and had forgotten all about, but it was surely a welcome friend at this particular moment. were there any matches in it?.... he held his breath for a moment while he opened it .... his sigh of relief told the story. the rest now was only the work of a minute: some bits of driftwood and the remains of some previous camp fire quickly started a blaze. carefully he laid helen upon his coat near the fire, and continued to rub her body until her eyelids quivered and she opened her big blue eyes and looked about. she saw the camp fire, the strange looking cave and the big handsome figure bending over her.... first she looked startled, then when she slowly realized their predicament she became hysterical, threw herself into her rescuer's arms and wept. and each knew, as the one man and the one woman will always know by intuition, that fiction has no miracles such as are found in the book of life. lips may dissemble, but there is no need of speech when heart meets its mate. jack gathered her to his breast and soothed her as best he could. it was so good to look in her face and to hear her voice; her heart was so pure and her soul so lily white: her eyes like violets wet with the morning dew.... when she was quieter, jack whispered in his fine manly voice quivering with earnestness: "helen, my own, will you be my wife, my own sweet little wife until death do us part?" "until death do us part, i will!" she whispered, and surely the angels must have recorded that sacred promise. her voice was suffused with a world of tenderness as she breathed the words. from his coat pocket jack produced a plain gold band. "my mother's wedding ring," he said, "it has never left me since i said good-bye to her and laid her to rest. i have been looking for a woman who would be as worthy of wearing it".... and he slipped it on her finger and kissed the hand it graced. and then and there they pledged their troth..... "i love you with all my heart and soul, my own sweet woman, and before god we can do no harm: with love such as ours there can be no such thing as sin. society is a tissue of pretense: convention a fleeting fantom. my sweet bride of tonight." splendidly conscious of her sweet sacrifice, she smiled at tomorrows.... "there is this hour and we live; if sin it is, it is yet divine; the happiest hour of my life, because i am loved and i love so much.".... adieu to duty and creeds, love's altar has vestments of rosebud lips and starry eyes with whispered words of love divine: "sin," it's said; but if with the one all holy love, what care we for the reckoning hour..... "oh! helen dear, you are missing the most gorgeous sunrise of creation!" [illustration with caption: lake tahoe] why, it is jack's voice.... helen opens her eyes and looks around. "what did you say about the sunrise, jack dear?" she looks out of the cave in the direction whence the voice came, and sees the silver dusk turning rose. "oh! the sunrise! yes, dear, i'll be there in just a minute." helen quickly brought back her gaze from the rosy-tinted silver light to the cave and its surroundings. there was a camp fire lighted, and her clothing was stretched on a line near it, and she herself was wrapped warmly in a dry woollen cloak. in a very short time, she appeared at the opening of the cave, fully dressed, as fresh and sweet as a rose and radiantly happy. "good morning, my wonderful bride, my own sweet woman," he whispered as he kissed her almost reverently. "together we will enjoy this glorious sunrise!" "isn't it wonderful?" she sighed, "not a sign of last night's terrible storm: just see how beautiful the lake is; all emerald, sapphire and gold! how the sun reflects its golden glory on the smooth water! how wonderful, jack dear, to watch the birth of a new day, coming forth from the hands of its maker. oh, it is so good to be alive, my lover!" and jack again held her in his arms, pressed her to his heart and almost smothered her with kisses. "and i want to say to you, dear, that no fame, no glory, no wealth, nothing on earth can bring the happiness, the real heart's content into one's life, that just one hour's true, unselfish love can give. i know this after ten long years of grief, suffering and despair, when all the time my heart cried out for its own, for what was its birthright and its heritage! i want to give you my whole heart, dear, a heart full of gladness and rejoicing." "my own sweet woman, it shall be my one and only thought to make your life one beautiful day of gladness and joy! and now, dear, i am afraid there is nothing to do but to walk back to the next camp which is about four miles distant, and then telephone the sheldons to come for us. i am sure they must be worried; they are probably searching the lake for us. the road is good, that is one thing in our favor. do you feel equal to the walk, or do you prefer to be left here while i go for help?" "indeed i shall not be left here all alone. i could walk twice that distance!" they started off, hand in hand...... and for three wonderful months hand in hand they wandered. only two people lived in this wonderful world for this man and this woman. all its wealth and beauty: its unutterable joys: its pleasures and stores of infinite happiness: all their very own! together they wandered down life's leafy lanes, treading its quiet paths: together they drank deep of nature and enjoyed every moment without a thought of tomorrow. the flowers shed their sweetest perfumes, the birds sang their sweetest songs, and each leaf and bough nodded as though they knew. of all men, he was the one god made, and she,--the woman.... their souls responded to spiritual intuitions: their minds entwined as do the ivy and the oak... so beautiful was the love and devotion of this man and this woman, that every one who knew them was in sympathy with them; they were envied by those who had never known such blissful peace and delirious delight. these two people were planning a beautiful home on the banks of the truckee. there had been a sweet confession from helen: her case would soon be up for hearing and all would be well.... but alas! suddenly helen was taken seriously ill. three days later she died in the hospital. what was the matter? no one knows! with her last breath: "it has all been worth while, jack dear," she whispered. and the man, heart-broken, bought a solid silver casket, with a glass inner casket, padded with delicate rose satin, and therein he laid the woman he had loved, honored and respected above all others. a friend who saw her said: "never have i seen anyone look so beautiful, as she lay there in her soft chiffon gown, with a cluster of rosebuds in her hand; a full blown rose herself. is it possible that a creation so fair and beautiful can, in a few short hours, return to dust again?" the next day helen's body, in the silver casket, covered with flowers --the last tribute of a great love--was homeward bound. is she to be envied, or pitied? i wonder.... the man who ever carried in his heart the greatest respect and reverence for this one woman, whispered gently as he placed a wreath of roses on her casket: "and i had hoped that you would be with me always! oh, love of mine, what a wealth of beauty, charm and winning grace were yours in full flower".... i hope, if it be true, that there yet remains another life in some dim land of mystery; that they may again walk together, and sing, as in the long ago; hand in hand; for love such as theirs will live through eternity, and ever after.... part 3 reno romance reno and romance go hand in hand i should say. if you asked half a dozen of your friends what the word romance means, i dare say each one would give a different answer. i think one of the most beautiful plays i have ever seen was a play called "romance"; yet to me the play seemed rather a tragic story.... i have looked up the word in an english dictionary and it gives the definition, "an imaginative story, fiction." how prosaic! to me romance has always been something poetical and very real indeed. at any rate, it is real in reno; everywhere there is evidence of it; and it is easy to lay one's finger on the romantic cases. just peep into the room of this new arrival; there is a bower of beautiful flowers, and there is a telegram on the dressing table. the lady's lawyer had been telegraphed to and has given instructions that a garden of flowers be arranged as a welcome to the fair exile; the telegram contains words of encouragement and consolation. i heard of many romances that were beautiful and interesting; that pictured to my mind youthful mistakes righted, dreams realized and ideal future homes, with love reigning supreme and peace and harmony keeping the charm ever radiant. i can't tell you about all of them, therefore i shall select the one i thought most beautiful. the heroine of my selected romance is mrs. beuland, of virginia. never have i found it so difficult to describe a woman as i find it to describe mrs. beuland; i wish i could picture to you this most unusual woman as i knew her in the southland, a mere girl of sixteen; as i think of her now she brings to my mind a poem of william wordsworth: "i saw her upon nearer view, a spirit, yet a woman too: her household motions light and free, and steps of virgin liberty; a countenance in which did meet sweet records, promises as sweet; a creature not too bright or good for human nature's daily food- for transient sorrows, simple wiles, praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles." yes, she was like a poem, with much of the untamed grace of a panther, and the gentleness of a dove..... in balzac's unique story, "a passion in the desert," a question is asked: "how did their friendship end?" the answer is, "like all great passions--in a misunderstanding. one suspects the other. one is too proud to ask for an explanation and the other too stubborn to offer it." and so it was with mrs. beuland, else i should not be recording her romance here. i am glad the story of balzac did not read: "like all great loves," because i believe that a great love always brings with it harmony and understanding. the misunderstanding in this case was due to the fact, that the girl did not know that under this great passion lay slumbering a wonderful love of everlasting endurance. surely the heroine of this romance was deserving of a great love. she was like a sunbeam when she entered a room, she always brought gladness; she radiated the joy of living. she rode like a princess, danced like a fairy, was a child of nature and at the same time a woman of the world. i have seen her romp in a daisy field and gather flowers with the children, as much a child as any of them, and a few hours later i have met her in a drawing room, an entirely different person, all dignity and self possession. mrs. beuland was a daughter of one of the first families of virginia; tall and stately, with a splendid, graceful physique, blue eyes, black hair and olive skin. her physical charm and mental attraction were always struggling for supremacy. she was a girl of many moods; sometimes the joy of living would just radiate from her and her care-free laughter and musical voice would be that of a happy child; another time her eyes would lose the sparkling, captivating expression and become dreamy and thoughtful, as though they were peering into the great beyond; her voice would tremble with earnestness as she would discuss some serious subject. and then again there would be a note of sadness, though never of bitterness. i knew mrs. beuland as nell wilbur in virginia, before her marriage to mr. beuland. her family were among the victims of the civil war who were left paupers after the wreckage of the south. nell wilbur had always been proud, willful and highly strung. her mother had died young. her father after futile attempts to guide her steps in the right direction, finally concluded that it was better to let her have her head; she would run away with the bit anyway. she might break her neck, but she surely would have to learn life's lessons in her own way, and she did. her family tried to make a match for her but she refused, saying, "i want to be the captain of my own soul; i will make my own mistakes": and she kept her word. just seventeen, she went to visit an aunt in new york, glowing with youth and health, with a mind full of romance and ideals; an enthusiast, and a dreamer of dreams. she at once found herself surrounded by devoted admirers, all rivaling with each other in their efforts to please her. one young millionaire, finding that she was fond of equestrian sports, offered her the pick of his stables, whereupon the young virginian lifted her eyes in surprise as she said: "but where would i ride? your little old park isn't big enough to ride in, and the people all look as though they dropped out of a fifth avenue shop window. if you would come with me for a cross country gallop in virginia, you would understand that i could not possibly be interested in doing living pictures in central park!" among the hosts of miss wilbur's admirers there were two who interested the young lady; one a splendid young english lawyer, rich and handsome: the other, a young new york artist, poor but interesting, very sincere, very intellectual and with strong personality. both men had many faults, though they had their full share of fine qualities as well. the faults that were most annoying to miss wilbur in the young lawyer (whose name by the way was glen royce) were his profound conceit and his sensual nature. there was some excuse for him because the gods had endowed him with all their charms; he was an adonis, apollo and all the other greek gods in one. i don't think i have ever seen two people so near physical perfection as nell wilbur and glen royce. they seemed to be made for each other; every one had decided that they would surely be married. young royce was madly in love, and though miss wilbur lavished her smiles on the young artist, will beuland, no one thought that he had the slightest chance. miss wilbur's aunt invited a party of the young people to atlantic city for the easter holidays, and i was lucky enough to be asked, my principal pleasure being in watching the ideal young lovers. they were always perfectly groomed; always stunning; in morning dress, bathing suits and evening clothes, alike charming. the last evening before our return i was in the reception room when nell appeared dressed for dinner. i watched young royce when, with all the grace of a prince, he rose to receive her. she was in rose satin and chiffon, with a cluster of pink blossoms in her hand, like the herald of spring; so soft and delicately tinted were her beautifully moulded shoulders that one could scarcely perceive where the soft clinging chiffon left off. she was startlingly beautiful, and as i watched the man as he touched her hand, i could have sworn that all the blood in his veins had turned to liquid fire. i made some excuse and left them alone. the balcony was dark and deserted, and i betook myself to its seclusion. i think the lovers must have forgotten about the balcony; i am quite sure he had forgotten everything but the vision before him. he was living in the world that never was; the sound of flutes was wafted on the breeze from fairyland. pulsing bosom and sheen of sun-kissed shoulders.... ah! maddening modesty and virtue, how inconsistent are thy ways! no wonder so many forget about the cursed serpent.... through the windows i saw the man lead the woman to a cluster of palms in a far corner of the big room, seat her on a divan in the shadow of the palms and drop on his knees before her. the next moment she was in his arms. he had meant to propose the same as we read in books, but his lips were too near the woman's delicately tinted breast... he kissed her lips, her eyes, her bosom and shoulders; he was like the rush of a bursting river whose waters cry out in ecstasy of liberation as they leap in the sunshine. that evening at dinner the engagement was informally announced. there was, however, something in miss wilbur's manner that i could not quite fathom; that something which completes the happiness of two people who love each other was lacking. it was not until ten years later when i met mrs. beuland in reno, that i understood the shadow. i knew that the young lawyer had failed to induce miss wilbur to consent to an early wedding, and after much persuasion mr. royce returned to england alone. later it was rumored that the engagement had been broken off; then we heard that mr. royce had committed suicide; again that he had married; another time that he was returning to america to press his suit. miss wilbur was very reticent about the subject and continued to receive the attentions of the young artist, will beuland, and some six months after mr. royce returned to england she was married to the new york artist. no one seemed surprised, though it caused much gossip. fancy my astonishment when ten years later i met the stately mrs. beuland in the lobby of my hotel in reno. i had not seen her since her marriage; the only difference the years had made, apparently, was that now she was a woman instead of a girl, and yes, there was just a wisp of snowy white hair among the black locks about her forehead, which made her look even more aristocratic, if that was possible. when one is lonely and alone in a strange place, it is most agreeable to find an unexpected friend; and when one has a heavy heart, it is good to confide in a sympathetic friend; so mrs. beuland and i became close companions. i was fortunately able to lend a helping hand and cheer the lonely way of this charming and much loved woman. one day as we were chatting on the banks of the truckee, she said to me: "do you know, it does seem such a pity that one of the most beautiful things on earth really causes the most trouble!" "what is that?" i replied. "youthful ideals," she replied. "for a youthful ideal i have paid long years of misery, and have spent that time as an apprentice in the workshop of wisdom. tardy wisdom, the mother of all real enduring happiness. because of a youthful ideal i did not marry the man i really loved; instead i married the man i thought i loved. i wanted to be the companion and friend and ideal mate and intellectual partner through life to the man i married; those were my ideals. "the moment i promised myself to the man i loved i found myself clasped tightly in passion's mad embrace; a mad passion by youth's fierce fires fed; his kisses hotly pressed on my lips burned into my very soul and made my heart sick. was that love? it was certainly not my ideal, to be the toy of mad passion! "ah! where was wisdom's tardy voice that it did not whisper: 'god made men thus: there are no perfect men!'.... "how true it is that ideals are simply mental will-o'-the-wisps!.... "i married for ideals, not for love. i was in love with the ideal, and the man i married led me to believe he was that ideal; picture my heart-aching disappointment when i found that his art was his real bride, and that i was a sort of understudy; hardly that, after the first few months. i awoke to the fact that i had exchanged my youth and freedom for a domestic mill that sank all my ideals into commonplace. i said i would make my own mistakes and i did. then came the long battle with my pride, and i suffered in silence. for seven long years i faced neglect and humiliation; and then one day after a visit to my old home, i returned to find my husband and one of his models occupying my very home.... my very bed. i turned and left the place without a word. "for the first time in my life i grew bitter; i wondered if it were true, that realization kills all the joys we anticipate; if all our rosy dreams turn gray in the face of cold reality. "i was sick at heart and alone, too proud to go to anyone with my troubles; it seemed to me that day by day the color was fading out of my life. i had for years given all my love gifts only to answer duty's call and one by one the leaves of my romance began to fall, until jealousy, like a cancer, had eaten into my aching heart, and left me stripped of everything, even hope.... "my thoughts were muddled; i could not think clearly: it was a day in early june: i did not know where to go, and i did not want to meet anyone i knew. i never knew quite how or why, but a few hours later i found myself in atlantic city. i arrived there in the evening and after refreshing myself, i walked out on the board walk and almost to the end of it, until there was no one in sight: and then i went down on the sand and there i seated myself. i thought, with the big silver moon overhead and the waves breaking on the shore, i should be able to think out some plan for the future. i don't know how long i sat there, but i know the only thoughts that came to me were that in my case i was forever through with romance, sentiments and ideals. there was a storm raging in my soul, and bitter resentment in my heart; i had meant so well and it had all come to this. i looked at my watch: it was nearly eleven; i suddenly realized that i had forgotten to dine, that my head ached and that i was tired. i got up and started back to the hotel. then a miracle happened; it sounds like fiction but i swear it is the truth..... "i heard my name called; it sounded as though it were an echo out of the past. i looked up.... a tall gentleman was standing by me looking down into my face; 'good evening, mrs. beuland, this is indeed a pleasant surprise." glen royce....you know our story, and as i had not heard from him in years you can imagine my surprise. "mr. royce had been in america just one week; he had come over on business and just thought it would be interesting to run down and have a peep at the sea. i think both our thoughts traveled back over the years to the easter time we spent together there.... "'how long are you remaining?' he asked after a little pause. 'about a week,' i replied. 'may i call tomorrow then?' 'yes,' i said, 'but i have just arrived and am rather tired; if you will excuse me i will leave you now.' he saw me to my hotel and said good night. i never knew quite what was said or what really happened, however. i slept soundly from sheer exhaustion, and awakened the next morning refreshed, but unable to realize that everything was not a dream. "then the 'phone rang. 'good morning, mrs. beuland; this is glen royce speaking; hope i haven't called you too early? will you come for a walk? it is a beautiful day.' i did and before the day was over, i had made a confidant of this old sweetheart of mine, and extracted a promise from him, a very foolish, silly promise. "'i want so much to be your friend,' he said, 'there must be something i can do to make your burden lighter.' i told him that i would accept his friendship under one condition, that he would promise not to make love to me, and so the courtship was started all over again on a friendship basis, though i did not realize it at the time. later he made me tell him why i broke our engagement, and when i explained he understood, and blamed it on a misunderstanding. "i thought him a much finer man than he was ten years ago, but of course that is only the wisdom that comes with the years. it has been three years since i met him that evening, when i was blind with utter despair. that's the story so far! my case will be called tomorrow; if i am lucky i will be free, and then he is coming out and we will be married here and spend our honeymoon in california. i want you to be my only attendant. things have turned out so that he is to remain in america; we have a beautiful little home near new york, down by the sea. when you go back east you must come and see us." and so the happy day arrived, just as the sun was sinking down behind mount rose; we stood in the silent church; i held the flowers, a huge bouquet of simple spring blossoms, while the groom slipped the little gold band on the bride's finger and the organ pealed out the benediction.... a few months later i arrived in new york and telephoned, "hello, nell, is that you? here i am, may i come out, or are you two still honeymooning?" the answer came back: "we are still honeymooning, but you may come out; in fact, i am just crazy to see you. you will never find the way alone; meet glen at his office and come out with him tonight!" and i did. the bride was at the station to meet us, radiantly happy. we motored over a beautiful bit of country and in about ten minutes came to a beautiful villa, with beautiful gardens and a glimpse of the sea in the distance; it did my soul good to watch this picture of domestic bliss. they were like a boy and girl again, up to their eyes in love and gloriously happy. "a love and happiness with wisdom as its basis and made up of understanding and friendship, with a dash of romance, and enough passion to lend warmth and charm, and a good portion of common sense that doesn't expect perfection": this is nell's recipe for domestic happiness. three years later. my husband and i have just returned from a week-end visit to mr. and mrs. royce: the recipe seems to be working fine; i am trying it myself. we sat on the porch and watched them stroll out to the beach, in the fading light of the setting sun, and then the shadows of twilight hid them from sight. they disappeared, hand in hand; lovers, living in perfect companionship, planning and building as they go. may their matrimonial ship continue to sail on sunny seas, where soft winds blow, and rest in the harbor of happiness at last. another triumph for reno..... on the occasion of our visit she showed me a package of letters tied with white satin ribbon; "glen's letters," she said; "he wrote me one every day i was in reno and they are the most beautiful letters ever written." i read some of them and i agreed with her; i wish she would allow me to publish them: it would make a good world better for having read them. "nor has earth, nor heaven nor hell any bars through which love cannot burst its way toward reunion and completeness".... and yet this queen of matrimonial bliss said to me, "i wish that all mothers would warn their girls against ideals which are not practical. i blame my ideals for years of utter misery; my ideal was a perfect man." "someone has said: 'god does not make imperfect things,' and yet can anyone say that he has ever seen a perfect man or a woman? i held on to the shreds of my ideal until there was not a shred left to hang on to; until my heart lay bruised and bleeding on the altar of dead and gone ideals. and then wisdom came and whispered: 'you have been looking for perfection, but there is no such thing on this earth: we must be forbearing and forgiving: 'forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.' "with wisdom came new ideals that were practical and a new kind of love, indulgent and forgiving, yet self-respecting; a love as strong as the rock of ages. love--a little thing--a sentiment perhaps--and yet without it what would be left of that which we call life.... "there are emotions which make for ambition, for right living, for honor and position, but how pitifully small and inconsequential besides the mighty tomes which, circling the globe, comprise the lexicon of love. love--the symbol and sequel of birth, the solace of death--the essence of divinity! frozen indeed is the heart which has never felt its glow; gross and sordid the soul which has never been illumined by its sunshine. "to live is to love, my friend, and to love is to suffer a little and to be happy much." part 4 reno comedies according to some of the comic postcards which are sent out, reno was known in the time of adam and eve. someone sent me a card while there, which depicted adam and eve under the famous apple-tree. (telephone: 281 apple.) eve was beautiful in flowing hair and fig leaf. adam had one on too, a rather faded affair. adam was plucking a nice, fat, green fig leaf out of his salad. under the picture were written the words: "eve, the next time you put my dress suit in the salad, reno for me." one sees and hears funny things in reno. for instance, no one will abide there long before being asked: "are you here for the cure?" at first you may look astonished and say: "no, i am perfectly well, thank you," but the smile that lightens the questioner's face makes the meaning slowly dawn upon one. one can hear a porter say to a conductor of the train from the east: "any victims today?"; and the hotels frequented by the divorcees are known as "hospitals for the first aid to the matrimonially injured." the reporter of the local paper will ask: "any new headlines ready?" the court house is known as "the divorce mill." sometimes as "the separator"! then renoites are fond of nicknaming the members of the divorce colony, as well as the buildings. one fair divorcee was dubbed the "weeping beauty" by her lawyer, because she wept whenever she visited him. and she looked pretty too when she wept: "like a dew-kissed rose," he said. a gentleman of mature age was known as the "silver king" because of his princely bearing, silvery white hair and greek god figure. "the venus of reno" was another one, a statuesque brunette, because of her perfect figure and grecian gowns. a very stout lady bore the graceful name of "renoceros," whereas an old reprobate could do no better than "renogade." however, "reno-vated" they all got! an interesting fact is that your chambermaid, bellboy, hotel clerk, taxi driver, dressmaker, saleslady, cook and laundress, hairdresser, waiter and bootblack may all and each be a so-called divorcee. (for convenience sake, i speak of them all as "divorcees," although webster defines a "divorcee" as a man or woman who has already obtained a divorce.) what is more, a great many of these people who are working are well fixed financially, and are just working to keep sane. i remember tipping my waitress one evening. the next day i received a bunch of american beauties from that lady, which simply bowled me over at a glance. she got her divorce, and is now married to a wealthy new york real estate man. so you see it is difficult to discriminate. i received shock after shock until i felt like a shock absorber. i was dining with a friend one evening in a restaurant we often patronized. the gentleman with me desired a cigarette, and found his case was empty. a waitress, noticing his disappointment, extracted a silver cigarette case from her rather attractive bosom, opened it, and offered my friend one of her monogrammed cigarettes. another victim! one evening after writing all day without any recreation, i went down to dinner, feeling a bit tired but rather satisfied with my day's work. i said to my waitress while looking over the bill of fare: "tilly, i have worked hard today; i feel that i deserve a halo!" tilly looked at me for a moment, and disappeared. she was a devoted soul and had always taken great pains to please me. in a few minutes she returned with a disappointed expression on her face, and said: "i am sorry, mam, i can't get you the halo. cook says it's something mary wore around her head." some of the witnesses in divorce cases are very humorous. i was present at a few hearings, when a tall and thin man stated in a rather shaky voice that his wife was a "beastly vampire," and that after living with him for two whole weeks she struck him over the head with a crutch and told him that she had a graveyard full of better men than he was. the present victim was the fourth husband of the defendant. "judgment for the plaintiff".... another pretty young lady said that one of her husband's favorite pastimes was spitting in her face, while yet another lady accused her actor husband of "too much artistic temperament, and whiskey temper." "judgment for the plaintiff".... the funniest case i ever witnessed was that of an old washwoman. i don't know where she hailed from, but the judge said: "why do you wish to get a divorce from your husband?" "well, yer honor, he don't support me." "but," said the judge, "is that all the complaint you have? you must have more than that to get a divorce." "well, yer honor, i don't love my husband any more." "that won't do either," said the judge impatiently. "is that all?" "well, to tell the truth, yer honor, i don't think he is the father of my last child." "judgment for the defendant." .... what matter law and customs to even the most staid and stone-hearted wall street banker if he happens to be on top of the world with a woman who is a masterpiece of creation? there are many in reno,-masterpieces: not millionaire bankers--, and lonely too, sometimes! anyway it came to pass not so very long ago, that a new york banker of great wealth and international reputation went out to reno to secure a divorce. after two months' stay the gentleman lost his heart to a very attractive lady, who also was whiling away six months of her sweet young life in order to shake off the matrimonial shackles. the banker was about fifty, the lady twenty-seven and the wife of a well-known new york actor. so lavish were the banker's attentions to this charming lady that he gave a most extraordinary banquet in her honor at the riverside hotel to which were invited about one hundred guests. the dinner was under the management of one of the best of san francisco's caterers, and all the table decorations were brought from san francisco. the banquet, i am told, cost about $5,000--hoover in those days was not popular as yet.... but alas! poor little cupid was obliged to succumb to failure. before the six months had passed, the banker's wife "got wise" to his whereabouts and his doings, and he disappeared from reno very abruptly. about the same time the beautiful lady's actor husband learned of the affair, and sued the banker for fifty thousand dollars "heart balm" .... and so we find a fool face to face with his folly.... "altitude," did you say? i don't know .... funny how a few fleeting hours can change the face of the world! how the mind when free and refreshed can see and admit mistakes, and how our fairy castles and wondrous dreams vanish at the touch of reason and stern reality. it's wonderful to have known paradise: to have walked in its flower-strewn paths and to have tasted its delirious delights. but the awakening! "how could i?"--"how could she?"--"what was the end of it all?" "who knows?" it is not well for man to be alone, nor woman either, otherwise why was eve bestowed upon adam? that is probably what a young man from one of the first families of boston thought while exiled to the reno divorce colony for the purpose of ridding himself of a wife: the result of one of youth's romantic mistakes. the affair of some years ago shocked his family and eastern society generally. was it a shop girl from boston, or a chorus girl from new york? i have forgotten. anyway, his companion in reno was a fascinating little dancer of the sagebrush cafe. so infatuated was the young man with this little charmer that he spent his entire income entertaining her, and when the income had vanished he pawned his jewelry, including his watch. but then, boys will be boys, and after all, what could the poor youth do? all alone in a strange place! it is so uninteresting to sit and twirl one's thumbs: "twiddle-dee twiddle-dum.".... "that love laughs at locksmiths" and "all is fair in love and war" seems to be the moral of the following, if moral there be in it: mrs. jones, a very beautiful and statuesque blonde, went out to reno for a divorce. on her arrival there she wrote her husband that she had repented: "i am sorry i ran away from you," she is said to have written, "and if you will come out here for me we will make up and live happily ever after." he came out and was arrested and thrown in jail, charged with extreme cruelty. the lady got her divorce within three weeks instead of six months, as she was able to serve the summons upon her husband in the state of nevada. after that her sweetheart came out and they were married. i am told that some three years later the husband brought suit against them for collusion, but i never heard how it terminated. one of the noted cases of the reno divorce colony is the divorce of a famous new york beauty and heiress. while she was riding in central park one afternoon her horse bolted and she was saved by a handsome policeman named dow. when the young lady looked into the eyes of her rescuer, it was a case of "love at first sight." this god of the police force informed his wife of the affair: she immediately packed her box and started for reno. a few days after her arrival, her husband was located in carson city, by the merest accident of course, and as it was possible to serve the summons upon him in the state of nevada, the case was put through in two weeks. as soon as it was ended, mr. dow presented his ex-wife with five one thousand dollar bills. when the cashier of the reno national bank handed her the envelope containing the bills, she extracted them and deposited them in her stocking. she was advised not to go about with so much money on her, whereupon she replied that the "first national was good enough for her." that same evening a champagne banquet was given by the ex-policeman at the colony restaurant at which most of the divorce colony were present, and among them, his exwife. both of them were extremely demonstrative; in fact the entire party was decidedly affectionate, and the affair was the talk of the town for months afterwards. after mr. dow married the famous beauty, he found out it was riot all heaven to be the poor husband of a rich wife, and so he decided to return to the police force. of course, that would never do at all, and therefore the fair lady promised to pay him ten thousand a year, in quarterly installments of $2,500, if he would consent to be her idle rich husband. this he did until mrs. dow ii. found out that hubby was indulging in clandestine meetings with mrs. dow i., and presto, change! the allowance suddenly ceased. after a few months of separation from his bank roll, having become accustomed to an easily earned income, mr. dow sued his bank, mrs. dow ii., for the blue envelope of two quarters of the allowance, and the new york newspapers just hummed with a fresh scandal. finally mrs. dow ii. tried to get a divorce on the plea that the nevada divorce was illegal. failing in this, there were ways and means found in the east, and at last they were divorced. it has been rumored that mr. dow thought the old love best after all, and that mrs. dow i. has been reinstalled to the place of honor by his side. "true love never did run smoothly": not even in the police force.... a rather amusing story is told of elinor glyn's visit to reno, not for a divorce, dear reader, but apparently for atmosphere, as she spent several months in the most rugged states in the west. one of the handsome sons of the sagebrush, known as the beau brummel of reno, became very attentive to the distinguished lady visitor, and when she expressed a desire to see a real western shooting scrap, the gentleman said: "all right; the lady must have anything her heart desires, doggonit!" and so he staged a regular shooting scrap. and they do say out there that it was so realistically done that elinor fainted and was unconscious for an hour. the "fight" occurred on the train from tonopah to mina. mr. beau brummel had been showing the lady nevada's great mining camps: a couple of seats in front of elinor glyn and her escort two men began to quarrel, presumably over a game of cards. the fight grew until each pulled a six-shooter. there was a shot and a flash, and one man fell: dead, apparently, while the other stood over him, wild eyed, his smoking gun in his hand. i can truly believe this story as i saw the dead gentleman auction off four times the same basket of roses at a red cross benefit, and each time he got a hundred dollars for the basket... however dead he may have been, he certainly was not dead on the vine! speaking of beau brummels, i never found out the name of the gentleman who came back from lawton's one evening--or was it morning?--minus his silk shirt. a lady of the party had taken a fancy to it and suggested that they auction it off for the benefit of the red cross: at that time america had just declared war on germany, and the interest in the red cross was at its height. the lady's suggestion was carried out with enthusiasm. the lucky lady was mrs. hall, called "the forty million dollar divorcee"; she bid seventy-five dollars for the shirt and wore it to a golf tournament the next day. let us hope that the gentleman's linen was as attractive as his shirt, for the shirt was removed then and there and bestowed upon the fair purchaser. i met a very charming young couple in reno whose story rather interested me. i was not shocked at this case, as i had been in reno some time before i was introduced to them, and had heard about it. when i first met mr. lake he was with a very beautiful young lady to whom he seemed very attentive, and i thought surely they were sweethearts. we all went out motoring with mr. lake's lawyer, and in the course of conversation the lawyer informed me that mr. lake had received his decree about two weeks before, and as he had obtained a splendid position in reno he had decided to remain there. his fiancee was expected next week from alabama, and they were to be married at once upon her arrival. the lady with mr. lake at the time, the lawyer went on to say, was just eighteen years of age, and had received her decree about a week before. she had a fine little boy about two years old with her. one day the young lady called, and informed me that she had just been up to the future home of mr. and mrs. lake unpacking his fiancee's trousseau which had been sent on ahead, with the request that it be unpacked and hung up in order that the wrinkles all be out by the time the bride arrived. "look," continued the girl from south carolina, and she held out her hand displaying a beautiful roman gold ring of artistic design. "isn't it beautiful?" was i mistaken? did her voice choke at the next words? were there tears in her eyes? "this is her wedding ring, isn't it beautiful? i am wearing it until she arrives...." the naughty fiancee arrived two days before she was expected, and came near upsetting everything. hubby-to-be saw her first, dodged, jumped into his car and raced up to the other girl's home to get the wedding ring and break the dinner engagement for that evening. then he rushed downtown and greeted his bride-to-be in his lawyer's office. they are living in reno, happily married. mr. lake received a telegram of congratulation from his first wife. mrs. lake ii. is a charming woman. i think she has heard all about the episode, but she is a diplomat and probably thinks that one way to matrimonial bliss is skilled ignorance. happiness and contentment and.... love.... or what we think it is! and yet, what would the world be without that inheritance. the six months' residence law of nevada, was not made primarily to accommodate matrimonial misfits, but to secure settlers by offering them early citizenship and votes, the state being only sparingly populated. prior to reno, sioux falls, dakota, used to be the haven for those seeking relief from the "tie that binds." when dakota placed the ban on the divorce colony, someone discovered the nevada divorce law, and those who found that cupid was no longer at the helm of their matrimonial ship, turned reno-ward. however, be it known that the citizens of nevada knew all about this easy relief law from the undesirable bond way back in 1851, as the following quotation from a very amusing chapter of nevada's history will illustrate. the book i speak of is called "reminiscences of william m. stewart" and was written by a senator. of course he was a senator! judges and senators are as thick in nevada as colonels in kentucky. most every man worth while has been, is, or is going to be a senator or a judge. however, that book is a good one and i found the following most interesting and amusing. says william m. stewart: "if you want to preserve good health, keep your head cool and your feet warm!" "while working our claim i awoke one morning and saw a covered wagon with two oxen which had been unyoked and were grazing on the grass near a spring in a ravine below me. i soon discovered that a line had been drawn from the wagon to a clump of rocks, upon which were hung several articles of feminine apparel to dry. women were so scarce in california at that time that this was sufficient to arouse the whole camp. the "boys" as we were called, were scattered along the coyote digging for a distance of about four miles, and when anything unusual happened the words, 'oh, joe!' would be passed along the whole line. "when i saw the feminine raiment, i raised the usual alarm, "oh, joe!" and this called the attention of the miners on buckeye hill, where i was, to the clothes-line which had attracted my notice. they gathered round on the hill, nearly surrounding the covered wagon and its contents. the rush of the boys in the immediate vicinity to see the wonderful sight attracted those farther away, and in less than ten minutes two or three thousand young men were watching the wagon, clothes-lines, and fascinating lingerie. in alarm the man that belonged to the woman inside stuck his head out of a small tent beside the wagon. i assured him that no harm was intended, but that we were very anxious to see the lady who was the owner of the clothes. this aroused her curiosity sufficiently to induce her to pull the curtain of the tent aside so that her face could be discovered but not fully seen. "i then proposed that we make a donation to the first lady that had honored our camp with a visit. i took from my camp a buckskin bag, used for the purpose of carrying gold, and invited the boys to contribute. they came forward with great eagerness and poured out of their sacks gold dust amounting to between two and three thousand dollars. i then proceeded to appoint a committee to wait on the lady and present it. the motion was unanimously carried and one of the gentlemen on the committee suggested myself as chairman. i took the sack of gold and went within about thirty feet of the tent and made as good a speech as i could to induce the lady to come out, assuring her that all the men about her were gentlemen, that they had seen no ladies for so many months and that the presence of one reminded them of their mothers and sweethearts at home. i told her that the bag of gold was hers on the condition that she come out to claim it. her husband urged her to be brave, but when she finally ventured about half way the cheers were so vociferous that she got frightened and ran back. she repeated this performance several times and i kept moving slowly back far enough to get her away from the little tent so the boys could get a good view of her. i suppose half an hour was occupied with her running back and forth while the boys looked in admiration. when i finally gave her the bag with all the good wishes of the camp, she grabbed it and ran into the tent like a rabbit. "the next morning the wagon and the owner of the inspiring apparel were gone and we never heard of them in after life. it was no doubt well that they hastened their departure, for in those days it was a very usual occurrence for the young wife coming to that country to be persuaded to forsake her husband on their arrival in the new camp. the immigrants of 1850 included thousands of newly married young people whose wedding journey included all the hardships and privations of crossing the plains. those hardships made the men look rather rough and scrubby, and they were all miserably poor. the women were young, and after they had an opportunity to wash their faces, looked more attractive: particularly to the miners who had been deprived of female society for several months and had accumulated some money and good will. the miner would propose marriage, and if a divorce could be obtained extreme cruelty was usually given as the reason for the divorce. the intended bridegroom was always a ready witness to swear to a case of extreme cruelty. "in the fall of 1851 i went to nevada city to bring supplies for the men engaged in construction of the grizzly ditch. i bought several mule-loads and was having them packed very early one morning, but before i could get away i was summoned as a juror in judge barber's court. this was before i made myself exempt from jury duty by becoming a member of the bar. i saw the judge and tried very hard to beg off; but he told me there were ten divorce cases on hand and he wanted to dispose of them that day. (i think 1917 had nothing on 1851 when it comes to divorces in nevada. author.) "the judge continued: 'i cannot excuse you but i think you can get away in time to return to your camp tonight.' so i had to submit though i did not like it. i then prepared the jury room for use by conveying to it a demijohn of whiskey, a bucket of water and twelve tin dippers. as foreman of the jury i wrote the verdict as follows: 'we, the jury, find the defendant guilty of extreme cruelty.' we returned the verdict to the court, heard the next case, and continued until we had disposed of the ten cases. there were ten weddings that afternoon and evening. "i then thought and still think that we did the best thing that could have been done. these women had separated from their husbands, and if they had not been allowed to marry the men who had parted them, they perhaps would have done worse. some of them made good citizens and raised families, and when they grew rich became very aristocratic." so much for the pioneer days, and they are really not so far away. don't take an umbrella with you, you won't need it; it never rains; but i wish someone would write a poem to take the place of "mispah." i received that poem from four different people on my departure from reno, and i feel that it is overworked, though it is beautiful indeed, and i have quoted two verses of it below: mispah "go thou thy way and i go mine apart, yet not afar. only a thin veil hangs between the pathways where we are; and god keep watch 'tween thee and me this is my prayer. he looketh thy way, he looketh mine, and keeps us near. i sigh ofttimes to see thy face, but since this may not be, i'll leave thee to the care of him who cares for thee and me." part 5 reno and its people reno is named after general reno, who died in the battle of south mountain. it is about two thousand nine hundred miles from new york city; it takes nearly four days to reach it by train. from reno to san francisco is only about two hundred miles. the altitude is about 4,419 feet: the population twelve thousand. this "big little city" in the west is modern in every respect: it is the county seat of washoe county and the largest city in the state of nevada. reno is located in the greenest of valleys and surrounded by the sierra nevadas, the most majestic mountain range in the united states. these mountains cover a length of six hundred miles from mount jacinto to mount shasta, and a breadth of from seventy-five to one hundred miles, with long and gradual slopes on the west, cut by deep canons. the climate of the sierras is beyond an adequate description: the beautiful summer days are mild and rainless. the main peaks of the western range are: mount king, mount gardner and mount brewer; those of the eastern range: mount kearsage, mount tyndall, mount williamson and mount whitney. mount whitney is the highest peak in the united states outside of alaska, rising 14,898 feet above sea level. the other main peaks of the sierra nevadas exceed 13,000 feet in altitude. the peaks nearest reno are: mount rose and peavin mountain, both of which can be seen from any part of the city of reno. in this setting nestles our much-talked-of "gem city of nevada"--the city of heart-throbs and dreams! its chief industries, i would say, are gold and love.... one less poetic might call these mining and divorce. next to its dreamy, romantic side, reno has a very practical side: its position as a business center. the railroads radiating north, east, south and west, give it an enormous tributary territory. there are modern business blocks, department stores, excellent hotels. the best hotels are: the hotel golden, the riverside and the overland. [illustration: lobby of the golden hotel] reno is a city of beautiful residences, trees and shrubbery; asphalt and macadam streets. there are fine public buildings, libraries and theatres of the first magnitude. one of the most noteworthy features of reno is its beautiful schools. there are six besides the high school and the university; orvis ring school, mckinley park school, southside school, mt. rose school, mary s. doten school and the babcock memorial kindergarten. the architecture is the "old mission," and it is difficult to decide which one really excels in beauty. apart from the beautiful architecture, these schools are all equipped with every modern device for the training of the younger generation, both physically and mentally. never in any public school have i seen such a splendidly equipped domestic science room as the one in the mckinley park school. its beautiful open, airy assembly hall with its hardwood floors and stage for private theatricals and other social affairs is the acme of modern refinement. in this hall the "mothers' club" holds its meetings, and the children have their school dances. the university of nevada has the best equipped school of mining engineering in the western states; it also has a summer course on several interesting subjects, which often is taken advantage of by many who find time passing slowly, and wish to "brush up a bit." among the imposing buildings downtown is the y. m. c. a., an artistic and splendidly equipped edifice. it is located on the north bank of the truckee, commanding a beautiful view of snow-capped mount rose and slide mountain in the distance, above the green of the trees. part of this building is devoted to indoor sports and consists of a gymnasium, conducted by able instructors; a handball court, bowling alleys, pool and billiard tables and a spacious swimming pool with shower-baths; it furthermore has a library and a large number of private rooms for outof-town guests. at the time of the writing of this book, 1917, the y. m. c. a. donated the use of its assembly hall to the american red cross for making hospital supplies and for "first aid" classes. here, the residents of reno work side by side with members of the "divorce colony," women in all walks of life, from all parts of the world; women famous and beautiful, all working for the great cause of humanity without any social prejudices, personal feelings, or pettiness.... so much for the y. m. c. a. [illustration: mt. rose school] among the prominent and beautiful buildings are: the nixon building and the nixon home on the banks of the truckee, both of which are artistic and worthy of mention. also the elks' home is very beautiful and picturesque: it is set in spacious grounds and has an imposing entrance crowned with an immense elk's head. each of the antlers holds a beautifully colored light; the lights form the national colors. the home contains every comfort for the wandering brother elk, including a warm welcome. broad verandas and balconies overlook the truckee river, and when there is dancing its playful waters sing a rustling accompaniment to the music, which, when mixed with the moonlight on the river and the pretty girl by one's side, is calculated to make a romantic cocktail, sufficiently intoxicating to make any poor lonely elk absolutely helpless. the social affairs of this organization take a very prominent part in the life of reno. one sojourning in this city would be well advised to have a card to the elks, should he or she have relatives or friends who are members. the elks are a splendid organization: i have found them always ready with a helping hand extended. there are no less than ten churches in this charming little reno town. the different denominations, their pastors and location are: 1. baptist church, second corner chestnut; rev. brewster adams. 2. catholic (st. thomas), second corner chestnut; rev. t. m. tubman. 3. congregational, virginia corner 5th; rev. w. d. trout. 4. episcopal, second corner sierra; rev. samuel unsworth. 5. first church of christ, scientist, masonic temple. [illustration: reno national bank building] 6. lutheran (st. luke's), bell corner second; rev. f. e. martens. 7. methodist episcopal, sierra corner 1st; rev. w. e. lowther. 8. presbyterian, ridge corner hill; rev. w. e. howe. 9. salvation army, sierra street; capt. boyd in charge. 10. seventh day adventist, west 5th; rev. w. s. holbrook. the banks of reno also do it credit; there are four in number: 1. the farmers & merchants bank, virginia corner second street. 2. the reno national bank, virginia corner second street. 3. the scheeline banking and trust co., n. virginia street. 4. the washoe county bank, n. virginia street corner second. in speaking of the banks, i want to comment especially upon the reno national bank. this bank a few years ago moved into its new building, a most beautiful and artistic structure, which in my opinion would do credit to wall street. its lobby is artistically and beautifully equipped, as well as all parts of the bank. it is finished entirely in white marble, with blue velvet hangings, and no luxury or comfort known to a modern bank building has been forgotten in its construction. this bank was built in 1915 by mr. george wingfield at a cost of approximately $200,000. "from the north corner comes the light" .... can it be that sometimes its emerges from the west! last but not least is the beautiful court house. it was rebuilt in 1909 at an approximate cost of $150,000. it is located in a very prominent part of the city, and faces a beautiful little park; a very imposing building with its big golden dome, numerous marble pillars and broad steps. these steps might truly be called the "great divide," as many thousands have tripped up united and returned divided; which incidentally does not mean "united we stand, divided we fall." perhaps much more so: "united we fall, divided we stand!" [illustration: interior of reno national bank] as one looks at this palace of justice one cannot help conjuring up mental pictures of famous beauties and prominent men, whose stories have furnished headlines for the leading newspapers of our big cities in years gone by; they seem to pass in review; a continuous procession ascending the steps in search of freedom and new happiness.... through this little city flows the truckee river, which i think is one of its chief beauties. this river is one hundred miles long; flowing out of lake tahoe, it empties into lake pyramid, a desert lake with no apparent outlet. the waters of the truckee are as clear as crystal, except when they reflect the rose color of the sunset, or the thousand hues from the mountain peaks when they turn green and gold, rose and purple: i have seen them look as though covered with heliotrope velvet, just at the hour between sunset and moonrise. one can follow the truckee river from reno to lake tahoe,--a motor run of about three hours, through scenery of indescribable beauty. the course of the river, tortuous and quickly changing from side to side, offers to the enchanted eye a kaleidoscopic review of towering rocks, foaming waterfalls, pine-clad mountains, snow-capped peaks, emerald lakes and moss-green valleys. i shall never forget my first trip from reno to lake tahoe over what is known as the "dog valley grade." we stopped at the summit, at the edge of the mountain. down we peered into the misty shadows of the deep valleys, six hundred feet below. it was a strange sensation to be hanging thus between earth and sky: to feel that the only thing between life and death was about three feet of roadbed, and four "nonskid" tires. it was wonderful to drink in the beauty of it all. i felt like a disembodied spirit, traveling back:.... back over centuries into forgotten ages, trying to realize what this wonderful country must have been like when it was still hidden by the foaming waters of a great inland sea..... and then we reached beautiful lake tahoe, set in the midst of the sierra nevadas, surrounded by a dozen snow-capped peaks, the staunch, unflinching satellites of one of god's wondrous treasures. it reflects a picture to be surpassed nowhere else in the world. the great depth of the lake accounts for its glorious color of waters, which, turquoise blue in one place twenty feet away will change to emerald green; the colors do not fade into one another: they are distinctly separated. in some places the depth of the lake is even unknown. lake tahoe is twenty-three miles long: its maximum width thirteen. its altitude is six thousand two hundred and twenty-five feet above sea level: the highest body of water in the united states. on one side its undulating waves kiss the shores of california: on the other those of nevada, so that exiles of the "divorce colony" may take advantage of this delightful summer resort and still remain within the state to which one day they hope to owe their happiness..... the midsummer air is cool and invigorating; hunting and fishing excellent; motor rides perfect; boating and bathing the finest in the land. hotel and camping accommodations are splendid; the landscape is picturesque and a never-ending delight to the eye. this is one of the great many splendid advantages of the beautiful city tucked away in the shadow of the sierras; so cheer-up, you prospective exiles, the wilds have their untold fascinations. in writing of reno one feels a compelling desire to describe the principal points of interest around and near the city, as in these days of motor cars and good roads it is a never-ending joy to spend a day among the famous gold mining districts, visit the indian homes and reservations, and other beautiful and interesting places. i will endeavor to describe these further: near reno, on the truckee, is the famous carson dam: the first reclamation project undertaken by the government under the national reclamation project act. i went out to look it over and found it tremendously interesting. it was built in 1903 at a cost of $7,000,000. the dam is constructed of earth and concrete, eight hundred feet long, one hundred ten feet high, four hundred feet wide at the base and twenty feet wide at the top. the main unit of this project was completed in 1913. it was the means of reclaiming a total of 2,000,000 acres of what was once known as the "forty mile desert." the dam produces many thousand hydroelectric horse-power, and it is wonderful to see this stretch of desert waste turned like magic into rich productive agricultural soil. perhaps some day the entire desert will flourish likewise.... who knows? carson city, the capital of nevada, is situated in the eagle valley and was originally laid out in 1858. the valley was first visited in 1833 by kit carson, the famous scout and frontiersman. the south end of eagle valley was settled by mormons in 1849-1850. carson city itself is 33 miles from reno, 22 miles from virginia city and 14 miles from lake tahoe. the principal points of interest in carson are the mint, the state capitol, the orphans' home; the federal building and the post office; the indian school; shaw's springs. and many other interesting things will well repay a visit. the virginia and truckee railroad, over which the trip to virginia city is made, is one of the grandest successes of railroading and engineering. it was constructed between carson city and virginia city in 1869, and from carson city to reno in 1872. the entire cost of the road was $5,200,000, or not less than $100,000 per mile. the enormous business transacted by the road may be surmised when it is stated that for a long time it paid the central pacific railway $ 1,000 per day for freight on goods received there from, and collected for freight at the virginia city office from $60,000 to $90,000 per month, and at gold hill but little less. east of carson city on the road to virginia city we pass the state prison, known for its historic relics. some years ago, during quarrying in the prison yard, immense footprints of pre-historic animals and birds were discovered at a depth of twenty feet below the surface of the ground. they cover an area of two acres, and were made by mastodons: they are over four inches deep. many man-like tracks were found, 18 to 20 inches long and 8 inches wide, with a stride of 30 inches and a distance between right and left tracks of 19 inches. [illustration: elk's home] a few miles east of carson is the town of empire, once an important trading post and distributing point for lumber, cordwood, etc. after leaving empire the road enters the canons of the carson river, passing in rapid succession the sites of numerous mills which were erected to. crush the rich ore of the world-famous comstock lode. principal among these were the morgan, brunswick and santiago mills which turned out hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of bullion. the grade of the road rises rapidly, the track leaves the canon and soon reaches the mound house, the junction point with the southern pacific. railroad trains leave mound house for dayton, fort churchill, tonopah, goldfield and all points south. leaving mound house the road soon traverses the famous mineral belt of the comstock lode. this belt is 7,000 feet wide and 6 miles long, and produced nearly a billion dollars. the first mine to be seen is the haywood, lying to the west side of the road. this mine produced over $1,000,000 and is still active. to the east can be seen silver city. the mines in this vicinity produced over $12,000,000. none of them has attained any great depth. the road next enters the gold hill district. the country in this vicinity is gashed and scarred by hundreds of cuts, shafts and tunnels dug by the early prospectors in their search for wealth. every one of these marks represents a hope, and in many cases the hope was realized; the same spirit animates their successors and the search still goes on. the principal mines in gold hill are the ophir, caledonia, overman, seg, belcher, yellow jacket, kentuck, crown point, imperial and bullion. the yellow jacket was the first mine located, taking its name from the fact that its locators were warmly opposed by a swarm of yellow jackets. this was in 1859. the yield of the gold hill mines and the dividends paid were enormous. the ophir mining co. in 1859 sent 45 tons of their croppings to san francisco for reduction, the cost for transportation being 25 cents per pound, or $500 per ton. they paid $450 per ton for smelting, a total cost of $42,750, yet they made a profit of $128,250 on the transaction, the rock giving over $3,800 per ton. high above the town of gold hill and clinging to the side of the mountain can be seen the flumes of the virginia & gold hill water co., which supplies the camps of virginia city, gold hill and silver with the finest water in the world. the water is conducted 3 i miles through pipes and flumes from springs and snow-fed streams in the sierras 1,500 feet above the city. the capacity of the flumes is 10,800,000 gallons per day. from gold hill the road runs through tunnels, twists and turns along the side of mt. davidson until it reaches virginia city, the end of the line. virginia city was first settled in 1859. it obtained its name from an old prospector, james finney, nicknamed "old virginny." its elevation is 6,205 feet above sea level. in 1861 the population of virginia city was 3,284, of gold hill 1,294 and of silver city 1,022; in 1878 it was 40,000. the first international hotel was built in 1860. it was a single story building. the first day's receipts were $700. the present structure was built in 1877; it cost $210,000. the honor of discovering the "comstock lode" belongs to the two brothers, allen and hosea grosch. the majority of the miners on the comstock in the first days of its activity lived in tents and dug-outs called "holes in the wall." i never realized the vastness of our country, nor the wonderful opportunities which the west affords those in search of wealth, until i lived there six months. there are untold undeveloped resources, the like of which does not exist in the over-crowded east. may this little book, in a way, serve to introduce the west to the east. reno and her people cannot be spoken of as typical of other western towns and people, as the residents of this much-talked-of "big little city" are subject to conditions which do not exist in any other town in the country. they are democratic and whole-hearted westerners, but find themselves confronted with social conditions which change their attitude toward things. however, i was very much impressed at the comparatively few divorces one finds among the older, permanent residents. i think this proves that it is the "unattainable that is most desired." [illustration: y.m.c.a.] the women of nevada have enjoyed equal suffrage for some time; they are wide awake and interested in all public affairs. besides being domesticated, they are intellectual and energetic. there are very few "prudes" among them, and a great many diplomats. nowhere more than in reno is developed among men and women a sense of being individual. i attended many of the women's clubs, and was always agreeably surprised to find them up-to-date in every respect: a company of women banded together to study and plan for the betterment of humanity, and social conditions in general. the mothers' club and the century club are doing splendid work in aiding the development of "home economics," "better babies," helping with all kinds of charities, civic improvements and much other commendable work. it was at these clubs that i met the real wife and mother, with real sweetness of soul: the woman who even under difficulties knew how to live a simple, pure and gentle life. never have i come in contact with so much human feeling--even the ministers and their families are human, and full of understanding! the officials and people of prominence are all natural and unassuming. i attended a "ladies' aid" meeting at which there were about forty ladies present, and among other good traits of these fine, earnest women i noticed particularly the absence of gossip and prudishness. however, there is a spirit of contradiction prevailing in reno which is very difficult to understand. all traces of the "wild and woolly" western town have disappeared. the people of reno are very docile indeed .... there are no cowboy yells nor indian whoops, which some of our eastern and southern friends imagine still to exist. and the click of the roulette-wheel has passed with the years that have departed. reno has developed into a cosmopolitan city with a cosmopolitan population. the cafes have cabarets with excellent talent, and there is dancing every evening in several of the hotels, where amid the bright lights, gay music, beautifully gowned women and well groomed men, one might easily imagine oneself in one of the swell cafes on broadway: until one catches a glimpse of the moonlight on the truckee, through an open window.... here the people of reno rub shoulders with those who constitute the "divorce colony," and to a new-comer, it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other. the people of reno keep their city clean, and maintain a very high standard of law and order. a lady may walk out unescorted at any hour of the day or night, and will never be molested or insulted in any way. the absence of public drunkenness and profanity is very noticeable, and i was not surprised to read the following note clipped from one of the local newspapers on sunday morning: "dead calm in police courts on saturday" "police court was absolutely deserted yesterday morning, not a single case appearing on the docket to mar the serenity of the day. reno's night police found the citizens unusually well behaved all night long and were not required to make even one arrest during the twelve hours they were on duty." the fact that the people do not show much hospitality to undesirables, not even the hospitality of their jails, may explain why the little city is so calm and peaceful, and its police not overworked. the following clipping will indicate what happened to undesirables: "three men are told to get out of city" "population of reno dwindles, following session of judge bryson's court" "charles c. stewart, james joyce and john burke were picked up by the police on commercial row wednesday for disorderly conduct. judge bryson's police court was still in session and the men were arraigned immediately. all three pleaded guilty to the charge and for the best interests of the community were given until 10 o'clock thursday morning to get out of town." [illustration: view of nevada university campus] i had the pleasure of being a guest at the "military ball" in the university of nevada, at which the governor, his staff and many state officials were present, and was very much impressed by the fact that nevada's statesmen, like the state, are comparatively young. the governor did not look a day over thirty. they were a fine looking lot of earnest, unassuming, democratic westerners. i do not know when i have seen a prettier picture than the one i saw when i looked down from the balcony upon that splendid assembly of glittering uniforms, beautifully gowned women, and handsome young students, amid fluttering flags and gay music. as i looked on, i could not help thinking of the pioneer ancestors of some of these illustrious sons and daughters of nevada, who had crossed the plains in the early days, and i wondered what they would have to say of this brilliant array, and of the magic, modern little city of reno and its people, if they could peep from behind the curtains of yesterday! i am sure they would be more than proud of both! i fully expected to find living in reno unusually expensive, but was agreeably surprised to find that one can live there even more reasonably than in the east. the prices are not extortionate at all, there being no specially made rates for "visitors," and the people are neither grasping nor selfish. i have found the people of reno charming and interesting and it has been a pleasure indeed to get a peep behind the scenes of this romantic little city, and above all, i have found everyone fair and courteous in every way to those who are to become citizens of their town. part 6 nevada divorce laws "the history of nevada," published in 1913, sam p. davis writes as follows: "the unenviable reputation, throughout the length and breadth of the land, in regard to the divorce law, has heaped ignominy on the state of nevada. a few unscrupulous members of the legal fraternity, little better than outcasts at home, have come to reno and besmirched the good name of a great state by their activity in converting into pernicious channels a law originally intended to give relief to mismated couples who could not travel the matrimonial highway in peace and harmony. "the divorce law of nevada was enacted by the first territorial legislative assembly in 1861. the law was good enough for nevada and gave general satisfaction until its exploitation for purely mercenary motives began. "twenty-two states have practically the same divorce laws in force on their statute books, with the exception of the provision regarding residence. until this year, nevada required only six months' residence, but that had to be clearly established before action for dissolution of marriage could have any standing in the courts of the state. the residence had to be absolute, without the lapse of a single day except where good and sufficient reason could be shown, and to the entire satisfaction of the trial court. "six months' residence was also necessary for citizenship in nevada and enabled a man to exercise all the rights of a citizen. therefore, it naturally follows, that he could prosecute a divorce, or any other kind of a suit, in the state of which he was a citizen. "in order that the reader may reach an intelligent understanding of this much mooted question, the statute on divorce is quoted in full: "divorce from the bonds of matrimony may be obtained * * * for the following causes: "first--impotency at the time of marriage, continuing to the time of divorce. "second--adultery, since marriage, remaining unforgiven. "third--wilful desertion at any time; of either party by the other, for a period of one year. "fourth--conviction of a felony or infamous crime. "fifth--habitual gross drunkenness since marriage, of either party, which shall incapacitate him from contributing his or her share to the support of the family. "sixth--extreme cruelty in either of the parties. "seventh--neglect of the husband for the period of one year, to provide the common necessaries of life, when such neglect is not the result of poverty on the part of the husband, which he could have avoided in ordinary industry." "as the law governing the term of residence, to acquire citizenship, which obtained in nevada for half a century without causing even passing comment, has been taken advantage of for mere mercenary motives, the unanimous verdict of a righteously indignant people went forth that the law should be amended, in some way, to correct the evil. thus at the last session of the legislature the time required to obtain a residence before obtaining a divorce was changed from six months to one year. "if some sister states are stricken with remorse or find themselves in a sudden paroxysm of virtuous indignation, let them pass a law and enforce it, correcting the evils complained of at home, which will keep their divorces from coming to reno-nevada does not want them. if they persist in coming, let their home state enact a law which will make a divorce decree obtained in nevada, void and of no effect whenever and wherever said divorcee sets foot within the borders of the home state. when other states enact and rigidly enforce some such drastic measure, the west will begin to have some regard for their particular brand of virtue. until then, the west may be pardoned for believing that cant and hypocrisy often join hands with the lawless element and make a grandstand play for political effect. "economic conditions in the west are vastly different from those in the east. nevada is a sparsely populated country, and it is not considered to the interest of the state to hedge about too closely the road which leads to citizenship. anything which may have a tendency to obstruct immigration or turn it in another direction, is conceded, in this neck of the woods, to be unwise statesmanship. the state has a vital interest in securing and holding as large a population as is consistent with her rapidly increasing resources; always keeping steadily in view the fact that none but desirable citizens are wanted. if, however, the other kind come, as they sometime do, nevada is ready to cope with the situation, as many of that class can testify from personal experience. "nevada is a veteran of the civil war, having been organized as a territory in 1861, and admitted as a state of this glorious union in 1864. no soldier on the field of battle ever made a more gallant defense of his country than did this "battle born" state during the trying times of the war. what she lacked in men was made up in money. nevada was baptised in the blood of the nation and paid for her baptismal rite in a flood of gold and silver. with this flood of gold and silver, she saved the commercial honor of the country. this gold and silver paid the armies of the civil war, averted national bankruptcy, and enabled the government to resume specie payment in 1873. "those were dark days in the financial and political history of the united states, and nevada, maligned and despised as she is today in some quarters, was the savior of her country in that most critical period of her history. the state that furnished the sinews of war should have some standing in the hearts and minds of the american people, even if republics are ungrateful. "from the best information at hand, it would appear that the mines of nevada have yielded the enormous sum of two billion dollars during the past fifty years. of this amount it is conceded that the comstock alone produced fully one-half. the figures are given in round numbers, but are considered by mining men who are posted in such matters to be conservative. thousands of discoveries, many of them marvelously rich, are still being made all over the state, in hitherto unknown and undeveloped territory. besides gold, silver and copper, immense deposits of salt, borax, lime, platinum, sulphur, soda, potash-salts, cinnabar, arsenical ores, zinc, coal, antimony, cobalt, nickel, nitre, isinglass, manganese, alum, kaolin, iron, gypsum, mica and graphite exist in large quantities. "proudly conscious of her strength and probity of character, great big-hearted nevada looks down from her lofty pedestal and freely pardons all who may have misjudged her. this is nevada's record. match it, if you can. "the impulse which inspires a desire for a dissolution of an intolerable matrimonial alliance, is as fundamental to human nature as the one which inspires a desire for marriage, and is oft times far more moral. therefore, to require the commission of immoral and degrading acts on the part of one of the parties to a marriage before a divorce can be granted, regardless of why it is desired, places an unwarranted premium upon immorality, and degrades society equally as much as it does the one committing the offense. not only does this policy of the law foster immorality, but immorality increases in proportion as the law becomes more drastic. surely, the nevada law is more moral than that of new york, which permits divorce for adultery only. new york has the most drastic law of any of the states; as a consequence it has in proportion to the population, about seven times as many proven cases of adultery as any other state. there are nearly four times as many such cases there, as in the neighboring state of pennsylvania. this is not because the good people of new york are so much worse than their neighbors, but because the law requires that residents of the former state, who desire divorce, commit adultery; unless they have the time, money and inclination to go to reno. the effort to compel men and women to live together against their own free will, which is the purpose of stringent divorce laws, has caused even more immorality inside of marriage than it has outside. immoral conditions are never so dangerous as when they exist in marriage. and besides, the fundamental policy of our laws which not only permits, but requires an investigation of divorce causes, is highly productive of evil. many of the divorce cases in new york are simply food for a set of morbidly curious scandal-mongers. even the mohammedans consider our practice in this respect extremely vulgar: there is no more reason why a court should know why a husband and wife wish to separate than why they wish to marry. nevada most certainly has the most sane and moral divorce laws of any of the states. more than half a century ago, in 1861, nevada enacted its divorce laws in their present form. it then, as now, provided for only six months residence before filing suit. this was in line with its other liberal legislation and with legislation in other western states. this divorce statute included, and still includes, seven causes of action: impotency, adultery, desertion for one year, conviction of a felony, gross drunkenness, cruelty and failure of the husband for a period of one year to provide the common necessities of life. in addition to this there is another splendid feature of the nevada divorce law. it is not necessary to have witnesses, except to prove the fact that one is a resident in nevada. the plaintiff's testimony is sufficient, unless the case is contested. this law eliminates the despicable bribing of witnesses which so often happens in other states. it also eliminates the obscene, immoral and vulgar courtroom discussions which are often the result of calling witnesses in divorce cases. the wisdom of this early legislation in nevada is shown by the fact that more than fifty years afterwards the united states commission of uniform legislation, in preparing a law on divorce to be offered for adoption by all states, has recommended nevada's statute almost word for word. it should be remembered that this commission is made up of the greatest thinkers of modern times: lawyers, jurists, professors, moralists and statesmen. no one criticises nevada's causes for action. it is admitted that divorce, when it results from any one of these causes, is the only remedy for unfortunate relations, which, without such remedy, would injure society. a great majority of the leading thinkers and writers in our churches today admit that these causes of action are not too broad. i believe that maryland has one of the most lenient divorce laws of any of the southern states. a divorce is granted to residents after three years' separation. the decree is granted to the one deserted. some of the eastern and southern states, in this respect, are still in the throes of the dark ages. the western states, practically all of them west of the mississippi river, have seen the perfidy and injustice resulting from such narrow exactions. these modern, progressive ideas have crystallized into the form of wise legislation, the statutes of many of the states being almost identical with that of the state of nevada. in south carolina no divorce is permitted on any ground. new york is but little better since the only cause recognized is adultery. new york's rigidity in this respect has annually led thousands of people to resort to revolting and immoral acts and join in collusion, in order to obtain relief from wretched and unbearable marriage bonds. such laws are unjust. such laws wreck valuable lives. with strong characters they lead only to unhappiness; with the weak, they result in immoral living. the question then: "is divorce ever right?" must be answered in the affirmative. why should two persons, who find after reasonable trial that they have made a mistake, and that they are wholly unsuited for each other, physically, morally and intellectually, be compelled to live together? what is at first mutual indifference, ripens gradually into loathing and hatred. such conditions bring into the world innocent children, begotten not of love, as marriage presupposes, but of disgust, hatred, lust and incompatibility. is it not a fact, established by the most reliable medical authorities and celebrated criminologists, that crime is fostered in the minds of children begotten of inharmonious relationship? we can never fathom the depth of untold sorrow brought about by unfortunate marriages, where there is no way to annul them. this burden upon mankind has resulted in countless desertions, felonies, drunkenness, murders and suicides. "in the daytime when she moved about me, in the night, when she was sleeping at my side,- i was wearied, i was wearied of her presence. day by day and night by night i grew to hate her- would god that she or i had died!" --kipling. there is no stronger plea for divorce than hatred; all things mentally, morally and physically bad originate from hatred. i clipped the following from the pall mall gazette of london, england, of may 2oth, 1920: easy divorce opinions of the typical englishman to the editor of the pall mall gazette, "sir:-if it is not too late to answer some of the arguments brought to bear on 'easy divorce,' as lady beecham calls it, or, as i prefer to call it, the proposed equalisation of the divorce laws on which she wrote recently, i would like to know how far the sentiments of the 'typical englishman' mentioned in the article are known to lady beecham. "among many great men she mentions gladstone. now, his opinion on the subject is surely well known, as in 1857 he supported an amendment moved by mr. h. drummond that infidelity alone on the part of a husband should entitle the wife to the dissolution of the marriage. gladstone's speech was, i believe, an earnest attack upon the injustice of the divorce bill to women. "an able advocate, sir charles russell, once described the action of a man whose wife was seeking a divorce from him in the following strong terms: 'this was not a case of mere vulgar acts of infidelity, but it was that of a man whose continued course of conduct, consistent only in its profligacy and heartlessness, had brought the wife into a condition by which the marriage tie had become a galling chain.' "if the conduct of the respondent did not amount to legal cruelty, the law was in an anomalous state, and did emphasize in a marked manner the inequality which existed in the laws relating to these matters between men and women. "george eliot once wrote: 'these things are often unknown to the world; for there is much pain that is quite noiseless, and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence." "thackeray in 'the newcomes' speaks of 'matrimonial crimes where the woman is not felled by the actual fist, though she staggers and sinks under the blows quite as cruel and effectual, where with old wounds still unhealed, she strives to hide under a smiling face to the world.' "how anyone can find it in their heart to state that incurable insanity should not be ground for divorce is inexplicable to me; but as it is well known that partial insanity even is not, and i know of an instance of a man who went twice into an asylum and came back twice to his wife, the poor woman bearing him on each occasion another child. even this is not a ground for divorce. the cruelty in refusing the injured person her freedom seems almost incredible." the first wrong step between young people is impossible to avoid, since during courtship both wear masks, each trying to impress the other that he or she is a paragon of all virtues. the net result is, that the truth often becomes a horrible revelation immediately after the wedding ceremony. unhappy and mismated marriages, without means of rectification, are the curse of civilization, the living, gnawing cancer of society. in 1913, nevada, under the lash of exaggerated newspaper notoriety, enacted a law changing the period of residence for the plaintiff in divorce actions from six months to one year. from nevada's territorial existence down to that time it had been six months. it is a matter of history that nevada extended to the world inducements to go to her sparsely settled lands, in the way of liberal legislation and short periods of residence to acquire rights of full citizenship-franchise included. a man becomes, under nevada laws, a full fledged citizen and voter at the end of six months. to him is extended every privilege of government and from him is exacted every obligation of government, and the fact that at the end of six months he can bring an action for divorce is a consequence of these laws, and not--as is often thought--their purpose. consequently, changing the law on the point of one of its principles instead of equally on all was irrational and illogical. small wonder, therefore, that in 1915 the people, acting through their legislators and governor, restored the period of residence in action for divorce to six months. it is now in strict conformity with their other laws, and with the same rights prescribed by them. nevada's inhabitants have rescinded their act of 1914, by which they allowed immigrants and citizens to be robbed of a valuable right. the overwhelming vote of the legislature and approval of the bill by the governor clearly shows the public opinion upon the subject. if it be right to commence action for divorce in one year, then it is right in six months. length of period of residence is not a moral question. in this act the people of nevada believe that they are morally and legally right, and that they are materially helping the progress of humanity. it is often supposed that one can secure a divorce in reno without having to present grounds or causes for it. let me hasten to disillusion such "idealists." as mentioned above, there are seven causes for divorce in this state, any one of which in the eyes of the liberal nevada law, is sufficient justification for a dissolution of marriage. a fact which perhaps is not generally known is that one may leave the state temporarily any time after establishing a residence, provided, however, that the time during which one has been absent, is eventually "made up," that is; the actual presence in the state and county must amount to six months. in one divorce case at which i was present,--mrs. jones versus mr. jones--, the questions to a six months' resident were as follows: q. are you the plaintiff in this action? q. what relation does mr. jones bear to you? q. when were you married? q. where were you married? q. are there any children of this marriage? q. it is stated in the complaint that since your marriage to mr. jones he has been guilty of habitual gross drunkenness, which he has contracted since the marriage. will you please state to the court the circumstances in regard to his acts of habitual drunkenness? q. have his acts of habitual gross drunkenness incapacitated him from contributing his support to the family? q. what effect have his habits of gross habitual drunkenness had upon his performing his part of the marital relations? q. please refer to page 5 paragraph--of your complaint and read it as to your reasons for coming to reno, nevada. q. when did you come to the count; of washoe, state of nevada? q. where have you been residing since you came to reno, nevada? q. have you been engaged in any occupation or profession during your residence in reno, nevada? q. what is your intention in regard to your continuing your residence in the state of nevada? q. what was your former name? q. do you desire to be restored to your former name for business and property reasons? q. it is stated in the complaint as a second cause of action that mr. jones for more than one year last past has failed, neglected and refused to provide you with the common necessities of life. please state, if any, what provisions he has made for your support and how he has supported you, if at all. q. it is stated in the complaint that he has been during all the said time and is now an able-bodied, talented man, and has been and is now in receipt of liberal salaries for his services. please state to the court what the facts are in regard to this. q. has his failure to provide you with the common necessities of life been the result of poverty or sickness and could he have avoided such failure by ordinary industry? q. please state how you have supported yourself. q. it is stated in the complaint as a third cause of action that mr. jones has been guilty of extreme cruelty to you in the state of texas and in the state of new york. please state to the court what his treatment has been to you in the way of using vulgar language to you and calling you vile names. q. what occurred at new york city on or about may, 1919, in regard to the conduct of the defendant, in regard to his father and his coming to the hotel in a condition of intoxication. q. it is stated that at waco, texas, the defendant would drink and keep you awake until a late hour in the morning. please state to the court the circumstances of his conduct. q. what occurred during the winter of 1919 at new york city in regard to mr. jones flourishing a loaded revolver and threatening to kill you? q. what effect did his treatment of you have upon your being compelled to leave him? q. what have you done in regard to endeavoring to persuade mr. jones to cease his excessive use of intoxicating liquors, his exhibition of ugly conduct, his vile language, to induce him to resume a normal condition of conduct and treat you with kindness? q. what effect, if any, has his habitual gross drunkenness and extreme cruelty--to you had upon your happiness and health, and how has it affected you mentally and physically? q. what effect has it had upon the intent and purposes of intermarriage and rendering your life with your husband unendurable, miserable and unbearable? in this case the charges were non-support and drunkenness and extreme cruelty. the plaintiff in a divorce case need not become seriously concerned because a defendant has refused to sign papers at the time he or she has been served. personal service upon the defendant--the mere fact that the papers are handed to the defendant is sufficient, whether he has accepted them or not--or service by publication and mailing in nevada will accomplish the same purpose; except that there will be a delay of forty days in the first case and eighty-two in the latter; however, if the defendant is not represented, or does not appear, there may arise the question as to the legality of the divorce in some states, especially in new york state. it will obviate considerable delay and inconvenience, if the defendant will sign and file his personal answer, admitting the plaintiff's allegations of residence, marriage, children, etc., but denying the cause of action. this answer should also contain an express waiver of notice of all proceedings. an answer cannot be signed, however, until the complaint is filed: the complaint cannot be--filed until six months have elapsed: therefore the divorce is not granted in six months, as is the impression which so many have, but the suit may be started at the termination of the six months' period. an expeditious and simple method of facilitating proceedings is to have the defendant appoint a lawyer in nevada, granting him the power of attorney to accept service of the complaint. since this can be provided for in advance the delay after the case has been filed can be reduced to a minimum. below is the form of the power of attorney: "know all men by these presents, that i, john jones, of the town of waco, county of....... state of texas, hereby constitute and appoint........ of the city of reno, county of washoe, state of nevada, as my true and lawful attorney, in fact and at law for me and in my name to act for me and appear for me as my attorney in any action that may or shall be instituted by mary jones, my wife, against me for the dissolution of the bonds of matrimony existing between us, in the second judicial district court of the state of nevada, in and for the county of washoe; and in any such action to accept service of summons thereon and to plead to or demur to, or to answer any verified complaint or other pleading that may or shall be filed by said mary jones in any action in said court; and to do and perform any other act or acts or to take any other proceeding or proceedings he shall deem proper in said action. "giving and granting unto my said attorney or his substitute full power and authority to do and perform all and every act and thing whatsoever requisite and necessary to be done in and out of said action, as fully and to all intents and purposes as i might or could do if personally present with full power of substitution, hereby ratifying and confirming all that my said attorney or his substitute may do or shall cause to be done by virtue of these presents. "in witness whereof, i have hereunto set my hand and seal this...... day of july a. d., 1917. "state of texas, county of....... ss.: "on this.... day of july, a. d., 1917, personally appeared before me, a notary public, in and for the county of......... state of texas, john jones, known to me to be the person described in and who executed the foregoing instrument and who acknowledged to me that he executed the same freely and voluntarily and for the uses and purposes therein mentioned. "in witness whereof, i have hereunto set my hand and affixed my official seal the day and year in this certificate first above written. "notary public in and for the county of ......... state of texas. many people are under the impression that it is absolutely essential to engage a lawyer before reaching reno, or immediately upon arrival. both of these conceptions are erroneous. it is considerably wiser to make one's selection after taking up a residence, when one has had an opportunity to discuss the matter with the local people who "know the ropes," and who are thus in a position to advise one right. no legal action is necessary until some months have elapsed, unless of course the case be exceptional, as the one below for instance. the nevada law provides that a suit for divorce may be immediately commenced in the county "where the defendant may be found." from this it will be seen that a plaintiff who has been a resident of nevada for ten days or even one day, may sue at once if the defendant can be found in nevada for service. that is, no six months period of residence is necessary at all, if the defendant happens to be there, or comes there for a reconciliation, to regain custody of children, to obtain a satisfactory property settlement, or for any other legitimate purpose, free from collusion. a celebrated case of this kind was tried at minden, nevada, in 1920. below is a list of questions asked the plaintiff by the lawyer: q. when did you first come here? a. the 15th day of february. q. have you any other residence? a. no, sir. q. is it your intention to make nevada your residence? a. yes, sir. q. did you by any means know of the coming of your husband into this state? a. no, sir. q. did you make any arrangements whereby he was to come into this state? a. no, sir. q. when did you first learn that he was in this state? a. a friend told me he was coming to nevada on business to look for a coal mine. q. did he mention any place your husband might be going to? a. yes, he said something about gold hill. question by the judge: answer by plaintiff: q. do you know where there are coal mines in gold hills? you mean gold mines. a. yes, gold mines. questions by lawyer: answers by plaintiff: q. what if anything did you do on hearing that he might come into this state? a. why, i telephoned you and informed you. q. did you see your husband? a. no, sir. questions by judge: answers by plaintiff: q. did you have anything to do with the appearance of your husband in this vicinity? a. no, sir. q. i want to have you very clear on this. no arrangements were made between yourself and your husband whereby he was to come into this state? a. no, sir. q. when was it that you determined to stay in nevada? a. when the doctor told me i needed a change. q. and when was that? a. that was at christmas, about two weeks after. q. have you ever, directly or indirectly, had any understanding with your husband that you should come into the state of nevada and later-being here--that he should come into this state, that you should institute divorce proceedings and have him served with papers? a. no, sir. q. is it your purpose and intention to [remainder of question and answer missing in original] q. did you have anything to do with the appearance of your husband in this vicinity? a. no, sir. q. i want to have you very clear on this. no arrangements were made between yourself and your husband whereby he was to come into this state? a. no, sir. q. when was it that you determined to stay in nevada? a. when the doctor told me i needed a change. q. and when was that? a. that was at christmas, about two weeks after. q. have you ever, directly or indirectly, had any understanding with your husband that you should come into the state of nevada and later-being here--that he should come into this state, that you should institute divorce proceedings and have him served with papers? a. no, sir. q. is it your purpose and intention to remain in the state of nevada as a resident and particularly in the county of douglas? a. yes, sir. q. is it your purpose to build here? a. well, if i can find a place to suit me i will. q. and have you given up los angeles as your residence, and your permanent residence is genoa, douglas county, nevada? a. until i regain my health, but this will be my home. q. do i understand that you have come into this state in good faith, seeking health and nothing else? a. yes, sir. q. that you have not come into the state of nevada for the purpose of instituting divorce proceedings? a. no, sir. q. that is absolutely so? a. absolutely. by the judge: "i think i have gone into this question pretty thoroughly. i feel that i should do so in all these matters in view of the fact that our statute requires a six months' residence. therefore we should look into these matters thoroughly. that is all." because of various newspaper items recently published the public has got the idea that the reno divorce law has been changed. the following article, clipped from the nevada state journal of february 2nd, 1921, will explain the change in the laws as amended on that date: scott divorce bill passes unan imously-senate bill provides that party must have lived in state six months. "carson city, feb. 1.--the senate today passed the measure introduced by senator scott to amend the present divorce law. the bill as drawn re-enacts the law now in force, with the added provision, that at least one of the parties to an action for divorce must have resided in the state of nevada not less than six months prior to commencement of the suit. "on recommendation of the judiciary committee, the bill was amended, to make the beginning of a suit possible in cases where "the cause of action shall have occurred within the county while plaintiff and defendant were actually 'domiciled' therein." in a talk urging passage of the bill as amended, senator scott declared that at least 90 per cent, of the odium attached to nevada because of its divorce law was due to the fact that a few unscrupulous persons and attorneys-by means of collusion-so arrange matters as to take advantage of the "where the defendant may be found" clause. he stated that he feared that unless some change as he proposed was made that people might soon go to that extreme and demand an enactment of legislation much more severe in its requirements. he presented the bill, "not as an attorney, but as a citizen of nevada to cure what as a citizen he believed to be an evil." the amendments were adopted, and the bill passed, senator ducey answering "no," on roll call. "at the afternoon session of the senate, senator ducey rose to ask a question of privilege, and proceeded to explain his vote by stating that he had failed to get the gist of the amendment. he thereupon requested that the senate grant him the courtesy of a reconsideration of the vote taken at the morning session. under the unanimous consent rule, a motion for reconsideration carried, after which the bill was passed with sixteen senators voting in its favor." [illustration: picture of sir h. walter huskey] following is a letter from h. walter huskey, one of reno's prominent lawyers, in which at my request he answers some very important questions. much of the information i have already given you in the foregoing pages, but i think it a good idea to give you the questions exactly as answered by him. this information really consists of most valuable legal advice to anyone anticipating a visit to reno. twenty-second october,1920. "dear mrs. stratton: "i am very happy to have your letter of the 11th instant, and to note that you are making such splendid progress with your book. "my time and services are always at your command, even though you have asked me some questions that are not strictly in the horizon of a lawyer's work. "the advantages of nevada's divorce laws are as follows: "the residence is only six months, but requires actual presence in the county where the action is to be filed. we have six causes of action for the husband, and--by adding neglect of the husband to provide the plaintiff with the common necessities of life--seven for the wife. "in most states corroborative evidence is required, that is, testimony of evidence tending to corroborate the allegation and testimony of the plaintiff. in nevada no corroborative evidence is required in the absence of a contest, that is, testimony of the plaintiff alone in a non-contested case is sufficient. "in most or many of the states, the decree of divorce when granted is not final and absolute, that is, in some states it is interlocutory, requiring another appearance in court at the end of six months or a year. in other states, either one or both parties are forbidden the right to marry for six months or one year or longer, or the defendant is given six months in which to appeal, or one or both parties are placed under disabilities preventing immediate marriage. in nevada the decree is absolute the moment granted and the minister, if desired, may be waiting at the court house door to perform the new marriage ceremony..... "with these few remarks i shall take up your questions by number: "1. where to go upon arrival? "there are three good hotels in reno; the riverside hotel, hotel golden and the overland hotel. besides the hotels we have two or three good apartment houses. many people go directly to the private boarding houses where room and board can be had at more reasonable figures. "2. what attitude to take up with the local people: what to do: what to avoid? "in the great west strangers are taken to be alright, until they prove themselves otherwise. it is unlike the east or south, where one must prove oneself as to character and standing, before one can hope to be admitted into the better circles of society. fully ninety per cent, of the people who come to nevada to become bona fide residents with the expectation of taking advantage of nevada's lenient divorce laws, are people of high character and standing. it is naturally well to mix with reno's people, to keep oneself as straight and restricted as one would do at home, and to avoid the tendency to throw off all restraint when one passes west of the rocky mountains. "3. are there any crook lawyers? "there are crook lawyers, but not in reno. there were one or two who have been indicted and disbarred. sometimes it is possible-when the address can be found-to communicate with the defendant spouse and stir up trouble by offering to defend him or her free of charge, hoping by such action to be placed in position to squeeze a few hundred dollars out of the plaintiff. the best way to avoid this is to go to reno and look over the field before selecting an attorney. "4. the possibility of blackmail? "the only possibility in the nature of blackmail comes from unprofessional practitioners like those mentioned in the preceding paragraph, who, in some way having the address of the defendant, communicate with him or her in the hope of stirring up trouble and representing the defendant in the contest. when relations are thus taken up with the proposed defendant, these lawyers usually notify the plaintiff that if the plaintiff will come to him or to a lawyer of his selection--someone closely associated with him--the matters can be adjusted and the divorce granted. the position taken by our county clerk, under our law, in refusing absolutely to allow anyone, other than the parties and attorneys for the parties in a divorce suit, to have access to the papers greatly reduces the field of this blackmail and protects many innocent people. "5. how do you proceed with the case? "upon arrival in reno a new resident ought to find a reputable lawyer, consult him, retain him by paying him possibly one-third of the fee, and state to him the entire cause of action. the lawyer will take down the facts, given a receipt or contract showing the total fee to be paid; will make a record of the beginning of the residence period and will talk to the client generally about his or her cause of action, and the steps necessary to be taken toward establishing a bona fide residence that will hold water against all attack. many persons have failed in contested cases, because of statements they have placed in letters to friends and relatives. these statements often show that the plaintiff is only serving time in nevada, and, if brought to the attention of the court, will defeat one's allegation of residence upon which the jurisdiction of the court depends. without jurisdiction no divorce can be granted. "6. what is the first step? "7. what if you cannot serve? "after the six months' residence period is completed, the first step is to prepare, verify and file the complaint. this complaint is a clear statement of the plaintiff's cause or causes of action. at the time of filing this complaint the summons is issued and handed to the attorney for the plaintiff. where the defendant is not willing to file an answer or demurrer, and thus submit to the jurisdiction of the court, an "affidavit for publication" is sworn to by the plaintiff, and an "order for publication" is prepared for the signature of the judge, and being signed by him, is filed with the clerk of the court. after publication is ordered service may be made by publication once a week for six weeks in a reno paper and by mailing a copy of the complaint attached to a copy of the summons to the defendant at his or her last known residence. "after publishing for six weeks, it is necessary to wait for a period of forty days during which time the defendant may answer. service is complete only at the end of publication, and a defendant living outside of nevada is entitled to the full period of forty days after service. "below is a facsimile of different forms of 'service by publication': summons no. 16447 dept. no. 2. in the second judicial district court of the state of nevada, in and for the county of washoe. l.m.m., plaintiff vs. a.m.m., defendant. the state of nevada sends greeting to said defendant: you are hereby summoned to appear within ten days after the service upon you of this summons if served in said county, or within twenty days if served out of said county but within said judicial district and in all other cases within forty days (exclusive of the day of service), and defend the above-entitled action. this action is brought to recover a judgment and decree of this court forever severing and dissolving the bonds of matrimony now and heretofore existing between the parties hereto upon the grounds of desertion, adultery and extreme cruelty as described in the complaint. dated this 15th day of december, a. d., 1920 e.h.beemer, clerk of the second judicial district court of the state of nevada, in and for the county of washoe. by g. r. ellithorpe, leroy f. pike, deputy. attorney for plaintiff. summons in the second judicial district of the state of nevada, in and for the county of washoe. i.m.g., plaintiff, vs. s.l.g., defendant. the state of nevada sends greeting to said defendant: you are hereby summoned to appear within ten days after the service upon you of this summons if served in said county, or within twenty days if served out of said county but within said judicial district and in all other cases within forty days (exclusive of the day of service), and defend the above-entitled action. this action is brought to recover and decree dissolving the bonds of matrimony existing between you and said plaintiff, upon the ground that you wilfully failed, neglected and refused to provide for said plaintiff the common necessaries of life for a period of more than two years next preceding the commencement of this action, although having the ability so to do; awarding to said plaintiff the care, custody and control of the two minor children, the issue of the marriage between you and said plaintiff, to wit: g.l.g. and r.o.g.; and for general relief, as alleged and described in the complaint of said plaintiff now on file in said action in the office of the clerk of the above named court, and to which said complaint reference is thereby made and said complaint made a part hereof. dated this 8th day of january, a. d., 1921. e. h. beemer, clerk of the second judicial district court of the state of nevada, in and for the county of washoe. a. a. smith, attorney for plaintiff, 312 clay peters bldg., reno, nevada. jl5-22-29;f5-l2-l9-2e "8. what if you can serve? "six weeks of time may be saved if the defendant can be served with complaint and summons. this personal service outside the state of nevada is equivalent to completed service by publication, and the defendant has forty days in which to answer. "9. what if the defendant does not fight? "in cases where the defendant is willing that a decree should be granted, much time and some expense may be saved by defendant signing and filing a short formal answer, admitting plaintiff's allegations of residence, marriage, children, etc., but denying the causes of action. by filing this answer personally, or by retaining a reno lawyer to accept services and file it for the defendant, the defendant need not visit nevada at all. the case can then be closed up, and the decree granted within ten days after the expiration of the six months. by the filing of this short answer the defendant submits to the jurisdiction of the court, and any decree of divorce granted is valid and effective for plaintiff and defendant alike beyond any question, the world over. "10. what if the defendant fights? "if the defendant fights the case, evidence and testimony must be introduced and the case tried as other contested causes in other states. if the defendant be the wife, she can by filing affidavits showing her position financially compel the plaintiff husband, before proceeding with his case, to advance such sums of money as may be necessary to cover costs, attorney's fees, alimony pending the suit and traveling expenses to and from reno. "11. what about the chances for losing? "in the absence of a contest, if a divorce case in nevada be prepared by a lawyer who knows his business, there is no real reason for losing. if the cause be contested, then it all depends upon the allegations and proofs of the plaintiff as compared with the allegations and proofs of the defendant. probably three cases out of four (contested cases) are won by the plaintiff. "12. how is the case called? "when the case has been filed and the time during which the defendant is permitted to answer has passed, a default is prepared by the attorney for the plaintiff, and signed and filed by the county clerk. in cases where the defendant has appeared personally or by counsel and an answer has been filed, they are ready for trial. on calendar day,-which comes each monday--either the default case or the case in which an answer has been filed is called to the attention of the court by the plaintiff's counsel and is set down for trial by the court-usually some day that week. "13. procedure of an actual case? witnesses: questions? "the trial of undefended divorce suits usually takes about fifteen or twenty minutes. the only witnesses necessary are those to prove "residence in reno" for the period of six months. room rent receipts are not sufficient. usually it is necessary to call the landlady of the rooming house, or the clerk of the hotel where the plaintiff has resided to show a continued residence in the county of washoe. where the plaintiff moves about frequently from one rooming house to another, it is more difficult to prove continuous residence. a residence in the county is all that is needed and all that has to be proved, however, and often plaintiffs in the summer time spend a month or two on that portion of lake tahoe which is in washoe county. "14. is this case treated publicly or privately? "all cases are tried in a court room which is open to the general public, unless the allegations are of such immorality in the complaint that the proof should not be heard by the general public. divorce cases are so common in reno, however, that the public rarely attend. "15 does the decree allow you to take back your own name? "if the plaintiff be a woman and if there be no children the issue of the marriage, she will be allowed, if requested in the complaint, to take back her maiden name. the decree signed by the court simply orders that the plaintiff's maiden name be restored to her. if there be children the issue of the marriage, the maiden name of the mother will not be restored to her for the reason that it is thought that the mother should retain the name of her children. "16. what is the entire cost? "the entire cost of a non-contested case ranges from $22 to $30. if the case be contested there is no telling how high the cost may run. the cost of taking numerous depositions might amount to $50 or $100 or more. if the question is intended to cover the fees for lawyers' services, i would say that they run from nothing up to several thousand dollars. the usual fee for a person of ordinary means is about $250, which is probably the average fee in such cases in reno, but persons of wealth often pay from $1,000 to $5,000. "17. in what sense are witnesses used, and how do they strengthen the case; is it the same as in the east? "in all non-contested cases, either where they go by default or where the defendant voluntarily files his answer after the residence for six months is proved, the plaintiff's testimony is sufficient to prove his or her cause of action, that is, no testimony beyond that of the plaintiff is needed where the case is not contested. in the event of a contest, the more witnesses and depositions one can procure the more likely they are to win. "18. can the divorce be obtained at once if the defendant can be served in the state? "the statutes of nevada expressly provide that, if the cause of action occurred in nevada, that is, if the last acts of the defendant took place in nevada, or if the plaintiff and defendant last cohabited in nevada, or if the defendant without collusion can be served with papers in nevada, the plaintiff need not reside there six months or for any other definite period. in line with this express provision of nevada's laws, if a plaintiff comes to nevada to begin a residence, and if the defendant comes here for any other purpose than to submit to service of the papers, which would be collusion, but bona-fide to secure the custody of children, to procure a settlement of property matters and alimony, to bring about a reconciliation, etc., service of the summons and complaint may forthwith be made upon him in reno, and the case may proceed to trial at the end of ten days without the six months' residence period by either party. "19. how is the fee paid, and when? "as to fees for legal services, some attorneys require the entire fee in advance; some allow the fee to wait until some adjustment or settlement is made, or until the case is ready for trial, but the better method for both client and attorney is for the client to pay down one-third of the fee as a retainer, one-third at the time of filing the complaint, and the balance of one-third on the day set for the final trial of the case. "20. please state the effect the nevada divorce has in different states. for instance, i know a woman who got her divorce in nevada and married again in new york; her first husband sued her for divorce in new york and accused her of adultery and got a divorce. please state if the divorce is absolutely legal when the defendant is not represented, because i am very anxious that my book shall state only facts. i don't want to lead anyone astray on that subject. i am quite sure the divorce is not legal if it is simply obtained by advertising, as i myself was about to be handed back my divorce papers, and refused a marriage license in new york, when i explained that my husband had been personally represented. if that had not been the case i would not be the happy lady i am today. "nevada divorces, exactly like the divorces granted in other states, are valid as follows: if the defendant be served in nevada, in the event he appears in the cause either for contest or voluntarily, for the purpose of submitting to the jurisdiction of the court, the decree is absolute and valid the world over, freeing both parties from the moment it is granted. "if the defendant be served outside of the state of nevada, either personally or by publication and mailing, and should not make an appearance in the case, the case goes by default and the decree, which is held valid in most cases as a matter of comity, is seriously questioned in the states of new york, massachusetts and illinois. its validity is questioned, however, only in favor of a defendant who is a resident and citizen of the state where its validity is brought into court, that is, a resident of illinois obtaining a divorce in nevada by default against a defendant who resides in illinois, will find that his decree of divorce is valid beyond a question in new york and massachusetts and all other states except illinois. likewise, a resident of new york may depart from his home, take up his abode in nevada, obtain a default decree against a spouse domiciled in new york and may marry again and live in any other state, except in the state of new york. it might be noted here, however, that many hundreds of plaintiffs have obtained default decrees under such circumstances and have married again, returned to new york state and have lived there without difficulty. most foreign countries give validity to a nevada decree. "respectfully submitted, "h. walter huskey." in considering a divorce in nevada, the traveling expenses are quite an item; therefore i have written to the traffic department of the pennsylvania railroad system, and in a letter under date of february 6th, 1921, from the traffic manager of that company, i am indebted for the following information: "regarding tickets, etc., to reno, nevada; round-trip tickets are not sold to reno, but it is possible to purchase a round-trip ticket from new york to san francisco or los angeles, and use it only as far as reno. (i found that the greatest advantage of this ticket was that one could have a peep at san francisco and southern california without any extra cost, as one returns to the east.--author). this ticket has no validation feature. "the round-trip ticket bears a limit of nine months and it costs $201.06, plus tax of $16.08, to either san francisco or los angeles. the one-way fare from new york to reno is $111.63, plus tax of $8.98." the roads used in the trip are the pennsylvania railroad, chicago and northwestern, union pacific and southern pacific. below are suggestions for the best through trains quoted from 1921 time tables: daily service. leave new york (pennsylvania station) 6:05 p. m., saturday arrive chicago 3:00 p. m., sunday leave chicago (union pacific) 7:10 p. m. sunday, overland express. arrive omaha 9:00 a. m. monday arrive ogden 1:00 p. m. tuesday leave ogden (southern pacific) 12:30 p. m., pacific time, tuesday. arrive reno 3:25 a. m. wednesday in conclusion i would desire to express the sincerest heart-felt hope that none of my readers be placed in a position where the only road to follow is: "the great divide." however, when there is no way out, no means of reconciliation, no tangible reason for submission to penal servitude for life, the only solution left is to face the truth; to turn one's back upon the past, and face the future! we revere our ancestors, but the inheritance handed down to us dissolves itself into obligations to the present: our principal obligation to the world today is our duty to the world tomorrow! to posterity: to those to whom "from failing hands we throw the torch...." as virgil said: "nati natorum et qui nascentur ab illis:" our children's children and those who will be born from them. and in assuming our duty to the world tomorrow, we must start by doing our duty to the world today: ourselves; by righting what is wrong; by blasting the trail through life's mountainous obstacles; and purifying the atmosphere around us and leading the world on to the light that beacons us from beyond. [illustration: renoites as seen by a reno cartoonist] [ reprint from reno freming gazzette ] [ aug. 7 1917 ] part 7 sons of the sagebrush to write of the "sons of the sagebrush" does not necessarily mean that they were born in the sagebrush, or in the west. i was surprised to find that about seventy-five per cent, of the prominent citizens of nevada had hailed from almost every state in the union, from carolina to california. the good book says that the wise men came from the east. from personal observation i should say that many of them settled in the west. i am told that there are numerous cases in which mothers worry for fear their sons may be led astray by some fascinating "divorcee"; that he may be caught in her "selfish snare" and left with a smashed heart and lost youthful ideals, while the fair lady laughs and leaves; but if you will pardon a bit of slang, i should say that the western youth is a "pretty wise guy," and that mother need not worry because he can look out for himself! however, "mother's advice" may not always have held good after a mint julep, or a stroll in the moonlight..... hence the experience. i do not mean that if a beautiful lady should whisper gently to one of the youthful sons of the sagebrush: "i am afraid to go home in the dark," the gentleman would ring for a messenger boy as an escort, or call a taxi; and if she sighed for sympathy and a stroll by the truckee, he would think that she needed a doctor, or a nerve specialist. .... the sons of the sagebrush are not cold-hearted, nor are they lacking in courtesy of any sort, but to use a western expression, they possess a large percentage of "horse sense!" meaning, that they are not wearing their hearts on their sleeves these days.... one of the most interesting and unassuming gentlemen i met in the "big little city" was mr. george wingfield. i had made up my mind to that effect long before he was introduced to me because i had seen his beautiful home on the banks of the truckee, and his beautiful bank building on the corner of second and virginia streets (the reno national bank, which i have described in part 5), and had visited his ranch, and admired his string of thoroughbred horses and high-class stock. i had also been told how this gentleman had made his fortune almost over night, so to speak, during the big gold boom, and i liked him for staying right there and spending the gold in the state whence it came. he did not take his riches and go away, as so many of them have done, but he helped to build a beautiful city, and there it is that he made his home. i was rather surprised to find that mr. wingfield was not a native son, but hailed from arkansas: also, i was disappointed in this gentleman's appearance, having been told that he was a resident of the west, when the west was really "wild and woolly," and full of gold and other things.... i expected him to be a much older man, and have not quite forgiven him for not being at least six feet six, with cold steel-blue piercing eyes, gray hair at the temples and a face furrowed with strong character lines. that was the sort of mental picture i had made of him when a friend told me of his experiences in the mining camp during a big strike of the miners. they were shooting up the town in real western style, and many of them had been heard to swear that they would have wingfield's life. he might well have taken his departure, but he did not: he was strong and relentless and knew no fear, though i am told he ate his meals in a restaurant where the walls were covered with mirrors, with his back to the wall, and a six-shooter on each side of his plate. rather thrilling, to say the least. so far, mr. wingfield has not found it necessary to take advantage of the liberal divorce laws of the state: his beautiful home, charming and accomplished wife, and lovely children account for that. somehow mr. wingfield's experience in nevada and the gold mines brings to my mind a poem from robert w. service's "spell of the yukon," of which i am very fond: "this is the law of the yukon, and ever she makes it plain; send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane-strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for i harry them sore; send me men grit for the combat; men who are grit to the core...." it would be difficult to name a citizen of nevada more popular with his fellow-men or enjoying to a greater degree the confidence and trust of those with whom he is associated than h. j. gosse, proprietor and manager of the riverside hotel of reno. the colony has a real friend in h. j. gosse, who is certainly an exponent of joy, giving optimism to the lonely wanderer who may find himself domiciled under the roof of the riverside hotel where the splendid personality of this old pioneer reigns supreme. mr. gosse's parents crossed the plains with an ox-team from new orleans to california way back in '49. in 1862 the family moved to silver city, then a lively mining town. [illustration: riverside hotel, nevada] the subject of this sketch went to school in virginia city and later attended the golden gate academy in oakland, california. like other young men, he followed various vocations and in 1896 he purchased the riverside hotel, which he has successfully conducted ever since. under his management the hotel has continued to be the leading hotel in the city, and in 1901 the present large brick structure was erected. in 1888 mr. gosse was united in marriage with miss josephine m. mudd, a native of california. in politics mr. gosse is a republican. he is a member of the improved order of red men, and has filled all the chairs in the local tribe and is past grand sachem of the state of nevada. he is also a mason, being a member of the lodge chapter, commandery and the shrine. he is an active member of the b.p.o.e. no. 597, of reno, and was instrumental in organizing the lodge. in recognition of his services, he has been made an honorary life member and is a member of the grand lodge of the united states. mr. gosse's only son was among the first to answer his country's call when the united states entered into the world war in 1917; he died in his country's service a few months later.... no pictures of the picturesque west would be complete which did not depict in the foreground the fine, handsome figure of nevada's erstwhile "sentinel in chief": former state police superintendent, captain j. p. donnelley. the captain and his wife were among the very first friends i made when i arrived in reno. since then we have become more and more intimate, and my admiration and appreciation of them both grow keener, if such is possible, the longer i know them. almost as interesting as the history of nevada itself is the excited checkered career of this man, who at an early date left his native state of california where he had risen from the ranks of private to adjutant of the 10th battalion infantry guards and had sought in preference the dangers and hardships of rugged nevada. here he became deputy sheriff and chairman of the republican central committee of esmeralda county, to succeed captain cox as superintendent of the state police in 1911. in the same year there was a spurt of unusual liveliness from the indian quarter. several white men were killed, and it was captain donnelley who was selected to head one of the posses and risk the brunt of the battle. the captain's scrapbook, which he was kind enough to let me look over, revealed many an interesting incident, and one would never think when talking to him that this genial, humorous, kind faced man was every inch a soldier and a hero. the combination strikes me as wonderfully illustrative of what real culture and civilization can do for a man. he fights, not for the love of fighting, from a savage hankering after blood, but because it is for the good of humanity in general that he should fight, and therefore that he does well. a large reward had been offered for the capture of those indian desperadoes and of the several posses that had been sent out captain donnelley and his brave band were the only "lucky devils," and escaped with their scalps. in appreciation of his fine work the citizens passed a resolution to send the following letter to the captain: "to the nevada state police and to captain donnelley, privates buck and stone, and sergeant newgard: "gentlemen:"as a committee of one i am directed by the citizens of surprise valley, this county, by a resolution passed by the citizens last week, to express to you gentlemen the thanks we so deeply owe you for your efficient and loyal services rendered in the interest of public justice in the running down of the indian renegade murderers of our citizens in nevada. "we cannot begin to express the same by words of tongue or pen and our feelings coming from the heart must be left to better speakers and writers than myself. "be assured of our great thanks, and should occasion require we will endeavor to make good in payment. "very sincerely yours, "(signed) h. e. smith, sheriff." [illustration: captain j. p. donnelly former state police superintendent] in 1912 there were some very serious disturbances in the copper mines in ely. martial law was declared; captain donnelley was delegated to go down to quell the disorder, and in a remarkably short time peace and order were restored. his success was due in a great measure to his magnetic personality, for the captain is very popular and makes staunch friends wherever he goes. one of the greatest assets a man can have is the right sort of a wife. mrs. donnelley, once a divorcee, is both charming and interesting. she is a woman of culture, has traveled extensively and is interested in all the social problems of the day. when the red cross chapter was organized in reno she was asked to take charge of the workroom, which originally started with two and now boasts of a working force of between thirty to forty ladies. without her efficient aid, little progress would have been made. both the captain and his wife are exceptionally fond of children and animals, and they tell the following amusing incident about one of the captain's birthdays. one fine afternoon, out of a clear sky, seventeen youngsters of every conceivable size and shape, marched in upon mrs. donnelley, and announced the fact that they had come to celebrate captain donnelley's birthday. thereupon they held aloft three monster cakes which they had brought along to demolish in case the captain did not have birthday cakes any more. after the rather surprised lady of the house had ransacked the neighborhood for some fruit and ice cream to help the cake along and practically no vestige of the feast remained, the unsuspecting captain came upon the scene. there was a rush and a scamper and a babel of voices shouted out, "oh, captain donnelley, we're having such a good time at your birthday party!" orpheus and his lute, david and his harp, donnelley and his dog! these are inseparable associations, and so fine and historic an animal is "brownie" that the newspapers devote write-ups to him just as if he were a regular celebrity or something like that. he is now guarding the chicks on a ranch and is making a dandy truant officer, so the captain tells me. the captain is a thinker, too. a short time ago he wrote a series of articles for the reno gazette, dealing with psychology. i was particularly impressed with a fact which he made to stand out clearly above all others and which would vitally affect society as a whole if it were to be universally carried out. it is the substitution of an indeterminate sentence for the definite one which now prevails. "no judge can determine in advance when a prisoner is fit to return to the community," he says; and in the same way we release the inmates of an insane hospital as soon as we think them sufficiently recovered, he believes we should release the criminal as soon as experts pronounce him fit to resume his relations with society. the following is a copy of the verses which the captain thought would help his co-workers to do things right: "did you tackle the trouble that came your way with a resolute heart and cheerful, or hide your face from the light of day with a craven heart and fearful? oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, or a trouble is what you make it; and it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, but only how did you take it. "you're beaten to earth; well, well, what's that? come up with a smiling face, it's nothing against you to fall down flat, but to lie there-that's disgrace. the harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; be proud of your blackened eye. it isn't the fact that you're licked that counts, it's how did you fight, and why. "and though you be done to death, what then? if you battled the best you could; if you've played your part in the world of men, why, the critic will call it good. death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, and whether he's slow or spry, it isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, but only, how did you die?" and now we come to a pure sagebrush son who first announced himself into the family midst only a few miles away from virginia city, judge langdon. his father had been a true pioneer of the comstock lodge, and so frank was born with a "golden" spoon in his mouth. however that may be, he went to school at gold hill, thence to st. mary's college and finally passed the bar examination in 1886. then he came back to nevada, post haste, and established a law office in virginia city and there he is to this day. not for long, however, did he remain a private practitioner. he soon became a member of the assembly, and district attorney of his home county and subsequently was elected judge of the county of storey. and thereby hangs a "story." while the judge was on the bench a felonious murder was committed. preston and smith were the criminals arraigned before the courts, and frank p. langdon their judge. originally the trial had come up in hawthorne, seat of esmeralda county, and when in the midst of the case the county seat was changed the case was naturally transferred. feeling ran very high, for the prisoners had many friends, and several anonymous letters, bearing a fear-inspiring skull and cross-bones sketched in blood-red ink, did the young judge handle: needless to say without any fear or trepidation! a son of the sagebrush knows no fear! at last the day for the final decision came. some of those i have met who were present in the court room tell me that the atmosphere was highly charged and that many expected to see the judge get a rough deal. but calmly, in clear ringing tones, he boldly stated his convictions, irrespective of the direst results that might follow; yet nothing happened. the men were condemned and the judge is still residing in virginia city, happy with his wife and six lively children. not only through the popular ditty have the blue ridge mountains of virginia become famous: their own natural beauty is sufficient to render them beloved by all those who have had the opportunity to see them or live amongst them. but it is also under the blue shadows of those virginia peaks that many a good man was born and it is therefore a great tribute to nevada, i think, that judge sanders has permanently made his home under the purple and gray shadows of the sagebrush slopes. he had been deputy clerk and librarian of the supreme court of virginia, and during this time had taken advantage of the lore with which he came in contact to study the ways and byways of the law. like unto hosts of others, for him too the comstock lode had proved a magnet, and in 1904 he hit the trail for virginia city, nevada. then he trailed on, attracted by the manhattan boom, and finally landed in tonopah, the great silver camp. by this time he had begun to be known as a "big fighter" in the law world. his famous speech on the "prospector" attracted considerable attention, and nevada's sons soon found out that they had a real man in their midst. he was elected district attorney of nye county, and there never was a man more free from political prejudice or more ready to give every applicant to the courts of justice a fair and square deal. cattle rustlers quaked and trembled at the name of sanders as did i. w. w.'s; surrounding states never felt so very kindly disposed toward the judge, as it was he who in a great measure was responsible for exterminating this disturbing element, or rather dumping it into other states, since it proved inexterminable. judge sanders is married to a wisconsin girl and has his home at carson city, nevada. dick stoddard is a reno boy through and through, and although his middle name is cross, it certainly has nothing to do with his disposition, for he is most entertaining and genial. as a youth he attended the high school and the university, after a time taking the civil service. then in the service of the railroad proper, he wandered around the coast for about four years. not content with this mission in life, he entered the law offices of a prominent firm of attorneys where he imbibed all the legal wisdom he could, supplementing his practical experience by theoretical study. in 1903, behold our judge, a full-fledged advocate; in 1905 he was elected city attorney for reno. it was during his term that reno's streets were first paved, the new city hall built and the truckee's banks spanned by the virginia street bridge. a rather amusing story is told of how "they,"--his friends,--"put one over" on dick, the "putting over," however, being to their mutual advantage. the judge, or rather attorney, as he was then, had one of those "off" spells that all of us have at times. he had sniffed his fill of musty legal parchment for the time, and he decided that he would prefer a sniff of the sea-weed and brine; that he needed a tonic arid that no better could be found than "ozone." so he packed his grip, gave his friends the "slip," as one might say, and skipped off to a california resort. and while this revered city attorney was vigorously breasting the pacific billows, and enjoying cooling breezes that brought in their wake reminiscences of honolulu, and other lands that enchant the senses, his friends at home saw to it that dick stoddard got the title of "general" hitched onto his title of attorney. during his generalship there were several interesting "spats" between the inter-state commerce commission and the railroads, but attorneygeneral stoddard was the right man at the right time, and i assure you that the state didn't have to suffer. judge moran is another original son of erin who has adopted nevada and has been adopted by her. one could hardly say that he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, for "barney" moran had anything but the "life of riley" in his early years. up and up he has moved along the checker-board, however, until now he has become a "knight," a real knight, for many a human being would still be in sore distress were it not for the judge's kind heart and sympathetic understanding in the divorce court. some have dubbed him "papa" moran; he is so fatherly they say. and as of course it is no sin to kiss a father, it has happened that some of the highly strung victims have ventured to embrace papa after he pronounced those all-meaning words, "judgment for the plaintiff." when he was only ten years of age, both his parents passed away and so about four years afterwards he crossed the "herring pond" in quest of a life of adventure. as far as variety is concerned, he had plenty of it, and some to spare, and it is all those hard knocks that have helped him to understand human nature as he does. over in cleveland he attended night school while working during the day as a machine-shop apprentice. not finding this "job" quite to his liking, he tried tending the "traps" or doors underground in some of the coal mines. soon his fancy changed again, and we find him engaged as a water boy on one of the railroads. "tick, tick;-tick tick-tick," signaled the telegraph, and it was not long before young moran became proficient enough to take a job as an operator. now why the nickname "barney," you will ask. thereby hangs a tale! while working in the telegraph office, tom morau became infused with some of the electricity which charged the instruments, or so it seemed anyway. now there were no less than four boys in that office who answered to the name of "tom." so you may imagine, can't you, what, stampede there was every time the chief operator called "tom." but don't imagine our tom ever let anyone else get ahead of him. although he was the youngest and probably the least in requisition, he was always "johnny on the spot" before any of the toms. to solve this dilemma which was first considered a joke but later developed into an unmitigated nuisance, the chief operator eventually said to moran, "say, tom, in future you're barney." under the tutelage of thomas l. bellam, who took a great interest in him, he did three years of general study. this whetted his appetite for more, and he consequently landed in chicago and took a course at the chicago college of law. but not till several years later did he take his final degree and start practicing. now our wandering little irish boy is district judge of washoe county. how seldom it is that we find anyone whose name is a real symbol of his temperament or profession. often mr. stone will be a weak mollycoddle; mr. sharp, a phlegmatic butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth sort of individual, or mr. strong, an "acute dyspeptic." somehow, the gentleman in question, august frohlich, seems to have been a little more fortunate in that respect, for frohlich in german means "merry," and i have yet to find a man who is more devil-may-care or happy-go-lucky, in spite of all his family responsibilities, than mr. august frohlich. he was born in california, and at the age of seventeen found himself the sole supporter of himself and his mother. since then he has held in turn almost every known variety of commercial position. acting first as a fruit rancher, he then developed a passion for mining, at the same time pursuing a business course. when next we see him, he is exchanging smiles and general goods over the counter, his popularity winning for him afterwards the position of postmaster and agent for wells fargo & company at crescent mills. but he was young and restless, like so many of us have been, in one way or another, and two years are a long time. after running a stage line, doing a little bookkeeping and a few other odd jobs of the kind, he came to reno and settled down for another two years to study at the university. and so on. the scene kept changing with kaleidoscopic rapidity until finally he found a congenial position in the washoe county bank, with the position of receiving teller. political ambitions then began to take possession of this ever-progressive man, and he--was elected a republican member of the 25th legislature from washoe county, receiving the highest vote of any of the twenty-seven candidates. in recognition of his ability, he was elected speaker of the assembly which was evenly divided, there being twenty-four republicans and twenty-four democrats, with one independent. in his campaign for speaker, the only promise he made was for a square deal. the proof that he had redeemed his promise was evidenced by his being re-elected speaker of the special session which was held the following year. he was director of the reno commercial club, and surely the club spirit must be strong within him when you stop to think that he is a mason, elk, moose, druid, woodman, and is active in the y.m.c.a. at the present compilation, mr. frohlich is the owner of the commercial steel company. i have recently been told by a lady who is prominent in social affairs that his great function when a benefit of any kind is given in town, is to try to drown the unmelodious clatter of the dishwashing with his fine vibrant tenor. mr. frohlich certainly enjoys popularity; his good humor and pleasing personality account for that, and thus reno can surely be proud of such a bachelor, who all these years has defied lassoing. "railroad day," the big day when reno was put on the map, was also norcross day, for the day when the first pacific train passed through this town was the one when little frank norcross passed into our mundane existence to take his place--with the rest of us mortals: when so to say little frank was "put on the map." his parents had come out to california as far back as 1850, norcross' father being engaged in mining, lumbering and farming. frank norcross had his preliminary education at huffakers, and had early evinced a literary turn of mind when as a comparative youth he received the degree of bachelor of arts. twenty years later the university conferred upon him the honorary degree of doctor of law. he served a full term as county surveyor of washoe county and attended to reno's old-fashioned lights, trimming them as he went along, no matter how severe the cold. one consolation he probably had was that unlike the other pedestrians he had an opportunity to warm those frozen finger tips. no mean advantage, i should judge, when the mercury sinks to zero and lower. he taught in a local school for a year or so, then did some newspaper work for the journal and gazette and finally ended by practicing law, having graduated from the university of georgetown in 1894. after that, promotion came easily. when he had been in succession district attorney of washoe county and supreme judge, he served for two years as chief justice, and so great was his popularity that he was reelected without any opposition. a very interesting fact about the judge is that he won a thousand dollar cash prize offered by the "national magazine" of boston, for the best article in support of colonel roosevelt for a second elective term. but then, he was a great friend and admirer of the colonel's and it evidently came to him easily. it was mainly through his efforts that the reno free library was established, for he had always been interested in educational opportunities. apparently he had some difficulty, too, in persuading andrew carnegie that reno was actually an inhabited town, and habitable at that. "andy," like so many other easterners, was a little skeptical on that score, thinking probably that the divorcees would not want a free library, and surely according to fame or rather notoriety, there was nothing else of any note or significance in reno but divorcees, with the exception perhaps of the lawyers, and they no doubt had all the law books they needed! besides being a great lawyer, the judge is also a good patriot, for he was a captain of the national guard and took considerable interest in the state militia affairs. judge norcross is a member of several brotherhoods and societies, among them the nevada state council of the national civic federation of which he is chairman, and the committee of one hundred of the new york university "hall of fame," the business of which it is to decide upon those who are to wake up over night and find themselves famous. among the prominent nevada citizens of the early mining days, are "lucky baldwin," c. c. goodwin, james g. fair, john w. mackay, marcus daly and mark twain. those who have not already done so would, i am sure, enjoy reading mark twain's "roughing it." in this book he tells many interesting and amusing stories of his experiences in nevada mining camps. i quote him as follows: "i went to humboldt district when it was new; i became largely interested in the 'alba neuva' and other claims with gorgeous names, and was rich again in prospect. i owned vast mining property there. i would not have sold out for less than $400,000 at that time, but i will now. finally i walked home--200 miles--partly for exercise, and partly because stage fare was expensive." again he says: "perhaps you remember that celebrated 'north ophir.' i bought that mine. you could take it out in lumps as large as a filbert, but when it was discovered that those lumps were melted half dollars, and hardly melted at that, a painful case of 'salting' was apparent, and the undersigned journeyed to the poorhouse again." the following is one of the tragic incidents in the mining game. i think it must have been such an instance that caused the origin of the western slang phrase-"out of luck." "i paid assessments on 'hale and norcross' until they sold me out, and i had to take in washing for a living, and the next month the infamous stock went up to $7a foot. "i own millions and millions of feet of affluent leads in nevada, in fact the entire under crust of that country nearly, and if congress would move that state off my property so that i could get at it, i would be wealthy yet. but no, there she squats--and here am i. failing health persuades me to sell. if you know of anyone desiring a permanent investment i can furnish one that will have the virtue of being eternal." i think "roughing it" was written about 1851. if you knew senator huskey as i do, you would agree with me that the senator is indeed huskey by name and "husky" by nature. a more complete parcel of huskiness you never did see, nor a jollier, more cordial and better hearted could you ever wish to meet, for he has never allowed the musty parchment to dry up the finer faculties of his sentiments, and he can appreciate a beautiful sunset, a fine verse, and in fact all nature's beauties, and yet be the big man and the great lawyer he is. then too, the senator is an enthusiastic sportsman and plays a splendid game of hand-ball. i have known him, for hours on end, to pound at the ball at the y.m.c.a. as if his very life depended upon whether he had hit it a hundred or a thousand times in an afternoon; as if he would be shot at sunrise if he fell below the mark. but in college days, his strength ran to his feet. he was known as a powerful kicker, and woe betide the man who would try and act as a buffer between his feet and the ball. and now let me tell you about the senator's early life. he started his career on the farm, for his father was a school teacher, and you will agree that--a family of fourteen is a rather expensive kind of brood to rear. and so, some of those fourteen chicks had to hustle and fence for themselves as soon as they could. among the little huskeys was walter. it is thus he graphically describes some of his reminiscences: "i was a cracker jack at cutting corn. father and brothers could beat me at husking, but somehow or other i was good at cutting. and some days i could cut as high as twenty-six shock in a half day. finally i had accumulated a little fund and decided to brace myself for a talk with the college professor in charge. i was the greenest thing you ever saw, and they called me 'lengthy,' for at that time i weighed only one hundred and thirty pounds." the title of "senator" has since done its historical duty, for the once "bony laddie" now turns the scales at 250 pounds..... after that, the college professor paid young huskey's parents a surprise visit, as a result of which we find the boy at work at a preparatory course in the wesleyan university, kansas. within two years, through assiduous perseverance and keen enthusiasm for his work, he was able to teach in the country districts. for a decade he taught the younger generations how to shoot, and thus eked out a fairly moderate living, for the pay was not staggering by any means, nor was it like huskey to forget the folks at home. in la porte, texas, whither by this time he had wandered, they offered him the principalship of the high school. "they gave me," i heard him say one day, "one hundred dollars a month, and i thought it was the biggest salary in the world." [illustration: senator h. walter huskey] then he realized that it was almost impossible to convert a mint of knowledge into a mint of money, even as a principal, so he struck out vigorously for law, took a special course at stanford university and received second highest honors. shortly after he landed in the "big little city" of reno and entered into partnership with charles r. lewers, who had strangely enough been his professor at stanford university and who evidently held his erstwhile pupil in very high esteem, in thus throwing in his lot with him. in 1906 huskey was elected by the assembly of nevada, and in 1914 by a very flattering majority was sent up as state senator for washoe county. as a law maker, he had proven his worth on more than one occasion, for not only is he a senator with a brain, but also a man with a heart. the passing of the employers' liability act was due directly to the senator's spirited persistence. he lost the southern pacific contracts through it, but he did not care. one of the real romances of the divorce world is the senator's second marriage, and the present mrs. huskey is exceedingly charming and interesting, and a splendid horse woman. an amusing incident is told of a little political difference of opinion between the senator and the suffragettes about a remark which this worthy gentleman let forth in an unguarded moment. you should have seen the sparks fly and the fire flame up! in fact, it gave me considerable pleasure to be able to announce at the moment of writing that senator huskey's golden crop of curls was not singed beyond recognition and that his eyes were still steel blue and not black. this is how the conflagration started: at a conference in carson city between the city council and the washoe delegation, the senator, who put in a rather tardy appearance, is reported to have said to the other members: "all the ladies who came to carson on the cat special' are waiting for you upstairs. i'm going to a show. anything you do is all right for me." miss anne martin, the president of the women's league, did her best to put a favorable interpretation upon this very questionable term of endearment by saying that probably the senator meant that they were as undrownable as cats, who are reputed to have nine lives, and that this persistence was getting what they wanted. that was all very well for the "mild" cats, but the spit-fiery ones were not so easily satisfied. one of them sent him a letter addressed, "mr. h. w. meow huskey, senate chamber, carson city." others still more vindictive pasted a picture of a large tomcat, hunched of back and bristling of hair, right next to the senator's campaign picture which already decorated the middle of the truckee. under it was written as large as life, "the huskey tomcat." needless to say the whole town of reno turned out the next day to enjoy the joke, and among them was the senator, who enjoyed it as much as anyone. there is a strong rumor abroad that the senator is to be a likely candidate for governor: i certainly wish him every success. if a comprehensive knowledge of the law, a vigorous prosecution of the principles of justice and a big heart are attributes that count, then the senator stands the greatest chance to win the fight. maurice joseph sullivan, lieut.-governor: no mining, no teaching, no law! this sketch is of a thoroughbred business man, who after graduating from the polytechnic high school in san francisco, joined a large wholesale hardware firm as a start in his career. here he got some pretty "hard wear": those preliminary knocks that rub off all the rough edges and take with them some of the glamour of life..... however, maurice sullivan didn't have as many rough edges as most young fellows. he was good looking, popular and unspoilt--a phenomenon rarely come upon--and being ambitious it was not long before he had set up in goldfield under the style of the wood-sullivan hardware co., selling hardware with lightning rapidity, just as if it were the easiest ware in the world to dispose of. then one fine day sullivan developed into a full-blown philanthropist. each little baby visitor born into the camp of goldfield was donated a big silver dollar, by way of encouragement to stay. and they surely did stay, those "dollar babies." in 1914 he was elected to the lieutenant-governorship, and an amusing anecdote is told of how he became "peeved" when he discovered that several of the house members were playing "hookey" in order to avoid voting on a bill, and sent the state police after them. how many of the culprits were collared and brought back i was not told, but i am inclined to think that it was the good round figure "nought," for the bill was scratched and the lieut.-governor fumed in vain. mr. sullivan was lieut.-governor during my stay in nevada. senator morehouse.... one does not often in a lifetime meet a person born on april fool's day, and, usually when one happens to come across such a butt for mirth he will probably try to pass it off by telling you that the day of his birth is the last day of march, or something similar. i have known scores of people born on the 28th or even the 29th of february, but senator morehouse is the first one i have met who has the courage to face the world, and boldly announce the fact that he is an april fool's child. but then, the joke is on the original april fool, for the senator has fooled him by being one of the brightest men of the state, and certainly its most gifted orator-the demosthenes of nevada, in fact. surely a true son of april fool should stutter and stumble, and stammer and shy in the most pitiful manner. well, anyway, the senator can always have the consolation that he has "put one over" on father april fool. way back, in the days of "mobile bay", young harry morehouse, then only a lad of seventeen, fought for his side until he could fight no more. then the sisters of mercy had to mend the ravages of that unnatural fight, and for seven months harry had a little holiday lying on his back. no sooner recovered, the rover spirit seized his feet and round he came to california, by way of the isthmus, where he acted as "a sort of reporter," until he had eked out enough knowledge to teach in the grade school. thence he started on the law path, from which he emerged most triumphantly, and after practicing in california struck out renowards in 1913, where he was associated with the late judge james g. sweeney, who but recently passed away. by nature the senator is mild and gentle, and always ready to lend a helping hand to a fellow traveller. i have had the pleasure of meeting him in private life, and have always felt impressed with those perfect manners, that pleasant voice and those kindly words. although one of the newer sons of the sagebrush, he is surely one of the most acceptable. governor emmet d. boyle has the distinction of being the youngest governor into whose hands nevada ever thought it safe to entrust her well-being. he is none of your gray-beards, stolid of thought and sluggish of action, but a young politician (his real profession is mining engineering) with a wealth of experience, and plenty of good common "horse sense." his mother was a literary woman, and from her he learned to find a friend in books. as for his father, he was one of the most prominent mining men of the comstock, and as a lad the governor-to-be had already acquired an extensive knowledge of mining, surveying, assaying and milling. at sixteen he joined the university and became a member of that most select of fraternities, with that weird-sounding name, phi kappa kappa. he had specialized in mining at college, and upon graduation left the state, and engaged in several mining enterprises in british columbia and mexico. then when his father passed away, he returned to nevada and was offered a position as state engineer. in 1915 he was made nevada's tax commissioner and he traveled the state far and wide, gaining both fame and popularity. at college the governor had distinguished himself considerably in the sporting arena, and he was known to be a particularly strong man when it came to kicking the ball. "once a sport, always a sport!" if this spirit does not have the opportunity to show itself in active practice on the field of sport, it will nevertheless make itself felt in one's relations with men on the field of life, and so we have in emmet d. boyle a practical man with a vast knowledge about nevada's foremost sources of success, with a true appreciation of the booklore of our ancestors, a keen eye and the love of fair play of the true sportsman. [illustration: governor emmett d. boyle of nevada] that he has a kind and humane heart can be judged from the fact that it was he who was responsible for the re-introducing of the six months residence law. why should two people be forced to live together in distrust and misery any longer than was absolutely necessary? and so he worked as best he could to shorten that time, as much as the statute would permit. he succeeded, and thanks to him, several people have had their happiness given back to them..... i had the honor to meet the governor on a number of occasions and always found him so simple and unassuming that i could hardly realize i was conversing with the man holding the highest position in the state, as if i had known him for years. the leading man of the state should have a charming wife! the capitol would indeed be a desolate place without a hostess to entertain the governor's colleagues, and apparently governor boyle has made a remarkably good choice in miss veda mcclure, for she is extremely popular and takes a great interest in the red cross work, which is making such splendid strides all over the state. let me here relate to you a most amusing incident which occurred to the governor some little time ago. it was a state function and the dinner was scheduled for eight o'clock sharp; but it was not on time, and you shall hear why. at a quarter to eight, when his dress suit had not yet put in an appearance from the tailor's, the governor sent a search party after it and waited, as patiently as circumstances would permit, for the delinquent "fine feathers" to blow in. by eight, he was a little more than uneasy, but it didn't help any. suddenly, on the domestic horizon appeared a weird-looking creature! a human being, apparently in a state of frenzy over some terrible catastrophe. it was the tailor! "here," he whispered, almost in tears, as he handed something to the outraged head of the state, "these ain't yours, but you'll have to wear 'em; yours someone else is wearing." [illustration: governor's at carson city] and he wore them.... but, the tale runs, the governor looked----he certainly did establish a precedent at that dinner. mockers say that judge pat mccarran ran a close second, because his excellency is lean and lank, while judge mccarran would make two of him one way, and almost half of him the other, and because what happened to governor boyle had also happened to judge mccarran that very night. fred, de longchamps... as a youngster, when playing amongst the rabbits and brush on the south side of the river truckee, fred, de longchamps, like most youngsters, built many a castle in the air. later, those castles descended literally from the air to the earth, for little fred became a great architect, and now i am not surprised when i think how often i have admired those beautiful villas, which are strewn in such profusion all over reno. when at reno university, de longchamps did the pen and ink work and other illustrating for the "artemesai," the university publication. mining, too, seemed to have a certain fascination for him, and in addition to his course in building, he gained considerable experience in mining operations. then came the toss-up. mining won, but wasn't strong enough to hold out, and thereupon, behold him returned to his old love. do you see that fine modern looking structure over yonder? it is the court house, without which reno would not be reno, and it was mr. fred, de longchamps who conceived and built it. the y. m. c. a. building, the nixon bank building, all these and more, are the splendid achievements of this brilliant young architect, who has helped in such a great measure to make the city of reno as attractive as it is. it might also interest you to know that the nevada buildings at the san francisco exposition were erected "on the originality" of fred, de longchamps, and though their cost was comparatively small, they compared favorably with any state buildings on the grounds. senator nixon.... although a native of texas, senator nixon's life is essentially a nevada romance. he started on his career as a simple telegraph operator, and then migrated with all the nevada immigrants in the boomy days of the goldfields. it wasn't exactly "open sesame" and then a fortune. it was perseverance that "did the trick." but it made a mighty good job of it, for at the time of his decease in 1912, the senator was worth several millions, and his beautiful residence situated at the top of a hill on the outskirts of reno is said to have cost no less than $200,000. it does seem a pity, however, that as soon as a moderate sum of wealth is accumulated-with but few exceptionsthere is a hankering to desert the state of nevada in favor of some more populated, but surely not sunnier clime. and so young nixon took his father's millions to the adjoining state of california, and nevada knows not of them. often i have felt that there was an analogy to the generous, selfsacrificing mother earth who gives all of her life and energy to nourish her sons, and who in reward receives little but slights and neglect. frank golden..... while writing of the sons of the sagebrush, we must not forget frank golden, jr., who is a native son of nevada, and one of the youngest hotel managers in the west, having become manager of the golden hotel at reno when he was about nineteen. mr. golden's father built the golden hotel in 1901. he died in 1911, at which time the management was taken over by his son. the hotel was burned down in 1916 and reconstructed under the supervision of frank, jr., with the result that it is now perhaps the most beautifully equipped, best run and most modern european hotel in reno, or in the state of nevada, for that matter. apart from being one of the youngest hotel managers in the west, he is also one of the most popular. frank golden was among the first to answer his country's call and served in france. [illustration: frank golden, jr.] the young engineers in nevada or, seeking fortune on the turn of a pick by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. alf and his "makings of manhood" ii. trouble brews on the trail iii. jim's army appears iv. sold out for a toy bale! v. no need to work for pennies vi. tom catches the "nevada fever" vii. ready to handle the pick viii. jim ferrers, partner ix. harry does some pitching x. tom's fighting blood surges xi. planning a new move xii. new owners file a claim xiii. jim tries the new way xiv. the cook learns a lesson xv. why reade wanted gold xvi. the man who made good xvii. the miners who "stuck" xviii. the goddess of fortune smiles wistfully xix. harry's signal of distress xx. tom turns doctor xxi. the wolves on the snow crust xxii. dolph gage fires his shot xxiii. tom begins to doubt his eyes xxiv. conclusion chapter i alf and his "makings of manhood" "say, got the makings?" "eh?" inquired tom reade, glancing up in mild astonishment. "got the makings?" persisted the thin dough-faced lad of fourteen who had come into the tent. "i believe we have the makings for supper, if you mean that you're hungry," tom rejoined. "but you've just had your dinner." "i know i have," replied the youngster. "that's why i want my smoke." "your wha-a-at?" insisted tom. by this time light had begun to dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred to pretend ignorance a little while longer. "say, don't you carry the makings?" demanded the boy. "you'll have to be more explicit," tom retorted. "just what are you up to? what do you want anyway?" "i want the makings for a cigarette," replied the boy, shifting uneasily to the other foot. "you said you'd pay me five dollars a month and find me in everything, didn't you?" "yes; everything that is necessary to living," reade assented. "well, cigarettes are necessary to me," continued the boy. "they are?" asked tom, opening his eyes wider. "why, how does that happen?" "just because i am a smoker," returned the boy, with a sickly grin. "you are?" gasped tom. "at your age? why, you little wretch!" "that's all right, but please don't go on stringing me," pleaded the younger american. "just pass over the papers and the tobacco pouch, and i'll get busy. i'm suffering for a smoke." "then you have my heartfelt sympathy," tom assured him. "i hate to see any boy with that low-down habit, and i'm glad that i'm not in position to be able to encourage you in it. how long have you been smoking, drew?" alf drew shifted once more on his feet. "'bouter year," he answered. "you began poisoning yourself at the age of thirteen, and you've lived a whole year? no; i won't say 'lived,' but you've kept pretty nearly alive. there isn't much real life in you, drew, i'll be bound. come here." "do i get the makings?" whined the boy. "come here!" drew advanced, rather timidly, into the tent. "don't shrink so," ordered tom. "i'm not going to spank you, though some one ought to. give me your wrist." reade took the thin little wrist between his thumb and finger, feeling for the pulse. "are you a doctor?" sneered drew. "no; but generally i've intelligence enough to know whether a pulse is slow or fast, full or weak." "but-----" "keep quiet," tom commanded, as he drew out his watch. his face expressed nothing in particular as he kept the tip of his forefinger against the radial artery at the boy's wrist. "fine," commented the young engineer, a few moments later, as he let go the captive wrist. "good pulse, eh?" questioned alf drew. "great!" quoth tom. "fine and wiry, and almost skips some beats. i'm not much of an authority on such subjects, but i believe a boy of your age ought to have a normal pulse. where do you expect to wind up with your 'makings' and your cigarettes?" "they don't hurt me," whined alf. "they don't, eh?" demanded reade, rising and drawing himself up to his full height of five-feet-eleven. "drew, do you think you look as healthy as i do?" as he stood there, erect as a soldier, with his fine athletic figure revealed, and the bronze on his face seemingly inches deep, tom reade looked what he was---every inch a man though still a boy in years. "do you think you look as healthy as i do?" tom repeated. "no-o-o-o," admitted alf. "but you're older'n me." "not so much, as years go," tom rejoined. "for that matter, if you go on with your cigarettes you'll be an old man before i get through with being a young man. fill up your chest, alf; expand it---like this." as he expanded his chest reade looked a good deal more like some greek god of old than a twentieth century civil engineer. alf puffed and squirmed in his efforts to show "some chest." "that isn't the right way," tom informed him. "breathe deeply and steadily. draw in your stomach and expand your chest. fill up the upper part of your lungs with air. watch! right here at the top of the chest." alf watched. for that matter he seemed unable to remove his gaze from the splendid chest development that young reade displayed so easily. then the boy tried to fill the upper portions of his own lungs in the same manner. the attempt ended in a spasm of coughing. "fine, isn't it?" queried tom reade, scornfully. "the upper parts of your lungs are affected already, and you'll carry the work of destruction on rapidly. alf, if you ever live to be twenty you'll be a wreck at best. don't you know that?" "i---i have heard folks say so," nodded the boy. "and you didn't believe them?" "i---i don't know." "why did you ever take up smoking?" "all men smoke," argued alf drew. "lie number one. all men _don't_ smoke," tom corrected him. "but i think i catch the drift of your idea. if you smoke you think men will look upon you as being more manly. that's it, it?" "it must be manly, if men do it," alf argued. "you funny little shaver," laughed tom, good-humoredly. "so you think that, when men see you smoking cigarettes, they immediately imagine you to be one of them? cigarette-smoking, for a boy of fourteen, is the short cut to manhood, i suppose." tom laughed long, heartily, and with intense enjoyment. at last he paused, to remark, soberly: "answering your first question, drew, i haven't the 'makings.' i never did carry them and never expect to." "what do you smoke then?" queried alf, in some wonder. "a pipe?" "no; i never had that vice, either. i don't use tobacco. for your own sake i'm sorry that you do." "but a lot of men do smoke," argued alf. "jim ferrers, for instance." "ferrers is a grown man, and it would show a lot more respect on your part if a 'kid' like you would call him 'mr. ferrers.' but i'll wager that mr. ferrers didn't smoke cigarettes at your age." "i'll bet he did." "we'll see." tom stepped to the doorway of the tent, alf making way for him, and called lustily: "ferrers! oh, mr. ferrers!" "here, sir!" answered the voice of a man who was invisible off under the trees. "want me?" "if you please," tom called back. ferrers soon appeared, puffing at a blackened corn-cob pipe. he was a somewhat stooped, much bronzed, rather thin man of middle age. ferrers had always worked hard, and his body looked slightly the worse for wear, though he a man of known endurance in rough life. "ferrers, do you know what ails this boy?" demanded tom. "laziness," jim answered, rather curtly. "you hired him for a chore-boy, to help me. he hasn't done a tap yet. he's no good." "don't be too hard on him, ferrers," pleaded tom solemnly. "i've just heard the youngster's sad story. do you know what really ails him? cigarettes!" "him? cigarettes!" observed ferrers disgustedly. "the miserable little rascal!" "you see," smiled tom, turning to the boy, "just what men think of a lad who tries to look manly by smoking cigarettes." "cigarettes? manly?" exploded jim ferrers, with a guffaw. "_men_ don't smoke cigarettes. that's left for weak-minded boys." "say, how many years you been smoking, jim ferrers?" demanded alf, rather defiantly. "answer him, please," requested tom, when he saw their guide and cook frown. "lemme see," replied the nevada man, doing some mental arithmetic on his fingers. "i reckon i've been smoking twenty-three years, because i began when i was twenty-four years old. hang the stuff, i wish i had never begun, either. but i didn't smoke at your age, papoose. if i had done so, the men in the camps would have kicked me out. don't let me catch you smoking around any of the work you're helping me on! is that all, mr. reade? 'cause i've got a power of work to do." "that's all, thank you," tom assured him. "but, ferrers, we'll have to take young drew in hand and try to win him back to the path of brains and health." "say, i don't believe i'm going to like this job," muttered alf drew. "i reckon i'll be pulling my freight outer this camp." "don't go until tomorrow, anyway," urged tom. "you'll have to go some distance to find other human beings, and grub doesn't grow on trees in nevada." with a sniff of scorn ferrers tramped away. "i guess, perhaps, what you need, drew is a friend," remarked tom, resting a hand on the boy's nearer shoulder. "make up your mind that you can't have a cigarette this afternoon, take a walk with me, in this fresh air and the good old sunshine. let's drop all talk of cigarettes, and give a little thought to brains and a strong body. they don't flourish where you find boys smoking cigarettes. come along! i'm going to show you how to step out right, and just how to breathe like a human being. let's try it." tom had almost to drag the boy, to make him start. but reade had no intention of hectoring the, dough-faced little fellow. it was rough ground along this mountain trail in the indian smoke range of mountains, in nevada. soon the pulses of both began to beat more heavily. tom took in great breaths of the life-giving air, but alf was soon panting. "let's stop, now," proposed tom, in a kindly voice. "after you've rested a couple of minutes i'm going to show you how to breathe right and fill your lungs with air." soon they were trying this most sensible "stunt." alf, however, didn't succeed very well. whenever he tried hard it set him to coughing. "you see, it's mostly due to the cigarettes," said tom gravely. "alf, you've simply got to turn over a new leaf. you're headed just right to have consumption." "cigarettes don't give a fellow consumption!" retorted the younger boy sullenly. "i don't believe they do," tom admitted, thoughtfully. "consumption is caused by germs, i've heard. but germs take hold best in a weakened part of the body, and your lungs, alf, are weak enough for any germ to find a good place to lodge. what you've got to do is to make your lungs so strong that they'll resist germs." "you talk like a doctor!" "no; i'm trying to talk like an athlete. i used to be a half-way amateur athlete, drew, and i'm still taking care of my body. that's why i've never allowed any white-papered little 'coffin-nails' to fool around me. bad as your lungs are, alf, they're not one whit worse than your nerves. you'll go to pieces if you find yourself under the least strain. you'll get to shivering and crying, if you don't stop smoking cigarettes." "don't you believe it," muttered the boy, sullenly. "alf," smiled tom, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, "you don't know me yet. you haven't any idea how i can hang to a thing until i win. i'm going to keep hammering at you until i make you throw your cigarettes away." "i'm never going to stop smoking 'em," retorted drew. "there wouldn't be any comfort in life if i stopped." "is it as bad as that?" queried tom, with ready sympathy. "then all the more reason for stopping. come; let's finish our walk." "say, i don't want to go down and through that thick brush," objected alf drew, slowing his steps. "why not?" "snakes!" "are you afraid of snakes, alf?" "some kinds." "what kinds?" "well, rattlers, f'r instance." "there are none of that kind on this part of the indian smoke range," reade rejoined. "come along with me." there was something mildly though surely compelling in tom's manner. alf drew went along, though he didn't wish to. the two were just at the fringe of the thick underbrush when there came a warning sound just ahead of them. click! cl-cl-click! "whee! me for outer this!" gasped alf, going whiter than ever as he turned. but tom caught him by the shoulder. "what's the matter?" demanded reade. click cl-cl-click! "there it is again," cried alf, in fear. "what on earth are you talking about?" tom demanded. once more the dread sound smote the air. "rattlers!" wailed drew, perspiring from fear. "lemme get away from this." "nonsense!" retorted reade, retaining a strong clutch on the boy's shoulder, though once more the sound reached their ears. "it's all your nerves, alf," tom insisted. "you just imagine such things. that's what cigarettes do to your nerves." "but don't you hear the rattlesnake?" "i don't," tom gravely informed him, though once more the nerve-disturbing sound rose clearly on the air. "see here, alf, rattlers, whatever their habits, certainly don't climb trees. i'll put you up on that limb." tom's strong young arms lifted alf easily until he could clutch at the lowest limb of a tree. "climb up there and sit down," reade ordered. drew sat on the limb, shaking with terror. "now, i'll show you that there isn't a snake anywhere in that clump of brush," tom proposed, and forthwith stepped into the thicket, beating about lustily with his heavy boots. "l-l-l-look out!" shivered drew. "you'll be bitten!" "nonsense, i tell you. there isn't a rattler anywhere on this part of the range. it's your nerves, alf. cigarettes are destroying 'em. there! i've beaten up every bit of this brush and you see that i've not been bitten. now i'll help you down to the ground, and you want to get a good, steadying grip on your nerves." alf drew permitted himself to be helped to the ground. no sooner, however, had his feet touched the earth than there came that ominous rattling sound. "there, you big idiot!" howled alf. "there it is again!" "just your bad nerves, alf," tom smiled. "they're so bad that i'll overlook your lack of respect calling me an idiot!" "don't you s'pose i know rattlers when i hear 'em?" asked drew, sullenly. "i was almost bitten by one once, and that's why i'm so afraid of 'em." "i _was_ bitten once," tom replied. "yet you see that i'm not very nervous about them, especially in a part of the country where none are ever found. it's your nerves, alf---and cigarettes!" "i wish i had one now," sighed the younger boy. "a rattlesnake?" tom inquired innocently. "no---of course not! a cigarette." "but you're going to forget those soul-destroying little coffin-nails," reade suggested. "you're going to become a man and act like one. you're going to learn how much more fun it is to have your lungs filled with pure air instead of stifling cigarette smoke." "maybe i am!" muttered the boy. "oh, yes; i'm sure of it," said reade cheerfully. cl-cl-cl-click! "o-o-o-ow!" shrilled alf, jumping at least two feet. "now, what's the matter with you?" inquired tom in feigned astonishment. "don't tell me you didn't hear the rattler just now," cried young drew fiercely. "no; i didn't," tom assured him. "and how could we find a rattler--_here_? we're crossing open ground now. there is no place within three hundred feet of us for a rattlesnake to move without our seeing him." cl-cl-cl-click! alf drew held back, trembling. "i'm not going forward another step," he insisted. "this ground is full of rattlers." "let's go back to camp, then, if your nerves are so unstrung," reade proposed. they turned, starting backward. again the warning rattle sounded, seemingly just in front of alf, though there was no place for a snake to conceal itself nearby. alf, however, turned paler still, halted and started off at right angles to his former course. again the rattle sounded. "hear that snake?" demanded young drew. "no; and there isn't one," tom assured him. "why will you be so foolish---so nervous? in other words, why do you destroy your five senses with cigarettes in this fashion?" cl-cl-click! alf drew halted, trembling so that he could hardly stand. "i'm going to quit camp---going to get out of this place," he shivered. "the ground is full of rattlers. o-o-o-oh! there's another tuning up." tom laughed covertly. the disturbing sound came again. "i never saw a place like this part of the range," alf all but sobbed, his breath catching. "oh, won't i be glad to see a city again!" "just so you can find a store where you can buy cigarettes?" tom reade queried. "i wish i had one, now," moaned the young victim. "it would steady me." "the last ones that you smoked didn't appear to steady you," the young engineer retorted. "just see how unstrung you are. every step you take you imagine you hear rattlers sounding their warning." "do you tell me, on your sacred honor," proposed alf, "that you haven't heard a single rattler this afternoon?" "i give you my most solemn word that i haven't," tom answered. "come, come, alf! what you want to do is to shake off the trembles. let me take your arm. now, walk briskly with me. inflate your chest with all the air you can get in as we go along. just wait and see if that isn't the way to shake off these horrid cigarette dreams." something in reade's vigorous way of speaking made alf drew obey. tom put him over the ground at as good a gait as he judged the cigarette victim would be able to keep up. readers of the preceding volumes of this series, and of other, earlier series, need not the slightest introduction to tom reade and harry hazelton. our readers of the "_grammar school series_" know tom and harry as two of the members of that famous sextette of schoolboy athletes who, under the leadership of dick prescott, were known as dick & co. in the "_high school boys series_," too, our readers have followed the fortunes of tom reade and harry hazelton, through all their triumphs on football fields, on baseball diamonds and in all the school sports. dick prescott and greg holmes succeeded in winning appointments to the united states military academy, and their adventures are fully set forth in the "_west point series_." dave darrin and dan dalzell "made" the united states naval academy at annapolis, and what befell them there has been fully set forth in the "_annapolis series_." reade and harry hazelton elected to go through life as civil engineers. in "_the young engineers in colorado_" has been fully set forth the extraordinary work of these young men at railroad building through the mountains wilds. in "_the young engineers in arizona_" we have followed tom and harry through even more startling adventures, and have seen how they handled even greater problems in engineering. up to date the careers of these two bright young men had not been humdrum ones. the surroundings in which their professional lives had been passed had been such as to supply them with far more startling adventures than either young man had ever looked for. and now they were in nevada, the state famous for its gold and silver mines. yet they had come ere solely in search of a few weeks of rest. rest? there was anything but rest immediately ahead of the young engineers, but the curtain had not been lifted. immediately after the completion of their great work in arizona, tom reade and harry hazelton had gone back east to the good old home town of gridley. while there they had encountered dick prescott and greg holmes, their old school chums, at that time cadets at the united states military academy. the doings of the four old chums at that time in gridley are set forth fully in "_dick prescott's third year at west point_." during the weeks spent east, tom and harry had taken almost their first steps in the study of metallurgy. they had succeed in mastering the comparatively simple art of assaying gold and silver. so now, with the summer past, we find our young engineers out in nevada, taking a little more rest just because no new engineering task of sufficient importance had presented itself. "if we're going to be engineers out west, though, harry, we simply must know a good deal about assaying precious metals," tom had declared. so, though the chums were "taking a rest," as they phrased it, they had brought with them a small furnace and the rest of the outfit for assaying minerals in small quantities. today, however, was altogether too fine for thoughts of work. just after breakfast harry hazelton had borrowed the only horse in camp, belonging to jim ferrers, their cook and guide, and had ridden away for the day. barely had hazelton departed when alf drew, hungry, lonely and wistful, had happened along. he asked for "a job." there really wasn't one for him, but good-natured reade created one, offering five dollars a month and board. "no telling, young man, how long the job will last," tom warned him. "we may at any hour break camp and get away." but alf had taken the job and gratefully. not until after the noon meal had the little fellow revealed his unfortunate vice for cigarette smoking. "you've simply got to give up that habit, alf" tom urged, as they walked along. "you can't make me," retorted young drew. "you've no right to." "no, i haven't," tom admitted soberly. "if i had any real rights over you i'm afraid i'd turn you over my knee and spank you, three times a day, until you gave up the beastly habit." "you're not going to bounce me, are you?" asked alf. "no; i'll keep you here as long as we can use a boy. but, mark me, alf, somehow, and before very long, i'm going to break you from your cigarettes. i don't know how i'm going to do it, but i'm going to do it just the same!" alf drew looked uncommonly solemn, but he said nothing. for five minutes more they walked on, then came suddenly out from under a line of trees and stood at the edge of a low cliff, gazing down in astonishment at the gully below them. "what on earth-----" began tom reade, in amazement. "let's scoot!" begged alf tremulously. "there's going to be some killing right down there!" it certainly looked that way. in the gully three automobiles, showing the effects of long travel over hard roads, stood close together. more than a dozen people, all but two of whom were dressed in "eastern" clothes, stood by the machines. two of the party were women, and one a girl of twelve. the two men who belonged to the party, but did not appear to be "eastern," had drawn revolvers, and now stood facing four sullen-looking men who stood with the butts of their rifles resting on the ground. "gracious! we can't have any shooting with women and children standing around to get hit!" gasped tom reade. chapter ii trouble brews on the trail so silent had been the approach of tom and his waif companion that those below had not perceived them. moreover, judging from the expressions on the faces of the people almost at reade's feet, they were all too deeply absorbed in their own business to have any eyes or ears for outside matters. through the scene below was one of armed truce that might, at any moment, break into hostilities, with human lives at stake, tom glanced coolly downward for a few seconds after his first startled, unheard remark. "i'm going, to duck out of this," whispered alf drew, whose slim little figure was shaking in a way suggestive of chills. "don't be in a hurry," tom murmured. "we may be of some use to some of these people." "tote those guns away, friends," spoke one of the revolver-armed men with the automobile party, "and march yourselves under the guns. remember, we have women here." "they can get away," returned one of the sullen-faced men with rifles. "we won't hinder 'em. we'll give 'em two full minutes to get where it's safe. then we're going to turn our talking machines loose." from the top of the low cliff came tom meade's drawling voice: "oh, i say, friends!" startled, all below glanced quickly upward. "there seems to be trouble down there," tom suggested. "there sure is," nodded one of the armed men with the automobile party. "now, it's too glorious a day to spoil it with fighting," reade went on. "can't we arbitrate?" "the first move for you, young man," warned one of the four men, raising his rifle, "is to face about and git outer here." "not while there are women and children present who might get hurt," tom dissented, with a shake of his head. "git, i tell you!" shouted the man, now aiming his rifle full at tom's chest. git---before i count five." "save your cartridge," proposed tom. "i'm too poor game, and i'm not armed, either. surely you wouldn't shoot a harmless orphan like me." saying which the young engineer, having found a path down the cliff nearby, started slowly to descend. "get back there! another step, and i'll put a ball through you!" roared the man who had reade covered with his rifle. "that wouldn't prove anything but your marksmanship," suggested tom, and coolly continued to descend. "going to get back?" howled the man behind the gun. without further answer reade quickened his pace somewhat, reaching the flat bottom of the gully on a run. though he felt that the chances were eight out of ten that he would be shot at any second, tom didn't betray any outward fear. the truth was that even if he wanted to stop, he would have found it somewhat difficult on that steep incline. where he landed, on his feet, tom stood between the hostile parties. had hostilities opened at that moment he would have been in a bad position between the two fires. "great scott!" gasped the frightened alf, peering down. that youngster had thrown himself flat on his stomach his head behind a bush. he was trying to make himself as small as possible. "whew! but reade has the real grit!" first of all tom gazed curiously at the four men, who glared back at him with looks full of hate. "who are you, anyway?" demanded the spokesman of the sullen four. "i might be the sheriff," tom replied placidly. "huh!" retorted the spokesman. "but i'm not," tom went on, rather genially. "i'm just an inquisitive tourist." "heard o' bald knob?" demanded the leader of the four. "no," admitted reade, opening his eyes with interest. "who is he, and how did he become bald?" "bald knob is a place," came the information. "it's the place where inquisitive tourists are buried in these parts." "i'll look it up some day," tom promised, good-humoredly. "you'll look it up before dark if we have time to pack you there," growled the leader of the men. "now, are you going to stand aside?" tom shook his head. "let's shake hands all around and then sit down for a nice little talk," the young engineer suggested. "there's been too much talk already," snarled tom's antagonist. the men of the automobile party were silent. they had scented in tom an ally who would help their cause materially. "then you won't be sociable?" reade demanded, as if half offended. "git out and go about your business," ordered the leader of the four men. "it's always my business when women and children appear to be in danger," returned tom. he turned on his heel, presenting his broad back as a target to the rifles as he stepped over to automobile party. oddly the four men, though they had the look of being desperate, did not offer to shoot. tom's audacity had almost cowed them for the moment. "i hope i can be of some use to you," suggested tom, raising his hat out of respect to the women. "i reckon you can, if you're a good hand with a gun," replied the older of the two armed men with the motor party. "got any shooting irons about you?" "nothing in that line," tom admitted. "then reach under the cushion, left-hand front seat of that car," returned the same speaker. "you'll find an automatic revolver there." reade, however, chose to ignore the advice. he had small taste for the use of firearms. seeing, the young engineer's reluctance the younger of the two armed men went himself to the car, taking out the revolver and offering it to this cool young stranger. "thank you," was tom's smiling reply. "but that tool is not for me. i'm the two-hundred-and-thirteenth vice president of the peace society." "you'd better fight, or hike," advised the older of the two men. "this isn't going to be a safe place for just nothing but chin. and, ladies, i ask you to get behind one of the cars, since you won't leave here. throw yourselves flat on your faces. we don't want any good women hit by any such mean rascals as that crowd over there." the men with the rifles scowled dangerously. "now, listen to me---all hands," begged tom, raising his right hand. "it's none of my business, as i very well know, but may i inquire what all this trouble is about?" a rather portly, well dressed and well-groomed man of sixty, who had been leaning against the side of one of the cars, now spoke up promptly enough: "i am head of the company that has legally staked out a claim here, young man. ours is a mining company. the men yonder say that they own the claim---that they found it first, and that it is theirs. however, they never staked it off---never filed their claim." "it's our claim, just the same," spoke up the at the four men. "and we won't have it jumped by any gang of tenderfeet on earth. so get out of here, all of you, or the music will start at once. we don't want to hit any woman or children, but we're going to hold our own property. if the women and the child won't get out of here, then they'll have to take their chances." "that's the case, and the line of action!" growled another of the men. "but let me ask you men," continued tom, facing the quartette, "do you claim that you ever made legal entry of your asserted title here?" "maybe we didn't," grunted the spokesman. but we've known of this place for 'most a year today we came to settle here, stake off our claims, file our entry and begin living here. but we found these benzine trotters on the ground. "but these people state that they have made legal claim here," tom urged. "we have," insisted the portly man in black. "if there is any dispute over the facts, my friends," tom continued, turning once more to the four men, "then it looks like a case for the courts to settle. but if these people, who appear to be from the east, have acquired legal title here then they'll be able to hold it, and you four men are only intruders here. why, the matter begins to look rather clear---even for a nevada dispute." "these folks are going to move, or we'll topple 'em over and move 'em ourselves," insisted the leader. "men," rejoined reade, "i'm afraid you're not cool enough to settle this case fairly. we'll call in a few of the neighbors and try to get the facts of the case. we'll-----" "neighbors?" jeered the leader of the quartette. "where are you going to find any?" "right near at hand," tom proposed. "much nearer than you think. drew!" alf still lay behind the bush near the edge of the cliff. he was still present mainly because he had not courage enough to run away. "drew!" tom repeated, this time speaking sharply, for he guessed that the cigarette fiend was shaking in his boots. "yes, sir," piped the faltering voice of alf. "drew, run to camp as fast as you can. tell ferrers to bring the whole crowd over at once." alf was astounded by this staggering command, which sounded like an order to rush an army to the spot. yet he managed to gasp: "yes, sir." "now, go! make fast time. don't let any of this outfit catch you and hinder you." "no, sir!" this time alf drew's voice sounded faintly, over his shoulder from a considerable distance, for the boy was running fast, fear lending speed his feet. "you see," tom went on coolly, standing so that he could face both factions in this quarrel, "i don't know much about the merits of the case, and i'm a stranger here. i don't want to be accused of being too fresh, so i've sent for some of the natives. they'll know, better than just what to advise here. it won't take 'em long to get here." tom wound up this last statement with a cheerful smile. "so jim ferrers is over in your camp, is he?" demanded the leader of the four men. "yes," tom assented affably. "do you know him?" "maybe." "jim is a fine fellow," reade went on warmly. "he knows all about nevada, too, and he's a man of good judgment. he'll be a lot of use to us in getting at the rights of this case." "there's only one right side," insisted the leader of the quartette. "so my friend here has informed me," answered reade, nodding in the direction of the stout man in black. "yet there seems to be a good deal of difference in opinion as to which is really the right side. but just wait until jim and his friends get here. they'll be able to set us all straight and there won't be any need for doing any rough work like shooting." "dolph, we'd better shoot up the whole crowd, including the cheeky young one, before jim ferrers and his crowd gits here," propose one of the quartette. "jim ferrers will be awfully displeased, you do," drawled tom. "do you know jim? he has a reputation, i believe, for being rather sore on folks who shoot up his friends." "i'll do it for you, anyway, kid!" growled one of the four, leveling his rifle. but their leader struck the weapon up angrily just before the shot barked out. "who's having fourth of july around here?" called a laughing voice from some distance down the rising path at the rear of the quartette. the four men turned quickly, but tom had recognized joyfully the tones of harry hazelton's voice. "you keep out of here, stranger!" ordered one of the quartette gruffly. "don't you do anything of the sort, harry!" roared reade's voice. "you keep right on an join us." "did you hear my advice?" insisted the leader of the four, holding his rifle as though would throw the butt to his shoulder. "yes," said hazelton, calmly, "but i also heard my senior partner's order. he and i stick together. gangway, please." harry was cool enough as he rode his horse at a walk past the men. hazelton will never understand how near death he was at that moment. but there had been a few whispered words between the men, and they had allowed him to ride by. "what's the game here, tom?" harry called cheerily. "any real excitement going on?" "no." tom shook his head. "just a little misunderstanding over a question of fact." "then i see that the lie hasn't been passed," grinned hazelton. "the ground isn't littered at all." he rode up to his chum, displaying no curiosity. that the automobile party had been much cheered by the arrival of the young engineers was wholly apparent. for the same reason the four men appeared to be a good deal less certain of themselves. "i guess there isn't going to be any real trouble," spoke reade carelessly. "but there's a question at issue that i feel it would be impertinent in me to try to settle, so i've sent for jim ferrers to bring over the whole crowd." though harry couldn't imagine where ferrers's "crowd" was, he wisely held his tongue. at the same time an earnest conference was going on among the four men. they spoke in low whispers. "jim ferrers, alone, we could handle," declared the leader. "but if jim has a crowd back of him things won't go our way when it come to the shooting." "let's start it before ferrers's party gets here," growled another of the sullen ones. "we would be tracked down and shot at by ferrers and a crowd," argued the leader. "things are too warm for us here, just now. in a case like this remember that a fellow lasts longer when he does his shooting from ambush and at his own time. we won't let this dunlop crowd fool us out of our rights, but we'll have to choose a better time---and fight from ambush at that." it was soon plain that this view prevailed among the quartette. as they turned to move away, the leader remarked: "we'll leave you for a while, dunlop, but don't image you've won. don't get any notion that you'll ever win. you'll hear from us again." "and you'll hear a plenty as long as your hearing remains good," snarled another of the men. the four disturbers, turning their backs, started down the sloping trail. "oh, but i'm glad we've seen the last of them!" shuddered one of the women of the dunlop party. "don't be deceived into thinking that the last has been seen of that crew, madam," spoke tom reade gently. "those fellows will be heard from again, and at no very distant hour, either. mr. dunlop---i believe that is your name, sir?" the stout man bowed. "mr. dunlop," reade went on, earnestly, "i urge you to get these women and the child away from here as soon as you can. also any of the men who may happen to have no taste for fighting. i don't believe you'll see those four men in the open any more, but there'll be more than one shot fired from ambush. you surely won't expose these women and the child any further!" "but, father," broke in one of the women, tremulously, "if we leave, it will take one of your two fighting men to run the car. think how weak that will leave your defense." "you forget, my dear," spoke mr. dunlop, gently, "that our newly-found young friends have just sent for other men." tom smiled grimly as he thought of jim ferrers's "crowd"---consisting of poor, frighten little alf with the cigarette-stained fingers. "at any cost or risk, sir," tom went on, after a moment, "you must get the women and the child away from here. but---why, where is the child?" there was an instant of dismay. the little girl had vanished. "gladys!" spoke dr. dunlop's daughter in alarm. from under one of the cars a muffled voice answered, "here i am." then gladys, sobbing and shaking, emerged into view. "i was so frightened!" cried the child. "i just had to hide." "the men have gone away, dear," explained her mother soothingly. "and now we're going too. we'll be safe after this." at that instant three shots, fired in rapid succession, rang out. chapter iii jim's "army" appears "down on your faces!" called the older of the armed men with the motor party. "not necessary," spoke tom, dryly. "the shots were fired by jim ferrers's army." "and i missed the pesky critter, too!" spoke jim's voice, resentfully, as he showed his head over the edge of the cliff, where three puffs of smoke slowly ascended. "don't show yourself, jim! careful!" reade warned their guide. "it's all right," declared ferrers indifferently, as he rose to his full height, then discovered the path by which tom had descended. "the critters took to cover as soon as they heard me making a noise." with that explanation ferrers slid rather than walked down into the gully. "where are the rest of your men?" questioned mr. dunlop, eagerly. "i'm all there are," explained jim, "except one pesky little puffer of cigarettes. he's hiding his stained fingers somewhere in the brush half a mile from here." "there are no more men to your crowd?" spoke dr. dunlop anxiously. "none," tom broke in. "my order to the boy, drew, was intended by way of conversation to interest your four callers." "then, indeed, we must look out for an ambush," said one of mr. dunlop's companions, a man of thirty. "and you will be in real danger every minute of the time," said dunlop's daughter, fearfully. "father, why can't you come out of this wild country? is the money that you may make out here worth all the risk?" "yes," answered mr. dunlop, with a firmness that seemed intended to settle the matter. "why did you fire on those men without provocation?" tom asked, aside, of jim ferrers, who stood stroking his rifle barrel with one hand. "i had provocation," ferrers answered. "oh," said reade, who was none the wiser. "i'll 'get' dolph gage yet, if i ever have a fair chance without running my neck into the noose of the law," added ferrers, with silent fury in his tone. "is there a story behind it all, eh" queried tom mildly. "yes, mr. reade. too long a story to tell in a minute." "i didn't mean to pry into your affairs, ferrers," tom made haste to say. "well, for one thing, dolph gage shot the only brother i ever had---and got cleared of the charge in the court!" muttered ferrers. "was your brother killed?" tom inquired. "didn't i state that dolph gage shot him?" demanded jim in a semi-injured tone. "men don't often waste ammunition out in this county, even if i did send in three wild shots just now. but that was because i was excited, and couldn't see straight. i'll try to do better next time." mr. dunlop was now engaged in making his daughter, her child and the other woman comfortable in one of the touring cars. several of the men in the party, also, had decided that they did not care to remain if they were to be exposed to shooting at all hours of the day. in the end mr. dunlop had but three of the men in his party left with him. the younger of the two armed men was sent to drive the car containing the women. one of the guests of the dunlop party drove a second car. in this order they started for dugout city, thirty miles away. as the roads hardly deserved the name the motor cars would not be likely to reach dugout before dark. "look out for ambushes," exclaimed mr. dunlop, to the armed driver of the women's car. "yes, sir; but there isn't much danger of our being fired on. gage's gang will be only too glad to see the women folks leaving here. we won't be troubled." mr. dunlop stood anxiously gazing after the two touring cars as long as they could be seen. then he stepped briskly back, holding out his hand to tom reade. "permit me, now, to thank you for your timely aid," said the stout man. "you know my name. will you kindly introduce your friends?" this tom did at once, after which mr. dunlop presented his three companions. one was his nephew, dave hill, the second, george parkinson, mr. dunlop's secretary, and the third a man named john ransome, an investor in mr. dunlop's mining enterprise. the elder of the armed men who remained behind was joe timmins, both guide and chauffeur. the young man who had gone with one of the cars was timmins's son. "you have a mining claim hereabouts, mr. dunlop?" tom inquired. "yes; but not exactly at this point," added the older man, with a smile as he noted reade staring about him with a quizzical smile. "the claim stands over there on that slope"--pointing to the westward. "has it been prospected, sir?" asked hazelton. "yes: it's a valuable property, all right. i brought my party out here to show it to them. the friends who have returned to dugout, and mr. ransome here, have the money ready to put up the needed capital as soon as they are satisfied." "i'm satisfied now," spoke up ransome, "and i'm sure that the others are, after what mr. dunlop showed us this morning." "how soon do you begin operations?" tom asked with interest. "as soon as my men have talked it over and have concluded to put up the money, replied mr. dunlop. "we're ready, now---all of us," ransome broke in. "then," said mr. dunlop, "the next step will be to get in touch with a satisfactory engineer. you see, mr. reade, it's either a tunneling or a boring claim. we must either sink a shaft or drive a tunnel---whichever operation can be done at the least cost. either way will be expensive, and we must find out for a certainty which will be the cheaper. there's a lot of refractory rock in the slope yonder. in the morning our party will get all the ore we can from the surface croppings, then start for dugout, going from there to carson city. at carson we hope to find an honest engineer and a capable metallurgist." "then you haven't engaged any engineer?" reade asked, almost eagerly. "not yet. there was no need, until we had satisfied the investors." "perhaps hazelton and i can make some deal with you, mr. dunlop," reade proposed. "in what line?" inquired dunlop. "are you miners---or machinists?" "when we want to be really kind to ourselves," smiled tom, "we call ourselves engineers." "mining engineers?" demanded mr. dunlop, gazing at the two youths in astonishment. "no, sir. neither hazelton nor myself ever handled a mine yet," tom answered. "but we have done a lot of railroad work." "railroad work isn't mine digging," objected mr. dunlop. "i'm aware of that, sir," tom agreed. "yet boring is largely excavation work; so is tunneling. we've had charge of considerable excavating in our services to railroads." "very likely," nodded dunlop, reflectively. but how about the assays for gold and silver? sometimes, when searching for drifts and runs of the metal we may need a dozen assays in a single week." "we have the furnace with us, sir; the assay balance and all the tools and chemicals that are used in an ordinary assay." "you have?" asked mr. dunlop. "then you must have come prepared to go into this line of work." "we thought it more than likely that we'd amuse ourselves along that line of work for a while," tom explained truthfully. "yet mining attracts us. we'd stay here and go into the thing in earnest if we could make good enough terms with you." "would seventy-five dollars a month for each of you be satisfactory?" asked mr. dunlop keenly. "no, sir," replied reade with emphasis. "nor would we take a hundred and seventy-five dollars, either. when i said that we would consider a good proposition i meant just that, sir." "hm-m-m-m!" murmured mr. dunlop. "i shall have to give this matter thought, and question you a good deal more on your qualifications. i suppose you would be willing to let this matter remain open for a few days?" "certainly, sir; we are in no hurry. however, until we are definitely engaged we do not bind ourselves to be ready for your work." "where is your camp?" said mr. dunlop. jim ferrers explained the easiest way of reaching the camp in a motor car. "and i'd advise you to come to our camp, too," tom added. "you'll be safer there than here." "but we would; expose you to danger, too," mr. dunlop objected. "we're rather used to danger," smiled tom placidly. "in fact, just a little of danger makes us feel that we're getting more enjoyment out of life." "do you think it a good plan to take up the invitation of these gentlemen, timmins?" inquired mr. dunlop. "it's the safest thing you can do, sir," answered joe timmins. "we'll start back, now," proposed tom. "if you don't drive too fast you'll give us a chance to reach our camp in time to welcome you." "you start now, and we'll start within ten minutes," proposed mr. dunlop. this being agreed to, tom, harry and ferrers began the task of climbing the cliff path. at last they reached the top, then started at long strides toward camp, ferrers's horse having been surrendered by harry to dave hill. "who knows," laughed tom, "we may become mining engineers here in nevada" "small chance of it," harry rejoined. "in opinion mr. dunlop is a good enough fellow, but he's accustomed to making all the money himself. he'd want us at about a hundred dollars a month apiece." "he can want, then," tom retorted. "yet, somehow, i've an idea that mr. dunlop will turn to be generous if he decides that we're the engineers for him." for some minutes the trio tramped on silently, in indian file, ferrers leading. "hello, alf!" bellowed tom through the woods, as they neared their camp site. no answer came. "where did you leave the little fellow, jim?" inquired reade. "i didn't notice which way he went, sir," returned the guide. "he looked plumb scared, and i reckon he ducked into cover somewhere. maybe he headed for dugout city and hasn't stopped running yet." then a turn of the path under the trees brought them in sight of their camp. rather, where the camp had been. jim ferrers rubbed his eyes for an instant, for the tents had been spirited away as though by magic. nor were the cots to be seen. blankets lay strewn about on the ground. a quarter the camp's food supplies was still left, and that was all. "is it magic, jim?" gasped puzzled tom reade. "no, sir; just plain stealing," ferrers responded grimly. "then who-----" "dolph gage's crew, i'll be bound, sir. they don't want you two hanging around in this country, and they want me a heap sight less. but maybe we'll show 'em! the trail can't be hard to find. we'll have to start at once." "after we've seen and spoken to mr. dunlop," tom amended. "we can't run off without explanation to the guests that we have invited to share the camp that we thought had." barely a hundred yards away four men lay on their stomachs, heads concealed behind a low fringe of brush under which the muzzles of their rifles peeped. "remember," whispered dolph gage faintly, "all of you fire your first shot into jim ferrers. after that we'll take charge of the youngsters! get a close bead on jim. ready!" chapter iv sold out for a toy bale! jim ferrers had stated a plain truth when he remarked that nevada men did not often waste ammunition. with four rifles aimed at him, at that short, point-blank range, it would seem that jim's last moment had come. yet at that instant the sound of an approaching motor ear was heard. then the car, moving at twelve miles an hour mounted the crest at a point less than seventy yards from where the four ambushed men lay. joe timmins caught sight of them. "take the wheel!" muttered timmins, forcing parkinson's nearer hand to the wheel. in an instant joe was upon his feet, drawing his revolver. he fired at the men in ambush, but a lurch of the car on the rough ground destroyed his aim. "dolph gage and his rascals at the ridge," bellowed joe, in a fog-horn voice, pointing. jim ferrers dropped to the ground, hugging it flat. harry followed suit. tom reade hesitated an instant, then away he flew at a dead run. close to a tree tom stopped, thrusting right hand in among the bushes. up and down his hand moved. "shoot and duck!" snarled dolph, in a passion because of their having been discovered. boom! over by the ridge where gage and his fellow rascals lay it looked as though a volcano had started in operation on a small scale. fragments of rock, clouds of dirt, splinters and bits of brush shot up in the air. following the report came a volley of terrific yells from dolph and his fellows. they had been on the instant of firing when the big explosion came. jim ferrers, too, was taking careful aim at the moment. it is a law of nature that whatever goes up debris, mixed with larger pieces of rock and clots of earth, descended on the scene of the explosion. yet little of this flying stuff reached dolph gage and his companions, for they were up and running despite the mark that they thus presented to ferrers. nor did the rascals stop running until they had reached distant cover. "stop it, jim---don't shoot!" gasped tom reade, choking with laughter, as ferrers leaped to his feet, taking aim after the fugitives. "i want dolph gage, while i've got a good, legal excuse," growled ferrers, glancing along rifle barrel at the forward sight. "don't think of shooting," panted tom, darting forward and laying a hand on the rifle barrel to spoil the guide's aim. "jim, it isn't sportsmanlike to shoot a fleeing enemy in the back! fight fair and square, jim---if you must fight." there was much in this to appeal to the guide's sense of honor and fair play. though scowled, he lowered the rifle. "tom, you everlasting joker, what happened?" demanded harry hazelton. "you saw for yourself, didn't you?" retorted reade. "yes; but-----" "are you so little of an engineer that you don't know a _mine_ when you see one, harry?" "but how did that mine come to be there?" "i planted it." "when?" "today, when you started on your ride." "oh!" "you see, harry, i was pondering away over mining problems this morning. as you had the only horse, that was all that there was left for me to do. now, you must have noticed that most of the outcropping rock around here is of a very refractory kind?" "yes," nodded hazelton. "then, of course, you realize that for at least a hundred feet down in the mine the rock that would be found would be the same." "undoubtedly." "so, harry, i was figuring on a way to blast ore rock out whenever we should find refractory stuff down a shaft or in the galleries or tunnels of a mine." "fine, isn't it?" retorted hazelton. "a great scheme! you blast out the rock and the force of the explosion shoots all the fine particle of gold into the walls of the mine---just the way you'd pepper a tree with birdshot!" mr. dunlop had drawn close and now stood smiling broadly. "that appears to be one on you, reade," suggested the mine promoter. "that's what i want to find out," returned tom soberly; "whether i'm a discoverer, or just a plain fool." "what do you think about it?" "let's go and look at the ledge, and then i can tell you, sir," reade answered, striding forward. "look out!" cautioned joe timmins. "those hyenas will shoot. they'll be sore over the trick you played on them, and they'll be hiding waiting for a chance for a shot." "oh, bother the hyenas," tom retorted, impatiently. "i'm out for business today. coming, mr. dunlop?" the mine operator showed signs of hanging back. harry promptly joined his chum at what was left of the little ledge. after a few moments mr. dunlop, seeing that no shots were fired, stepped over there also, followed by his nephew. jim ferrers climbed a tree, holding his rifle and keeping his eyes open for a shot, while timmins threw himself behind a rock, watching in the direction that the four men had taken. "this looks even better than i had expected," tom explained, his eyes glowing as he held up fragments of rock. "you see, the dynamite charge was a low-power one. it just splintered the rock. there wasn't so very much driving force to the explosion. another time i could make the force even lower." "here's gold in this bit of rock!" cried harry, turning, his eyes sparkling. "yes; but not enough to look promising," replied mr. dunlop, after examining the specimen. "but we'll look through the rest of the stuff that's loose." the two men who had hung back soon joined them. "i wouldn't care about filing a claim to it," mr. dunlop, shaking his head after some further exploration. "this rock wouldn't yield enough to the ton to make the work profitable." "just a little, outcropping streak, possibly from the claim that i have below," was mr. dunlop's conclusion "by the way, reade, how did you explode the mine?" "with a magneto," tom explained, then ran and took the battery from behind the tree from which he had fired it. "i buried the wire, of course, so that no one would trip over it," he added. "just after i got it attended to alf drew happened along, looked forlorn, and wanted a job. so i had almost forgotten the mine, until i realized that the thing was planted right in front of where dolph gage's crew were hidden. by the way, jim, where is alf?" "all the information i've got wouldn't send you two feet in the right direction," the guide reported gruffly. "and where are our tents and the other stuff?" harry demanded. "gage's crew couldn't get far with them in the time they've had. shall we hustle after our property?" "yes," nodded tom. "at the momentary risk of being shot to pieces," added mr. dunlop, dryly. "those little chances go with being involved in a nevada mining dispute, don't they?" queried reade. "where can we begin to look?" harry pressed. "let's scurry about a bit. surely men can't get away with tents without leaving some trail." within two minutes they had the trail. marks were discovered that plainly had been made by dragging canvas and guy-ropes along over the ground. "we'll find our stuff soon," predicted tom, striding along over a rough trail. "the scoundrels didn't have a team, and they wouldn't take the stuff far without other transportation than their own backs. hello! what's in there?" tom had detected some motions in a clump of brush. "look out!" warned jim ferrers, bringing his rifle to "ready." but tom darted straight into the brush. "then this is where you are?" demanded tom dryly. he glanced down at the cowering form of alf drew. "so you've got the 'makings,' have you?" reade demanded, seizing alf by the collar and yanking him up to his feet. paper and tobacco fell from young drew's nerveless grasp to the ground. "you made me drop the makings of a good one," whined alf resentfully. "you didn't have that stuff two hours ago. where did you get it?" reade demanded. "found it," half whimpered drew. "do you expect me to believe any such fairy tales as that?" insisted tom reade. "if you have tobacco and cigarette papers," tom continued, "then some one gave the stuff to you. it was dolph gage, or one of his rascals, wasn't it?" "don't know him," replied the boy, with a shake of his head. "now, don't try to fool me, drew," warned tom, with a mild shake administered to the youngster's shoulders. "how much tobacco have you?" "a whole package," admitted alf reluctantly, feeling that it would be of no use to try to deceive his employer. "and plenty of papers to go with it?" "ye-es." "you got it from four men?" "no; i didn't." "well, from one of four men, then? tell me the truth." "ye-es." "what did you do to please the four men?" alf drew shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and then back again. "come! speak up!" reade insisted sternly. "you're wasting our time. what did you do for the four men?" "i didn't do anything," alf evaded. "what did you tell them, then?" reade wanted to know. "they asked me a few questions." "of course; and you answered the questions." "well, i-----" "what did the men want to know about?" pressed tom, the look in his eyes growing sterner still. "they wanted to know how many men jim ferrers had," admitted the drew boy. "oh, i see," pondered tom aloud, a half smile creeping into his face. "they were guessing the size of ferrers's army, were they?" "i---i guess so," alf replied. "and you told them-----?" "i told 'em the camp was made up of you and mr. hazelton, jim ferrers and myself." "and then they gave you the tobacco for cigarettes, did they?" "i made 'em gimme that first," alf retorted, a look of cunning in his eyes. "so, my bright little hero, you sold us out for a toy bale of cigarettes, did you?" demanded tom reade, staring coldly down at the shame-faced youngster. chapter v no need to work for pennies "i---i didn't see how it could do any harm," sniveled young drew. "perhaps it didn't," tom admitted. "so far, it has resulted only in our being ambushed and all but murdered. now, where did they take our tents and the other stuff?" "i don't know," declared alf. "are the tents gone?" he answered so promptly that reade believed him. "very much so," replied reade, releasing his grip on drew's shoulder. "come on, friends, we'll hunt further." "say, what was that big explosion?" asked alf, running after the party when he found himself being left alone. "no time to talk until we find our camp stuff," tom called back over his shoulder. "i'll help you," proposed alf eagerly. "you're full of helpfulness," reade jibed. but alf evidently preferred to stick to them. he ran along at the heels of the last rapidly striding man. joe timmins was the only one absent, he having remained at the camp site to keep a watchful eye over the automobile. jim ferrers was in the lead, his trained eyes searching the ground for the trail of the tents. within five minutes the party came upon the tents and the food supplies, all of which had been dumped into a thicket in confused piles. "we'll sort this out and get it back to camp," tom proposed. "alf, little hero, redeem yourself by buckling down to a good load. come here; let me load you down." alf meekly submitted, cherishing a half hope that he would not be discharged from his new position after all. at the end of an hour the stuff had all been taken back and the camp looked a good deal as it had looked that morning. "now, alf," directed tom in a milder, kinder tone, "you hustle over and break your back helping mr. ferrers to get supper ready. we're a famished lot. understand?" alf was only too glad to be able to understand that his part in the dismantling of the camp had been overlooked. while tom and harry led their guests into one of the tents, young drew hastened over to where jim ferrers was starting a fire in the camp stove. "now, put that stuff back in your pockets, or i'll throw it in the fire!" sounded the angry voice of ferrers. "you can't use any of that stuff when you're working around me." "the poor little cigarette pest must have been trying to use his newly acquired 'makings,'" grinned tom. while ferrers was thus busied with preparation of the meal, joe timmins had taken the guide's rifle and was keeping a watchful eye over the approaches to the neighborhood. "so you young men think you could serve me satisfactorily as engineers," questioned mr. dunlop. "i think we could," tom answered. "but i am afraid you young men have a rather large notion as to the pay you're worth," continued the mine promoter. "that's right, sir," reade nodded. "we have a good-sized idea on the pay question. now, when you go to dugout city next you might wire the president of the s.b. & l. railroad, at denver, or the president of the a.g. & n.m., at tucson, arizona, and ask those gentlemen whether we are in the habit of making good on large pay." "how much will you young men want?" "for work of this character," replied tom, after a few moments of thought, during which harry hazelton was silent, "we shall want six hundred dollars a month, each, with two hundred dollars apiece added for the fighting risk." "the fighting risk?" questioned mr. dunlop. "well, we shall have dolph gage and his crowd to guard against, won't we?" reads counter-questioned. "but such pay is absurd!" he protested. "from your view-point, very likely, sir. from our view-point it will be very ordinary compensation, and nothing but our desire to learn more about mining will tempt us to go into it at the figure we have named." "your price puts your services out of the question for my company," replied mr. dunlop, with a shake of his head. "very good, sir," tom rejoined pleasantly. "no harm done, and we need not talk it over any more. we wish you good luck in finding proper engineers for your work. you will probably motor back to dugout tomorrow morning, won't you?" "we'll have to," mr. dunlop answered. "we're not safe here until we hire a few good men to come out here to keep gage and his fellows at a distance." "that's true, sir," tom nodded. "as you'll need a good many men here by the time you start work on your mine you'll do well to bring at least a score of them down at once. twenty good, rough men, used to this life and not afraid of bullets, ought to make you feel wholly safe and secure on your own property." there was more talk, but neither tom nor harry again referred to their serving the new company as engineers. in due course of time jim ferrers, with such help as alf was able to give, had supper ready to serve. it was a rough meal, of hard tack, pilot bread, potatoes, canned meats and vegetables, but outdoor life had given all a good appetite and the meal did not long remain on the camp table. for guard duty that night it was arranged that jim ferrers and joe timmins should relieve each other. tom also offered to stay up with ferrers, harry taking the watch trick with timmins, though neither of the young engineers was armed or cared to be. harry and timmins were to take the first watch. the others retired early. tom reade was about to begin undressing when hazelton came in for a moment. while the chums were chatting, alf drew's forlorn figure showed at the doorway of the tent. "say, boss," complained alf, "i haven't any place to sleep." "what?" reade demanded in pretended surprise, "with nearly all the ground in nevada at your disposal?" "but that isn't a bed," contended alf. "right you are there, lad" agreed tom. "now, see here, boss, only one of you two is going to sleep at a time tonight. i'm tired---i ache. why can't i sleep on the other cot in this tent?" "come here," ordered tom. alf wonderingly advanced. whiff! whiff! moved the young engineer's nostrils. "just as i thought," sighed reade. "you've been smoking cigarettes without any let-up ever since supper." "well, i have ter," argued drew. "and now you smell as fragrant as a gas-house, alf. mr. hazelton is rather particular about the little matter of cleanliness. if you were to sleep on his cot the smell of cigarettes would be so strong that i don't believe mr. hazelton could stay on his cot when it came his time to turn in." "but say! if you knew how dead, dog-tired i am!" moaned alf. "oh, let him sleep on my cot," interposed harry, good-heartedly. "if i can't stand the cot when i come to use it, then it won't be the first night that i've slept on hard ground and rested well." "all right, alf, climb in," nodded tom. "but see here. cigarettes make you as nervous as a lunatic. if you have any bad dreams tonight, and begin yelling, then i'll rise and throw you outdoors. do you understand?" "yes," mumbled the boy. "but i won't dream. i'm not nervous now. it's only when i can't get enough cigs that i'm nervous." "you should have seen him this afternoon," tom continued, turning to his chum. "the lad and i took a walk. at every other step he kept imagining that he heard rattlesnakes rattling." "and i did, too," contended alf stoutly. "you know i did. you heard 'em yourself, mr. reade." "i didn't hear a single rattler," tom replied soberly. "let the tired little fellow go to bed in peace," urged harry. "all right," tom agreed. alf went to the head of the cot, to turn the blanket down from the head. click-ick-ick-ick! came the warning sound. with a yell of terror alf drew bounded back. "there's another rattler," he screamed. "it's under that blanket." "it's all your nerves," tom retorted. "there isn't a rattler within miles of here." "didn't you hear a rattle, mr. reade?" wailed the cigarette fiend. "no; i didn't." "didn't you, mr. hazelton?" harry was on the point of answering "yes," but tom caught his eyes, and harry, knowing that something was up, shook his head. "you must both be deaf, then," argued drew. "why, see here, you nervous little wreck of a cigarette," said tom, grinning good-humoredly, "i'll show you that there is no snake in that bed. watch me." with utmost unconcern, tom took hold of the blanket, stripping it from the cot. then he ran his hands over the under blanket. "not a thing in this bed but what belongs here," tom explained. "alf, do you see how cigarettes are taking the hinges off your nerves." shame-faced, and believing that tom was right, alf advanced toward the cot. as he reached the side of it----click-ick-ick! sounded close to him. "you can't make me stay in this tent. it's the most dangerous spot in nevada," cried drew, turning and fleeing into flee open. the two chums could hear his feet as he sped to another part of the camp. "some trick about that rattling?" queried harry in a whisper. "of course," tom admitted with a wink. "it's a shame to tease the youngster so." "it would be," tom assented rather gravely, "but i'm using that means to make the lad afraid to smoke cigarettes. if young drew goes on smoking the miserable little things he'll become come a physical wreck inside of a year." "how do you do the trick, anyway?" asked harry curiously. "does it really sound like the click of a rattler?" asked tom. "does it? i was 'stung' almost as badly as poor alf was. how do you do the trick?" "i'll show you, some time," nodded tom reade. with that promise harry had to be content, and so must the reader, for the present. hazelton went out to stand first watch with joe timmins. alf drew, finding that the dunlop party had no room for him under the shelter they had rigged from the rear of the automobile, curled himself on the ground under a tree and fitfully wooed sleep. by daylight the little fellow was fretfully awake, his "nerves" refusing him further rest until he had rolled and smoked two cigarettes. by the time the smoke was over jim ferrers called to him to help start the breakfast. nothing had been seen of the four intruders through the night. "i think we shall try to get safely through to dugout city this morning," suggested mr. dunlop. "you'll make it all right, if you have gasoline enough," remarked ferrers, who hovered close at hand with a frying pan filled with crisp bacon. "you don't believe gage will try to attack us on the way?" "he has no call to," replied ferrers. "you're obeying him by leaving the claim, aren't you?" "then probably gage and his companions will settle down on the claim after we leave," suggested mr. dunlop. "if gage tries to jump the claim in your absence," proposed ferrers, "your course is easy. if you have the legal right to the claim you'll have to bring back force enough to drive those hyenas off." "will you people try to keep an eye over the claim while i'm gone?" asked mr. dunlop. "that would be a little out of our line," tom made reply. "besides, mr. dunlop, i'm not at all sure that we shall be here until you return." "but we haven't settled, reade, whether you and your partner are to be our engineers at the bright hope mine." "quite true, sir," nodded tom. "on the other hand, you haven't engaged us, either" "won't you keep the matter open until our return?" "that would be hardly good business, mr. dunlop." "yet suppose i had engaged you," "then we'd be going back to dugout city with you." "why, reade?" "so that we might get in touch with the world and find out whether you are financially responsible. we wouldn't take an engagement without being reasonably sure of our money." "you're a sharp one," laughed mr. dunlop. yet he made no further reference to engaging the two young engineers, a fact that reade was keen enough to note. within an hour after breakfast the dunlop ear pulled out, leaving tom reade with only his own party. "what our friend wants," smiled harry, "is a pair of mining engineers at the salary of one mere surveyor." "he won't pay any more than he has to," rejoined reade. "do you really want to work for dunlop?" "i really don't care a straw whether i do or not," was tom's answer. "harry, we're in the very heart of the gold country and we don't need to work for copper pennies." "if you'll allow me to say so, friends," put in jim ferrers, "i believe you two are the original pair with long heads and i'm going to stick to you as long as you'll let me." "me, too," piped up alf drew ungrammatically. the young cigarette fiend was at that instant engaged in rolling one of his paper abominations. click-ick-ick-ick! "rattlers again!" shivered alf. paper and tobacco fell from his fingers and he fled in terror. chapter vi tom catches the "nevada fever" two nights passed without adventure. on each of these nights the three campers---for alf didn't "count" divided the hours of darkness into three watches, each standing guard in his turn. on the third morning after the departure of the bright hope group the campers were seated at breakfast around the packing case that served as table. "i feel as though we ought to be at work," suggested hazelton. "good!" mocked tom. "you've been riding every day lately, and i have remained in camp, testing samples of ore that i've picked up on my strolls." "you take the horse today," proposed harry, "and i'll stay in camp and work." "suppose both of us stay in and work," proposed reade. "that'll be all right, too," nodded harry, pleasantly. "may i ask, tom, what you're up to, anyway?" "yes," reade smiled. "if the bright hope is a real mine there must be other good property in this region. i've been looking about, and making an assay every now and then. jim, you've prospected a bit, haven't you?" "yes," nodded the guide. "and, gentlemen, in my day i've been sole owner of three claims, each one of which panned out a fortune." "great!" glowed harry. "but how did you lose your money, jim!" "i never got a cent out of any of the mines," rejoined the guide grimly. "how did that happen?" "did you ever hear of 'square gamblers'?" inquired ferrers. "some," tom admitted with a grimace. "we ran up against one of that brood in arizona, eh, harry?" "you didn't play against him, i hope, hinted jim soberly. "yes, we did," admitted tom. "not with his own marked cards, though, nor with any kind of cards. we met him with men's weapons, and it is necessary to add that our 'square gambler' lost." "the 'square gamblers' that i met didn't lose," sighed jim ferrers. "they won, and that's why all three of my mines passed out of my hands before they began to pay." "you must know something about ore and croppings, and the like, jim?", tom continued. "in a prospector's way, yes," ferrers admitted. "then we'll take a walk, now. alf can wash up the dishes." "it's all the little wretch is fit for," muttered ferrers contemptuously. jim looked carefully into the magazine of his repeating ride, then saw to it that his ammunition belt was filled. "ready when you gentlemen are," he announced. "say, won't you take me with you?" pleaded alf. "you wouldn't be of any use to us," reade answered. "but i---i am afraid to stay here alone." "do you believe yourself to be so valuable that any one will want to steal you?" tom laughed. alf made a wry face and watched the others depart. then, filled with needless alarm, he crawled out into a thicket and hid himself. he didn't mean to be trapped by prowlers! tom led the way for nearly a mile. at last the trio climbed a slight ascent, halting at the top of the ridge. "you see, jim," tom explained, "this ridge runs southwesterly from here." "i see it does?" nodded the guide. "now, to the northeastward i don't believe there are any croppings that look good enough. but just keep along to the southeast, picking up a specimen here and there. some of the rock looks good to me." jim ferrers didn't answer in words, though his eyes gleamed with the old fever that he had known before. "here's a pretty piece of stone," called the guide in a low tone. he stood holding a fragment about as big as his two fists. "it's streaked" pretty well with yellow, you see, gentlemen," he remarked; "it is," tom agreed, taking the specimen. "does the vein run with the top of the ridge?" demanded harry eagerly. "it runs a little more to eastward, from this point, i think," tom made answer. "but let us walk along, in three parallel lines, and see who finds the best indications." by noon all three were fairly tired out by the steep climbing over the rocky ground. each had as many specimens as he could carry. the result of the exploration had tended to confirm tom's notion as to where the vein lay. "now, let's see about where we'd stake the claim," tom proposed. "of course, we want to get the best rock obtainable. we don't want to leave the best part of this slope for some one else to stake out. it seems to me that the claim ought to start up by that blasted tree. what do you say, jim?" "well, i don't like to make mistakes where you young gentleman are concerned," ferrers answered, taking off his felt hat and scratching his head. "you see, it isn't my claim." "the dickens it isn't!" reade retorted. "why, you---you gentlemen didn't plan to take me in, did you," asked ferrers, opening his eyes very wide in his amazement over the idea. "you see i---i can't contribute my share of the brains, along with a pair like you," continued the guide. "look at you two---engineers already! then look at me---more'n twice as old as either of you, and yet i'm only a cook." "you're an honest man, aren't you, jim?" demanded reade. "why, there's some folks who say i am," ferrers slowly admitted. "and we're among those who believe that way," tom continued. "now, jim, you're with us, and you've every right to be a partner if we find anything worth taking up in the mine line." "but there ain't no sense in it," protested the guide, his voice shaking with emotion. "you don't need me." "we need a man of your kind, jim," tom rejoined, resting a very friendly hand on the guide's shoulder. "listen to me. hazelton and i are engineers first of all. we'd sooner be engineers than kings. now, the lure of gold is all well enough, and we're human enough to like money. yet a really big engineering chance would take us away from a gold mine almost any day in the year. eh, harry!" "i'm afraid it would," confirmed hazelton. "if we left a paying mine, jim, what would we want?" tom continued. "we'd want an honest partner, wouldn't we---one whom we could leave for six months or a year and still be able to depend on getting our share of the profits of the mine. you've gambled in the past, jim, but you stopped that years ago. now you're honest and safe. do you begin to see, jim ferrers, where you come in? another point. how old do you take us to be?" "well, you're more than twenty-one, each of you," replied ferrers. "not quite, as yet," tom answered. "so, you see, in order to take out a claim we'd need a guardian, and one whom we could depend upon not to rob us. jim, if we're to take up a mine we must have a third man in with us. do you know a man anywhere who'd use us more honestly than you would?" "i don't," exclaimed jim ferrers. "at the same time, gentlemen, i know your kind well enough. both of you talk of fighting as though you dreaded it, but i'll tell you, gentlemen, that i wouldn't _dare_ to try any nasty tricks on either of you." "we understand each other, then," tom nodded. "now, then, let us try to make up our minds just where we would want to stake off this claim if the gold assays as well as it looks." at the beginning tom and harry built a little pile of stones. then, by mere pacing they laid off what they judged to be the fifteen hundred feet of length which the government allows to a single mining claim. "we can attend to the proper width later," suggested tom. "now, what do you say if we make for camp at once. i'm not hungry; still, i think i could eat my half of a baked ox." the instant that the trio reached camp, jim ferrers, with an unwonted mist in his eyes, began to juggle the cooking utensils. tom busied himself with building the best fire that he could under the chamber of the assaying furnace, while harry hazelton, rolling up his sleeves, began to demonstrate his muscle by pulverizing little piles of ore in a hand-mill. "be careful not to mix the lots, harry," advised tom, glancing over from his station by the furnace. "thanks for the caution," smiled hazelton. "but i have just enough intelligence left to understand the value of knowing from what section of the slope each particular lot of rock comes." dinner was eaten in silence. for one thing the campers were ravenously hungry. in the second place, though each kept as quiet as possible, he was deep in the thrall of the fever to dig up hidden gold. the meal was nearly over when alf drew came into camp. "are you leaving anything to eat?" he asked. "maybe," said jim ferrers grimly, "but you were left to wash the breakfast dishes, and you haven't done it yet. now, you'll wash the breakfast things, and then the dinner things, before you get even a cold bite to eat." alf didn't protest. now that he was back safe in camp he felt much ashamed of himself for having run away and left the camp unwatched. as soon as he had eaten his dinner tom reade went back to the assay furnace to improve the fire. "now, harry, we'll get the powdered stuff ready to roast," reade remarked. "we've a lot of it to rush through this afternoon." "and we want to be sure to finish it at least two hours before dark, too," larry nodded. "if we decide to file a claim jim ought to be riding for dugout city by dark, ready to file the papers the first thing in the morning." "and jim can bring back half a dozen men to help us sink the first shaft," proposed tom. "that's where i feel like a fool," muttered ferrers. "i haven't a blessed dollar to put in as capital." "we'll take your honesty for a good deal in the way of capital, jim," tom hinted cheerfully. "harry, you might get out the transit, the tape, markers and other things. if we stake out a claim we'll do it so accurately that there can be no fight, afterward, as to the real boundaries of our claim." "what shall we call the claim?" inquired hazelton, as he came back with the surveying outfit. "suppose we wait until the assay is done, and find out whether the claim is worth anything better than a bad name," laughed tom. the crucibles were in the furnace now, and a hot flame going. jim ferrers sat by, puffing reflectively at his pipe as he squatted on the ground nearby. alf drew was smoking, too, somewhere, but he had taken his offensive cigarettes to some place of concealment. harry anxiously watched the course of the sun, while tom kept his gaze, most of the time, near the furnace. "come on, harry!" called tom at last. "we'd rake out the crucibles. my, but i hope the buttons are going to be worth weighing." a withering blast of hot air reached the young engineers as the oven door of the portable assay furnace was thrown open. the crucibles were raked out and set in the air to cool. "would fanning the crucibles with my hat do any good?" asked hazelton eagerly. "some," yawned tom, "if you're impatient." reade strolled off under the trees, whistling softly to himself. jim ferrers smoked a little faster, the only sign he gave of the anxiety that was consuming him. harry frequently sprang to his feet, walked up and down rapidly, then sat down again. two or three times hazelton burned his fingers, testing to see whether the crucibles were cool enough to handle. at last tom strolled back, his gaze on the dial of his watch. "cool enough for a look, now, i think," reade announced. harry bounded eagerly toward the crucibles, feeling them with his hands. "plenty cool enough," he reported. "but how did you guess, tom?" "i didn't guess," reade laughed. "i've timed the crucibles before this, and i know to a minute how long it ought to take." "what a chump i am!" growled harry, in contempt for self. "i never think of such things as that." tom now carefully emptied the crucibles. in the bottom of each was found a tiny bead of half-lustrous metal, which miners and assayers term the "button." "the real stuff!" glowed hazelton. "ye-es," said tom slowly. "but the next question is whether the buttons will weigh enough to hint at good-paying ore. even at that, these buttons are only from surface ore." "but the ore underneath is always better than the surface ore," contended hazelton. "usually is," tom corrected. "if we get good enough results from this assay it will at least be worth while to stake a claim and work it for a while." harry waited with feverish impatience. tom reade, on the other hand, was almost provokingly slow and cool as he carefully adjusted the sensitive assaying balance and finally weighed the buttons. then he did some slow, painstaking calculating. at last he looked up. "well, sir?" asked jim ferrers. "from this surface ore," replied tom calmly, "twenty-eight dollars in gold to the ton; silver, six dollars." "that's good enough for me!" cried ferrers, his eyes brightening. "wow! whoop! oh---whee!" vented harry, then ran and snatched up the surveying transit. "yes; i guess we'd better go along and do our staking," assented tom. "and i'll be ready at daylight to file the claim at dugout city," promised jim. "i won't sleep until i've seen our papers filed." "you'll file the claim in your own name, jim," tom suddenly suggested. "no; i won't," retorted ferrers. "i'll play squarely." "that will be doing squarely by us, jim," tom continued. "we don't want to use up our claim privileges on one stretch of nevada dirt." if we can find claims enough we'll stake out three, and then pool them all together in a gentlemen's agreement." "that's a good deal of trust you're showing in me, gentlemen," said jim huskily. "never mind, jim," returned reade quietly. "you can show us, you know, that we didn't waste our confidence." while they were still talking the three came in sight of the ridge. "look there!" gasped harry suddenly. "dolph gage and his tin-horn crowd!" flared jim ferrers, in anger. "hang the fellow! this time i'll-----" "stop fingering your rifle, jim," ordered reade. "remember, nothing like fighting! if they haven't filed notice in due form on the claim, we're safe yet. if they have-----" "look!" hissed ferrers. at that moment dolph gage could be seen nailing a sheet of white paper to a board driven into the soil. "we've staked what you want, i reckon!" bellowed gage laconically. "staked it in due form, too, if you want to know." "i guess we've lost that claim," said tom slowly. "have we?" hissed jim ferrers. chapter vii ready to handle the pick "keep off this ground!" yelled dolph gage, snatching up his rifle. "stop that nonsense," tom bellowed back in his own lusty voice. "you've no right on this ground." "yes, we have, if you want to know," tom continued. "you haven't filed your papers at dugout yet." "how do you know we haven't?" "i'll take a chance on it," smiled tom amiably, as he and his companions continued to walk nearer. jim ferrers held his rifle so that it would take him but an instant to swing it into action if the need came. "if you've filed your papers for this claim" tom continued, lowering his voice somewhat as they drew nearer to the four rascals. "have you any such paper to show us?" "perhaps not," growled dolph gage, his evil eyes seeming to shoot flame. "but we've got our notice of claim nailed up here. we got it here first, and now you can't file any mining entry at dugout city for this bit o' ground." "not if your notice is written in the prescribed language," tom admitted. "well, it is. now, keep off this ground, or we'll shoot you so full of holes that you'll all three pass for tolerable lead mines!" "if you don't shoot and make a good job of it," reade insisted, "i'm going to look over your notice of claim and see whether it's worded in a way that will hold in law." "drop 'em, boys! don't let 'em near!" roared dolph gage, swinging his rifle as though to bring it to his shoulder. but jim ferrers had forestalled him. the guide was gazing at his enemy through his rifle sights. "drop your weapon, dolph gage, and do it blazing quick, or i'll shoot you where you stand!" sounded jim's voice, low and businesslike. "if any of you other galoots tries to raise his weapon i'll turn and drop him." as jim ferrers had a reputation in nevada as a rifle shot the others hesitated, then let their rifles drop to the ground. "hold them to their present good intentions, jim," said tom, with a smile, as he continued to move forward. "now, mr. gage---i believe that's your name let me see what kind of notice you know how to draw up." "there 'tis," muttered dolph sullenly, pointing to the board. tom read the notice through under his breath, word by word. "you've done this sort of thing before, i guess, gage," said reade quietly. "you bet i have. find it all reg'lar, too, don't you?" "as nearly as i can tell, it is," agreed tom. "and the claim is ours." "it's yours if you file the formal papers soon enough." "they'll be filed first thing tomorrow morning," grunted dolph gage. "now, try a two-step off the dirt that goes with this claim." "not until i've seen the borders that you claim," tom rejoined. "why!" demanded gage cunningly. "going to start your claim right at the corners of ours." "if you'll pardon me," reade smiled, "i don't believe i'll tell you anything about my intentions." "maybe you think this claim is a pretty valuable one," gage insinuated. "i didn't say so." "but you would have staked if we hadn't done it first." "that's what you've got to guess," smiled reade. "say, now you've lost this claim, tell us some thing straight, won't youth begged dolph. "tell you something straight?" repeated tom. "certainly. i'll tell you something just as straight as i know how," "well," he said, at last, "you said you'd tell us something straight." "and so i will," laughed tom. "it's just this: go to blazes!" "come, now, don't get fresh, kid!" warned dolph angrily. "if we're going to be on neighboring claims you may find it a heap to your advantage to use us about half-way decent and polite." tom didn't answer at once. he was rapidly covering the statement of location from the paper nailed to the board. "you fellows picked up a lot of ore stuff around here," continued dolph gage. "yes?" tom inquired. "did you see us?" "yes, and we also saw you making an assay." "you did." "of course we did. say, friend, how did that assay come out?" "it came out of the furnace," tom answered still writing. "'course it did. but say, how did that assay read?" "read?" repeated tom. "why, bless me, i never knew that an assay could read." "you know what i meant, younker. how did it figger?" "to the best of my belief," said tom, "an assay is as much unable to figure as it is to read." "don't waste any more time on the kid, dolph," growled another of the group. "he won't tell you anything that you want to know." "if he doesn't" rejoined gage, "maybe he'll miss something. see here---reade's your name, isn't it?" "you've got that much of your information straight," assented tom, looking up with a smile. "well, reade, maybe you'd better be a bit more polite and sociable. you've missed staking this claim, but i think we can fix it to give you a job here as engineer." "that would be very kind of you, i'm sure," nodded tom. "but i can't undertake any work for you." "then you'll lose some money." "i'm used to losing money," smiled tom. "as for my partner, he's a real wonder in the way of losing money. he lost ten cents yesterday." "we've got a fine claim," asserted dolph gage. it's right under our feet, and there isn't another such claim in nevada. now, if you two want to make any real money you'd better begin to be decent with us right now. otherwise, you won't get the job. now, what do you say?" "i vote for 'otherwise,'" laughed reade, turning on his heel. "oh, you run along and be independent, then," called dolph gage after him. "if you're going to stick the winter through on this range you'll be hungry once or twice between now and spring, if you don't take the trouble to get in right with us." "why?" questioned reade, halting and looking squarely back. "do you steal food, too?" once more tom turned on his heel. harry walked along with him. jim ferrers all but walked backward, holding his rifle ready and keeping a keen eye over the claim stealers. "come along, jim," called tom at last. "those fellows won't do any shooting. their minds are now set on their new claim. they expect to dig out gold enough to enable them to buy two or three banks. they won't shoot unless they're driven to it." jim ferrers turned and walked with the boys. fifteen seconds later a rifle cracked out behind them, the bullet striking the dirt well to the left of tom's party. "it's a bluff, jim, and-----" began reade. crack! spoke ferrers's ride. "i knocked gage's hat off," said the guide dryly. "now, if he fires again, it'll show that he's looking for trouble." "the fellow who goes looking for trouble is always a fool," tom remarked. "because trouble is the most worthless thing in the world, yet a fellow who goes looking for it is always sure to find twice as much as he thought he wanted." by the time the young engineers had reached their own camp, harry, whose face had been growing gradually "longer" on the walk, sank to the ground in an attitude of dejection. "just our luck!" he growled. "gage is right when he says that claim is the best in this part of nevada. and, just because we were too slow, we lost it. fortune, you know, tom, knocks but once at any man's door." "i don't believe that," said tom stoutly. "harry, now that we've made a start and lost, my mind is made up as to our course now. i hope you'll agree with me." "what is it?" hazelton asked. "harry, old fellow, we'll turn mining engineers in earnest for the present. we'll engineer our own mines, with jim for a partner. harry, we'll get up our muscle with pickaxes. we'll stake our fortunes on the turn of a pick!" chapter viii jim ferrers, partner "you mean it, do you?" asked hazelton, after a pause of a few moments. "i never meant anything more in my life!" "then, of course, i'll agree to it, tom. if i go astray, it'll be the first time that i ever went wrong through following your advice." "and you're with us, ferrers?" inquired tom, looking around. "gentlemen," spoke the guide feelingly, "after the way you've used me, and the way you've talked to me, i'm with you in anything, and i can wait a month, any time, to find out what that 'anything' means. just give me your orders." "orders are not given to partners," tom told him. "orders go with _this_ partner," jim asserted gravely. "and, gentlemen, if we make any money, just hand me what you call my share and i'll never ask any questions." "jim, we're going in for mining," tom continued. "i can speak for mr. hazelton now, for he has authorized me to do so. mining it is, jim, but we three are young and tender, and not expert with pickaxes. we'd better have some experts. can you pick up at least six real miners at dugout city?" "a feller usually can," ferrers replied. "then if you'll put in a good part of tonight riding, tomorrow you can do your best to pick up the men. get the kind, jim, who don't balk at bullets when they have to face 'em, for we've a hornets' nest over yonder. get sober, level-headed fellows who know how to fight---men of good judgment and nerve. pay 'em what's right. you know the state of wages around here. while you're at dugout, jim, pick out a two-mule team and a good, dependable wagon for carting supplies. put all the chuck aboard that you think we'll need for the next two or three weeks. i'll give you, also, a list of digging tools and some of the explosives that we'll need in shaft sinking. while you're in dugout, jim, pick up two good ponies, with saddles and bridles. i guess i'd better write down some of these instructions, hadn't i?" "and write down the street corner where i'm to pick up the money, mr. reade," begged ferrers dryly. "you can't do much in the credit line in nevada." "the street corner where you're to find the money, eh, jim?" smiled tom. "yes; i believe i can do that, too. you know the map of dugout, don't you?" "'course." "you know where to find the corner of palace avenue and mission street?" "sure." "on one of those four corners," tom continued, "you'll find the dugout city bank." "i've seen the place," nodded ferrers, "but i never had any money in it." "you will have, one of these days," smiled tom, taking out a fountain pen and shaking it. next he drew a small, oblong book from an inside pocket, and commenced writing on one of the pages. this page he tore out and handed ferrers. "what's this?" queried the guide. "that's an order on the dugout city bank to hand you one thousand dollars." ferrers stared at the piece of paper incredulously. "what'll the feller pay me in?" he demanded. "lead at twelve cents a pound? and say, will he hand me the lead out of an automatic gun?" "if the paying teller serves you that way," rejoined reade, "you'll have a right to feel peevish about it. but he won't. hazelton and i have the money in bank to stand behind that check." "you have?" inquired ferrers, opening his eyes wide. "fellers at your age have that much money in banks" "and more, too," tom nodded. "did you think, jim, that we had never earned any money?" "well, i didn't know that you probably made more'n eighteen or twenty dollars a week," ferrers declared. "we've made slightly more than that, with two good railroad jobs behind us," tom laughed. "and here's our firm pass-book at the bank, jim. you'll see by it that we have a good deal more than a thousand dollars there. now, you draw the thousand that the check calls for. when you're through you may have some money left. if you do, turn the money in at the bank, have it entered on the pass-book and then bring the book to me." "i'll have to think this over," muttered ferrers, "and you'd better set down most of it in writing so that i won't forget." the smoke from the cook fire brought alf drew in from hiding, his finger-tips stained brown as usual. "now, see here, young man," said tom gravely, "there is no objection to your taking some of your time off with your 'makings,' but ferrers is going away, and you must stay around more for the next two or three days. otherwise, there won't be any meals or any payday coming to you." "is mr. ferrers going to dugout city?" asked alf, with sudden interest. "yes." "say, i'll work mighty hard if you'll advance me fifty cents and let me get an errand done by mr. ferrers." "here's the money," smiled tom, passing over the half dollar. alf was in such haste that he forgot to express his thanks. racing over to jim the little fellow said something in a very low voice. "no; i won't!" roared ferrers. "nothing of the sort!" "does he want you to get the 'makings,' jim!" called tom. "yes; but i won't do it," the guide retorted. "please do," asked tom. "what? _you_ ask me to do it, sir? then all right. i will." "what do you want to do that for?" murmured harry. "let the poor little runt have his 'makings,' if he wants," tom proposed. "but i don't believe that alf will smoke the little white pests very much longer." "you're going to stop him?" "i'm going to make him want to stop it himself," tom rejoined, with a slight grin. alf came back, looking much pleased. "let me feel your pulse," requested reade. "now, let me see your tongue." this much accomplished, tom next turned down the under lid of one of young drew's eyes and gazed at the lack of red there displayed. "i see," remarked reade gravely, "that your nerves are going all to pieces." "i feel fine," asserted alf stolidly. "you must, with your nerves in the state i now find them," retorted the young engineer. "next thing i know you'll be hearing things." click-ick-ick! "wow-ow-wow!" shrieked alf drew, bounding some ten feet away from the low bush near which he had been standing. click-ick-ick-ick! "get away from that bush, mr. reade!" howled the young cigarette fiend. "that rattler will bite you, if you don't." "i didn't hear any rattler," said tom gravely. "did you, harry?" "not a rattle," said hazelton soberly. jim ferrers looked on and grinned behind alf's back. the youngster was trembling. as tom came near him the "rattle" sounded again. within five minutes two more warning "rattles" had been heard near the boy. "the camp must be full of 'em," wailed the terrified boy. "and i'm afraid of rattlers." "so am i, alf," tom assured him, "but i haven't heard one of the reptiles. the trouble is with your nerves, drew. and your nerves are in league with your brain. if you go on smoking cigarettes you won't have any brain. or, if you do, it will be one that will have you howling with fear all the time. why don't you drop the miserable things when you find they're driving you out of your heads" "perh-h-h-haps i will," muttered the boy. after an early supper, jim ferrers rode away. he offered to leave his rifle in camp, but tom protested. "i'd feel responsible for the thing if you left it here, you know, jim. and i don't want to have to keep toting it around all the time you're away." "but suppose dolph gage and his crew come over here, and you're not armed?" "then i'll own up that we haven't anything to shoot with, and ask him to call again," tom laughed. "but don't be afraid, jim. gage and his crew will be anxious, for the next few days, to see whether they can coax us into serving them. they need an engineer over at their stolen claim, and they know it." so ferrers rode away, carrying his rifle across his saddle. alf spent an evening of terror, for the ground around the camp appeared to be full of "rattlers". chapter ix harry does some pitching as tom had surmised, dolph gage was anxious to become friends with the young engineers. "they're only kids," dolph explained to his comrades, "but i've heard that they know their business. if we can get their help for a month, then when they hand in their bill we can give them a wooden check on a cloud bank." "their bill would be a claim against our mine wouldn't it?" asked one of the other men. "maybe," dolph assented. "but, if they try to press it, we can pay it with lead coin." the morning after jim had gone, one of gage's companions stalked into camp. "the boss wants to see you," said this messenger. "whose boss?" tom inquired. "well, maybe he's yours," scowled the messenger. "and maybe you'll be sorry if you fool with him." "i? fool with gage?" inquired reade, opening his eyes in pretended astonishment. "my dear fellow, i've no intention of doing anything of the sort." "then you'll come over to our camp, right away?" "nothing like it," tom replied. "kindly present my compliments to your boss, and tell him that i have another appointment for today." "you'd better come over," warned the fellow. "you heard what i said, didn't you?" reade inquired. "there'll sure be trouble," insisted the fellow, scowling darkly. "there's always trouble for those who are looking for it," tom rejoined smilingly. "is dolph gage hunting it?" "you'll find out, if you don't come over!" "really," argued reade, "we've disposed of that subject, my dear fellow. have you any other business here! if not, you'll excuse us. mr. hazelton and i are to be gone for the day." "going prospecting?" "we're going minding," smiled reade. "mining?" repeated the visitor. "mining what?" "we are going off to mind our own business," tom drawled. "good morning." "then you're not coming over to our place?" "no!" shouted harry hazelton, losing patience. "what do you want?" "as you will observe, friend," suggested tom, smiling at the messenger, "my partner has well mastered the lesson that a soft answer is a soother." "are you going to leave our camp?" harry demanded, as the visitor squatted on the ground. "if you two are going away," scowled the other, "you'll need some one to stay and watch the camp. i'll stay for you." "come on, harry!" tom called, starting away under the trees. alf drew had already gone. breakfast being over the young cigarette fiend had no notion of staying in camp for a share in any trouble that might be brewing. "why on earth are you leaving the camp at that fellow's mercy?" quivered harry indignantly, as he and tom got just out of earshot of the visitor. "because i suspect," reade returned, "that he and his crowd want to steal our assaying outfit." "and you're leaving the coast clear for that purpose?" hazelton gasped in high dudgeon. "now, harry, is that all you know about me?" questioned his partner, reproachfully. "listen. around here you'll find plenty of stones of a throwing size. just fill your pockets, your hands---your hat. creep in close to camp and hide. if you see 'mr. sulky' poking his nose into anything in our camp---the furnace, for instance, or the assay balance, then just drop a stone so near to him that it will make him jump. be careful that you don't drop a stone on that balance. you used to be a pretty fair pitcher, and i believe you can drop a stone where you want." "and what will you be doing?" asked harry curiously. "oh, i'll be keeping out of harm's way, i promise you," laughed tom reade. "humph! yes, it would be like you to put me into danger and to leave yourself out of it, wouldn't it?" mocked harry hazelton, unbelievingly. "well, i'll try to make good use of my time, harry, old fellow. for one thing, if you haunt camp and keep gage's crowd busy, then you'll keep them from following or watching me. don't you see?" "no; i don't see," grunted hazelton. "but what i do suspect is that you have something up your sleeve that i may not find out for two or three days to come. yet, whatever it is, it will be for our mutual good. i can depend upon you, tom reade! go ahead; go as far as you like." "get the stones gathered up, then, and get back to camp," counseled reade. "don't lose too much time about it, for gage's rascal may be able to do a lot of harm in the two or three minutes that you might be late in getting back." harry industriously picked up stones. hardly had he started when tom reade silently vanished. "well, i'm glad, anyway, that tom doesn't want us both away from camp while he's doing something," reflected hazelton, as he began to move cautiously back. "there wouldn't be any camp by noon if we were both away." even before he secured his first glimpse of camp, harry heard some one moving about there. "the rascal must feel pretty sure that we're both fools enough to be away," quivered hazelton indignantly. "what on earth is he doing, anyway?" then the young engineer crawled in close enough to get an excellent view of what was going on. "well, of all the impudence!" choked harry, balancing a stone nicely in his right hand. first of all the visitor had rounded up all the firewood into one heap. now, to this combustible material the fellow was bringing a side of bacon and a small bag of flour. these he dropped on the firewood, then went back for more of the camp's food supply. "just wait," scowled hazelton. "oh, my fine fellow, i'll make your hands too hot for holding other people's property!" over the brush arched a stone. hazelton had been a pitcher in his high school days, and no mistake. the descending stone fell smack across the back of the fellow's right hand. "that's right! howl!" cried harry, exultantly. "now, for a surprise." the second stone flew with better speed, carrying away the fellow's hat without hitting his head. "hey, you, stop that!" roared the fellow. from behind the bushes all was quiet. the camp prowler stood up straight, staring to see whence the next stone would come. after nearly two minutes he bent to pick up the case of biscuit that he had dropped. smack! even as his nearer hand touched the box a sharp stone struck the back of that hand, cutting a gash and causing the blood to spurt. "i'll have your scalp for that!" howled the enraged man. making a pretty good guess at the direction from which the stone had come, the fellow started toward the brush on a run. "here's where you get all of yours!" chuckled harry hazelton. still crouching he let three stones fly one after the other. the first struck the prowler in the mouth, the second on the end of the nose and the third over the pit of his stomach. "you two-legged gatling gun!" howled the fellow, shaking with rage and pain. he halted, shaking his fist in the direction from which the stones had come. another lot of stones flew toward him. the prowler waited no longer, but turned, making for gage's camp as fast as he could go. "that ought to hold those rascals for a little while," speculated harry. "but, of course, there'll be a come-back. what'll they do to me now, i wonder?" by way of precaution hazelton cautiously shifted to another hiding place. within fifteen minutes he saw the same prowler stealing back into camp. when the fellow was near enough, harry let fly a stone that dropped near the rascal's toes. "hey, you stop that, or i'll make you wish you had!" roared the fellow, shaking his fist. harry's answer was to drive two more stones in, sending them close to the fellow, yet without hitting him. again the man shouted at him, though he did not attempt to come any nearer to so expert a thrower of stones. then, suddenly, just behind him, harry hazelton heard a sound. in the next instant two men hurled themselves upon the young engineer, pinning him to the ground. "i ought to have suspected this!" grunted harry inwardly, as he fought back with all his strength. he might have succeeded in slipping away from the two men who sought to pin him down, but the third man, still aching from contact with harry's missiles, now darted into the scrimmage, striking several hard blows. harry was presently conquered and tied. "take the cub to his own camp!" sounded the exultant voice of dolph gage. "with one of the pair tied, it won't be hard to handle the other whenever he happens along." chapter x tom's fighting blood surges "take another hitch of rope around that young steer," dolph ordered, after he had flung harry violently to the ground. "he wont get away as he is," replied one of the other two men. "maybe not, but take an extra roping, as i told you," was gage's tart retort. so another length of line was passed around hazelton, until he felt as though he had been done up in network. "now; we'll give your partner a chance to show up," muttered gage, throwing himself on the ground. "you young fellers will have to learn the lesson that you're thirty miles from anywhere, and that we rule matters around here. we're going to keep on ruling, too, in this strip of nevada." "are you?" grimaced hazelton. "then, my friend, allow me to tell you that you are making the mistake of trying to reckon without tom reade!" "is that your partner's name?" jeered dolph gage. "a likely enough boy, from what i've heard of him. but he isn't old enough to understand nevada ways." "no, perhaps not," harry admitted ironically. "so far tom has gotten his training only in colorado and in arizona. i begin to realize that he isn't bright enough to have his own way among the bright men of nevada. but reade learns rapidly---don't forget that!" "huh!" growled gage. "the young cub seems to think that he has come out here to take charge of the range. according to his idea he has only to pick out what he wanted here; and take it. he never seems to understand that gold belongs to the first man who finds it. i was on this range long before reade was out of school." "and he doesn't object to your staying here," remarked hazelton calmly. "that's good of him, i'm sure," snapped gage. "i've no objection to his staying here, either. fact is, i'm going to encourage both of you to stay here." "encourage us?" grinned harry. "well, then, i'm going to make you stay here, if you like that word any better." "that will be more difficult," suggested hazelton. "first of all, we're going to tote your assay outfit over to our camp. you won't be able to do much without that. look around a bit, eb," added dolph, turning to one of his companions. "perhaps you'd better get the furnace out first. two of you can carry it. i wish we had our other man back from dugout. we need hands here." "can't you use some of my muscle in helping you to loot our camp?" suggested hazelton, ironically. "i'm fairly strong, you know." "yes; i know you are. that's why we've tied you up," growled gage. the man addressed as eb had taken the other fellow aside, and they were now lifting the assay furnace in order to decide how heavy it was. "it doesn't weigh much over a hundred and fifty pounds," called out dolph gage. "two men like you can get it over to camp. and bring over our guns, too. it was a mistake to leave 'em over in camp." gage watched until the pair were out of sight among the trees. "hurry, you men!" gage roared after them. then he started in to nose around the camp. as he passed a clump of bushes there was a slight stir among them. then tom reade leaped forth. in a twinkling dolph gage had been caught up. he was in the grip of a strong, trained football player. "drop me!" ordered gage, with a slight quiver in his voice. "i'm going to," agreed tom, hurling the fellow fully a dozen feet. with an oath gage leaped to his feet. before he was fairly tom reade's fist caught him in the left eye, sending him to earth once more. "is that the way you fight, you young cub?" roared gage hoarsely. "i can fight harder if you want me to," tom retorted, as the other again got to his feet. "now, put your hands up, and i'll show you." tom went at it hammer and tongs. he was a splendidly built young athlete, and boxing was one of his strong points, though he rarely allowed himself to get into a fight. indeed, his usually abounding good nature made all fighting disagreeable to him. now, however, he drove in as though dolph gage were a punching-bag. "stand up, man, and fight as though you had some sand in you!" tom ordered. "get up steam, and defend yourself." "i have had enough," gage gasped. indeed, his face looked as though he had. "are you a baby?" reade demanded contemptuously. "can't you fight with anything but your tongue!" "you wait and i'll show you," snarled the badly battered man. "what's the need of waiting?" tom jeered, and swung in another blow that sent gage to the ground. "eh! josh!" bellowed gage, with all the breath he had left. "hustle o-o-o-over here!" "let 'em come!" vaunted reade. "you'll be done for long before they can get here." "i'll have you killed when they get here with the guns!" cried gage hoarsely. tom continued to punish his opponent. then dolph, on regaining his feet, sought to run. tom let him go a few steps, then bounded after him with the speed of the sprinter. gage was caught by the shoulders, swung squarely around, and soundly pummelled. "let up! let up!" begged gage. "i'm beaten. i admit it." "beaten, perhaps, but not punished enough," retorted tom. as dolph would no longer stand up, reade threw himself upon the fellow and pummelled him fearfully. "this is no fair fight," protested gage, now fairly sobbing in his pain and terror, for good-humored reade seemed to him now to be the impersonation of destroying, fury. "fair fight?" echoed reade. "of course it isn't. this is a chastisement. you villain, you've done nothing but annoy us and shoot at us ever since we've met you. you've got to stop it after this; do you understand?" "i'll stop it---i'll stop it. please stop yourself," begged gage, now thoroughly cowed. "i'll wager you'll stop," gritted tom. "i've never hammered a man before as i've hammered you, and i'm not half through with you. by the time i am through with you you'll slink into a corner every time you see me coming near. you scoundrel, you bully!" tom's fists continued to descend. dolph's tone changed from one of entreaty to one of dire threats. he would spend the rest of his life, he declared, in dogging reade's tracks until he succeeded in killing the boy. "that doesn't worry me any. you'll experience a change of heart---see if you don't," tom rejoined grimly, as he added to the pounding that the other was receiving. harry hazelton had struggled to his feet, though he had been unable to free his hands from the cords that held them behind his back. "you're not talking quite the way you did a few minutes ago, gage," harry put in dryly. "you'll see---both of you young pups!" moaned the battered wretch. "ask any one, and they'll tell you that dolph gage never overlooks a pounding such as i've had." "and you got it from the boy that you were going to teach something," jeered hazelton, "gage, you know a little more about tom reade, now, don't your?" then harry straightened up, as he caught sight of moving objects in the distance. "get through with him, tom" advised the other young engineer. "i see eb and josh coming on the run. they'll have the guns. we've got to look out for ourselves." tom flung the badly beaten man from him where he lay on the ground moaning over his hurts and vowing vengeance on tom. "stand still, harry, and i'll have you free in a jiffy," tom proposed, hauling out his pocket knife. "it won't do for us to stand still too long," urged hazelton, as his chum began to slash at the cords. "the other scoundrels will kill us when they see what's been going on here." "no, they won't," tom promised calmly. "we'll take care of 'em both. you wait and see which one i take. then you take the other. we'll handle 'em to the finish." this seemed like foolhardy talk when it was considered that the other two men would return armed. but harry had unlimited confidence in his friend, and so followed tom, crouching, until they had hidden behind bushes along the trail. "where be you, dolph?" called the voice of eb, as the pair drew near. "he's over there," spoke reade, springing out of the bushes. "you'll join him after a bit." neither eb nor josh was armed. tom sailed into eb, while harry sprang at josh. for a few minutes the trail was a scene of swift action, indeed. shortly eb and josh tried to run away, as gage had done, but each time the young engineers caught them and compelled them to renew the fight. "my man's going to sleep, now, harry!" tom called, and drove in a knockout blow with his left. josh swiftly followed eb to the ground. "they'll keep quiet for a little while," declared tom, after a look at each. dolph gage had by this time painfully risen to his feet and came limping slowly down the trail. "you might look after your friends, gage," tom called, pointing. "they need attention." "how did they come to be here?" gasped dolph. "they'll give you full particulars when they have time," tom laughed. "you boys won't feel quite so smart when our turn comes," snarled gage. "not a bit," reade answered. "if you fellows have any sense you'll conclude that you've had about all the settlement that you can stand." gage didn't make any answer. doubtless he concluded that it wouldn't be wise to talk back so he began working over eb and josh, until they showed signs of reviving. "did ye---did ye kill 'em for us, dolph?" gasped josh, as he opened his eyes and beheld the face of his comrade. "no," said gage curtly. "why not?" "shut up!" not many minutes more had passed when eb became conscious. "you fellows can go over to your camp, any time you want," suggested tom. slowly, painfully, the trio started. "i feel almost ashamed of myself," harry muttered. "so do i," tom agreed. "yet what else was there for us to do! we've stood all the nonsense we can from that crowd. they'd have killed us if we hadn't done something to bring them to their senses. now, i believe they'll let us alone." "they'll ambush us," predicted hazelton "well, they won't have any guns to do it with," tom grinned. "why, what became of their guns" "i'm the only fellow on earth who knows," tom laughed. "then you were at their camp?" "of course. my telling you to stone any prowler who visited this place was only a trap. i thought that he'd run off and get the rest of the crew. knowing you to be alone and unarmed, and believing me to be far away prospecting, they didn't imagine that they'd need their rifles. as soon as they left their camp i dropped in and borrowed the rifles and all their ammunition." "where is the stuff now?" "come on and i'll show you." "hold on a minute," begged harry, as tom leaped up. "do you miss anything?" "what?" "our assay furnace. eb and josh carted it away." "then we'll go after that, first," tom smiled. "our friends are so sore that it would be hardly fair to ask them to return the furnace." that missing article was found about halfway between the two camps. tom and harry picked it up, carrying it back to where it had been taken from. "going after the guns, now?" hazelton inquired. "first of all," tom suggested, "i think we had better start a roaring good campfire." "what do we want such a thing as that for?" harry protested. "the day is warm enough." "the fire will be just the thing," laughed tom quietly. "come on and gather the wood with me. alf! oh, you alf drew!" but the cigarette fiend was not in evidence if he heard, he did not answer. "we might as well pay that imitation boy for his time and let him go," muttered harry. "oh, i hardly think so," dissented reade. "it's worth some time and expense to see if we can't make something more nearly resembling a man out of him." the fire was soon crackling merrily. tom led the way to a thicket an eighth of a mile from camp. here he produced from hiding three repeating rifles and several boxes of ammunition. "we'll hold on to these," hazelton said. "for what reason?" "they'll come in handy to steer off that other crowd." "i wouldn't be bothered with keeping the rifles about camp," tom retorted, as they started backward. "but say! gage's man that went to dugout will soon be back. do you forget that he carries a rifle?" "jim ferrers will be back at about the same time," tom rejoined. "they'll have rifles until the camp will look like an outdoor arsenal. we don't want these added rifles around camp. besides, if we kept 'em we'd soon begin to feel like thieves with other folks' property." "what are you going to do with these guns, then?" "by tomorrow," reade proposed, "i rather expect to put these guns out where gage's crew can find them again." "well, you're full of faith in human nature, then!" gasped harry. "wait and see what happens," begged tom. when they stepped back into camp tom threw the magazine of one of the rifles open, extracting the cartridges. then he stepped over and carefully deposited the rifle across the middle of the fire. "i might have known!" cried hazelton. the other two rifles were soon disposed of in the same manner. "let the rifles cook in the fire for an hour," smiled reade," and the barrels will be too crooked for a bullet ever to get through one again." "what are you going to do with the cartridges, though?" "fire a midnight salute with them," tom answered briefly. "wait and you'll hear some noise." alf drew cautiously approached camp when he felt the pangs of hunger. the cigarette fiend must have been satisfied, for tom and harry had already gotten the meal. but reade, without a word of rebuke to their supposed helper, allowed young drew to help himself to all he wanted in the way of hot food and coffee. bringing midnight two hours nearer---that is to say, at ten o'clock, tom and harry, aided this time by alf, built a large fire-pile in a gully at a safe distance from camp. the wood was saturated with oil, a powder flash laid, then tom laid a fuse-train. lighting the fuse, the three speedily decamped. presently they saw the flames of the newly kindled fire shooting up through the trees. then the volleying began, for tom had carefully deposited through the fire-pile all the captured cartridges. for fully five minutes the cartridges continued to explode, in ragged volleys. "it's a regular fourth of july," harry laughed, back in camp. "tom, who's going to take the first trick of watch tonight?" "neither one of us," reade replied. "we'll both get a sound sleep." but the enemy?" "it would take four mules apiece to drag them over here tonight," laughed reade, as he rolled himself up in his blanket. "good night!" chapter xi planning a new move barely were the young engineers astir the following morning when alf drew came racing back with news. "there's a whole slew of men coming, on horseback and on foot!" alf reported. "and a whole train of wagons!" "good enough!" nodded tom. "i hope the new folks camp right close to here. we need good neighbors more than anything else." "but they may belong to gage's crowd," alf insisted. "don't you believe it, lad. dolph gage hasn't money enough to finance a crowd like that." "it may be dunlop's crowd," suggested hazelton. "that's more likely," said tom. "well we'll be glad enough to see dunlop back here with a outfit. this part of the woods will soon be a town, at that rate." "come out where you can get a look a new crowd," urged alf. "if it's any one who wants to be neighborly," reade answered with a shake of his head, "he's bound to stop in and say 'howdy.' we're going to get breakfast now." "then i'll be back soon, and tell you anything i can find out about the new folks," cried alf, darting away. but tom raced after the lad, collaring him. "alf, listen to me. we're not paying you to come in on time to get your meals. you get over there by jim's cooking outfit and be ready to take orders." "humph!" grunted young drew, but he went as directed, for there was nothing else to do. five minutes later mr. dunlop turned his horse's head and rode down into the camp. "howdy, boys!" called the mine promoter. "glad to see you back, mr. dunlop," tom nodded, while harry smiled a welcome. "i've sent my outfit around by the other trail," explained mr. dunlop. "i've brought back men enough to start work in earnest. there will be a mule train here by tomorrow with donkey engines and machinery enough to start the work of mine-digging in earnest. here, boy, take my horse and tie him." as alf led the animal away, mr. dunlop turned to the young engineers with a smile of great amiability. "boys, i'm glad to say that i wired the two railroad presidents you mentioned to me. both wired back, in effect, that my mine was bound to be a success if i turned the engineering problem over to you. so i'm going to accept your offers---hire you at your own figures. i want you to come over to the bright hope claim as soon as you've had breakfast." tom glanced at his chum, then answered, slowly: "i'm sorry, mr. dunlop, sorry indeed, if-----" "what are you trying to say?" demanded the mine promoter sharply. "when you left here, mr. dunlop, we told you that we couldn't agree to hold our offer open." "oh, that's all right. i've come right back and taken up your terms with you," replied the promoter easily. "but i'm sorry to say, sir, that you are too late." "too late? what are you talking about, reade? you haven't entered the employ of any one else not in this wilderness." "we've formed a partnership with ferrers, sir," reade gravely informed mr. dunlop, "and we're going into the mining business on our own account." "nonsense! where's your claim?" "somewhere, sir, in this part of nevada." "you haven't found the claim yet, then?" asked the promoter, with a tinge of relief in his voice. "no, sir. we located a promising claim, but the gage gang tricked us out of it. we'll find another, though." "then you'll prove yourselves very talented young men," scoffed mr. dunlop. "lad, don't you know that i've been all over this country with old-time prospectors? there isn't any claim left that will pay you for the trouble of locating and working it." "we're going to hope for better luck than your words promise us, sir," harry hinted. "you'll have your labor for your pains, then, and the satisfaction of finding yourselves fools," exclaimed dunlop testily. "you'd better drop all that nonsense, and report to me after breakfast." "it's not to be thought of, mr. dunlop," tom replied gravely. "we are here in the land of gold. we think we see our chance to work for ourselves for a while, and we're going to make the most of our chance." "then you're a pair of idiots," quivered indignant dunlop. "we'll be our own fools, then," smiled harry. "i beg your pardon for getting out of patience," spoke mr. dunlop, more gently. "i'm disappointed in you. all the way here i have been planning to get you both at work early. the stockholders in the bright hope are all looking for early results." "couldn't you get hold of an engineer at dugout?" tom inquired. "not one." "then you'll have to go farther---carson city," reade suggested. "there must be plenty of mining engineers in nevada, where their services are so much in demand." "a lot of new claims are being filed these days," explained mr. dunlop. "the best i could learn in dugout was that i'd have to wait until some other mine could spare its man." "i'm sorry we can't help you, sir," tom went on thoughtfully. "i shall feel it a personal grievance, if you don't," snapped the mine promoter. "we can't do anything for you, mr. dunlop," spoke reade decisively. "just as soon as ferrers returns, so that our camp can be taken care of, we three partners are going to hustle out on the prospect. will you have breakfast with us, sir?" mr. dunlop assented, but his mind was plainly on his disappointment all through the meal. even when harry hazelton related how dolph gage and his crew had been served, the mine promoter displayed but little enthusiasm. "by the way, sir," suggested tom, "you are not going to use all of your men today?" "i cannot use any of them for a day or two." "then you might do us a great favor by sending a few of your men over here. i expect that gage's absent comrade will return at any time. he will have his rifle, and one gun in the hands of a marksman, might be enough to make considerable trouble around here." "you ask me a favor, and yet you won't work for me," complained their guest. "i think we did you a favor, once upon a time, by helping to chase off the gage crowd at a critical time for you," said tom bluntly. "however, if you don't wish-----" "i'll send half a dozen men over here until ferrers returns," interjected mr. dunlop hastily. the men reported to tom and harry within half an hour. a few minutes after their arrival harry espied dolph gage's absent man galloping over to the gage claim. "there would have been trouble, if we hadn't shown a few armed men here," muttered hazelton. "there's some excitement in that camp, as it is," exclaimed tom, who had a pair of binoculars at his eyes. "gage, eb and josh are crowding around the new arrival. take the glasses, harry. note how excited they are about something." "gage is stamping about and looking wild," harry reported. "he looks as though, for two cents, he'd tear his hair out. and eb has thrown his hat on the ground and is stamping on it. i wonder what the trouble can be?" two hours later jim ferrers rode into camp at the head of his new outfit. he had the two-mule team and wagon, and seven men, all miners and armed. two of the men rode the ponies that reade had instructed jim to buy. "jim," called tom, as he ran toward their mining party, "have you any idea what's wrong with the gage crowd?" "i've a small notion," grinned the guide. "the man who was sent over couldn't file their claim to the ridge." "couldn't file it! why not?" "because every man in that crowd has exhausted his mineral land privileges taking up claims elsewhere." "why, then, man alive!" gasped tom, halting, a look of wonder on his face, and then a grin of realization, "if they can't file the claim to that strip, why can't we!" "we can, if we're quick enough," ferrers answered. "i tried to file the claim while i was over in dugout, but the clerk at the mining claim office said he 'lowed that we'd have to have our declaration tacked up on the ridge first of all." "that'll take us a blessed short time," muttered reade. "harry and i have all the particulars we need for writing out the notice of claim. get some breakfast on the jump, jim, and we'll hustle over there." "i had my breakfast before i rode in here," errors answered, his eyes shining. "i'd a-missed my guess, mr. reade, if you hadn't been ready for prompt action." "then there's no reason, jim, under mining customs, why we shouldn't ride over there and stake out that claim?" "not a reason on earth, mr. reade, except that gage will probably put up a big fight." "let him!" added tom, in a lower voice. "take it from me, jim ferrers, that claim on the ridge yonder is worth all kinds of fight. here, get the horses saddled again, while harry and i write our notice in record-breaking time for legible penmanship." tom's eyes were gleaming in a way that they had not done in months. for, despite his former apparent indifference to the trick gage had played on them, tom reade would have staked his professional reputation on the richness of the ridge claim. "it's gold, harry---gold!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, in his chum's ear. "it's gold enough to last us through life if we work it hard from the start." "we'll have to kill a few men before we can get gage off that ridge, though," hazelton predicted. "it's gold, i tell you, harry. when the gold-craze gets into a fellow's blood nothing but gold can cure it. we won't kill any one, and we'll hope not to be killed ourselves. but that claim was our discovery, and now the way is clear for us to own that strip of nevada dirt. gold, harry, old chum---gold!" then they fell to writing. harry did the pen work while reade dictated rapidly. if engineer tom reade had been briefly excited he did not betray the fact when he stepped outside the tent. "horses saddled, mr. reade," announced ferrers. "i s'pose you're going to take some of the boys over with us, in case gage tries to put up any shooting bluff?" "yes," nodded tom. "but don't take with us any fellow who is hot-blooded enough to do any real shooting." "it'll take real shooting to get gage's crew off that ridge," ferrers warned the young engineer. "all men get gold crazy when they find their feet on a claim. dolph gage will fight while he has breath left. don't try to go over there, sir, if you're not satisfied to have a little shooting done at need." "we're going over," declared tom, the lines about his mouth tightening, "and we're going to take the claim for our own, as long as we have the legal right to do so. but i hope there won't have to be any gun-powder burned. killing belongs only to one line of business---war!" chapter xii new owners file a claim dolph gage, after his richly deserved battering of the day before, presented a sorry-looking sight as he stood near the notice of his claim location. in his right hand he gripped the only rifle there now was in his outfit, the one brought back by the man who had been to dugout. jim ferrers, rifle resting across the front of his saddle, rode at the head of the reade-hazelton party as that outfit reached the edge of the claim. on either side of the guide, just to the rear, rode tom and harry. behind them tramped four men armed with rides, the other two men carrying a board, stakes and a hammer. "the first man who sets foot on this claim dies!" shouted dolph gage hoarsely. "same thing for any man who raises a rifle against us," ferrers called back. "gage, i want only a good excuse for taking one honest shot at you!" the moment was tense with danger. heedless of the black looks of dolph, tom dug his heels into his pony's flanks, moving forward at a trot. "gage," called the young engineer, steadily, "i think you have been in wrong often enough. this time i am sure that you will want to keep on the right side." "you keep on the right side by staying off the claim!" gage ordered, but at that instant reade rode over the boundary. for an instant no man could guess who would fire the first shot. gage was angry and desperate enough to fire and take great chances. had he fired at that moment there was no doubt that he would have been killed at the next breath. something stuck in gage's throat. he did not raise his rifle, but instead he growled: "you're a fine lot, to bring a small army against one man!" "we have as much right here, gage, as you have, spoke tom, steadily. "what do you want here!" "we have come to look this claim over." "get off, then. you have no right here." "you know, quite well, gage, that we have as much right here as you have," tom rejoined easily. "we are quite well aware that your man failed to file the claim because all of you have exhausted your mineral rights under the law. "so you think you can come here and take it from us, do you?" glared gage, his face livid with passion. "we have just the same right to this claim now that any man has who has any mineral rights left under the law," reade made answer. "but you haven't. i'm going to get this claim yet," gage insisted. "i've sent for a friend who hasn't taken up any mineral rights yet. he will file the claim. see here!" gage moved aside, displaying a new board, on which a notice had been written. "that's signed with the name of the man the claim belongs to now," declared gage, triumphantly. tom handed his bridle to harry, then dismounted, bending over to scan the new notice. it was a duplicate of the former one, except that the new signature was that of one, joseph pringle. "where is pringle?" tom demanded. "none of your business." "but you see," explained the young engineer dryly, "it happens to be my business." from under his coat reade drew forth a folding camera. quickly opening and focussing he held the camera close, pressing the bulb. "that photograph will enlarge to almost any size," tom declared. "now, then, gage, do you claim that this strip has been claimed by one, pringle?" "i do," scowled gage, "and pringle is our partner. we're going to work this claim with him, and you're trespassing." "is that pringle's own signature?" tom insisted. "none of your business!" "you've given me that same kind of an answer before," tom smiled. "as it happens, this is our business. gage, the writing of that notice looks exactly like your writing, and pringle's alleged signature is in the same hand-writing. if you've signed pringle's name---and i charge that you have---then that notice has no legal value whatever. recollect, i have a photograph of the notice and signature, and that this notice in turn, so that you may remember that the writing throughout is the same that my photograph is going to reveal." jim ferrers quickly came forward. gage stepped squarely in front of the board holding the notice. but tom took a swift step forward. gage, shaking, drew back out of possible reach of reade's fists. then, one after the other, the other members of tom's party inspected the writing. "much good may it do you!" jeered dolph gage harshly. "you'll find that this claim is ours!" "look at what that cub is doing!" broke in eb excitedly, pointing to harry. unobserved at first by others, hazelton had slipped back of the crowd. now he was placing a board in position, and that board announced the fact that jim ferrers had staked out this strip for himself. "take that down!" raged gage, as soon as he saw the new board and paper. "it won't do you any good." "we'll take a chance on it, anyway, and watch it for a few days," jim declared. "are you through with me now, mr. reade?" "certainly," nodded tom. mounting his horse, jim ferrers rode away at an easy gait. "this is a mean trick to try to play on us, reade," snarled gage. "if you hadn't played a mean trick on us, and staked this place off while you knew we were making the assay of ore taken from here," rejoined tom, "then we might be inclined to waive the purely legal side of the case and give you a fair chance to get your friend pringle here. but you must remember that you tricked us out of this claim in the first place, and now you have no right at all to complain. this claim now stands in jim ferrers's name, and so it will continue to stand." "go ahead," snarled gage. "try to take ore out of here. no man shall be a partner in this claim and live to spend any of the money he gets out of this mine! i've said it, and i'll pledge myself to back it up." "and you've made that threat before witnesses, also, gage. remember that," tom advised sternly. "and all the time you're chinning, dolph," broke in josh, "jim ferrers is riding hard for dugout city to file the new claim entry!" "if he is, something may happen to him on the way!" raged dolph, wheeling about like a flash. his saddle horse, ready for action, stood tied to a tree near by. gage leaped into his saddle after he had freed the horse. "boss, he's going after ferrers, to do him harm on the road," hoarsely whispered one of tom's new miners. "are you going to let the scoundrel start?" "yes," nodded tom coolly, "at ferrers's special request. he didn't want gage stopped from trying to overtake him." gage was now galloping away. "you've seen the last of ferrers," jeered josh, after gage had vanished in the distance. "perhaps we've seen the last of one of the men," replied reade coldly. chapter xiii jim tries the new way "i've attended to the firm's business," exclaimed jim ferrers, wrathfully, on his return to camp. "i filed the papers at dugout city, and the claim now stands in my name, though it belongs to the firm. and now, having attended to the firm's business, i'm going out to settle some of my own." "what business is that!" tom inquired over the supper table. it was three days after the morning on which ferrers had ridden away. "that mongrel dog, dolph gage, took a shot at me this afternoon!" ferrers exploded wrathfully. "i'd ought to have gotten him years ago. now i'm going to drop all other business and find the fellow." "what for?" tom inquired innocently. "what for?" echoed jim, then added, ironically: "why, i want to do the hyena a favor, of course." "if you go out to look for him, you're not going armed, are you?" reade pursued. "armed?" repeated ferrers, with withering sarcasm. "oh, no, of course not. i'm going to ride up to him with my hands high in the air and let him take a shot at me." "jim," drawled tom, "i'm afraid there's blood in your eye---and not your own blood, either." "didn't that fellow kill my brother in a brawl?" demanded ferrers. "hasn't he pot-shotted at me? and didn't he do it again this afternoon?" "why didn't the law take up gage's case when your brother was killed?" tom inquired. "well, you see, mr. reade," ferrers admitted, "my brother had a hasty temper, and he drew first---but gage fired the killing shot." "so that the law would say that gage fired in self-defense, eh?" "that's what a coroner's jury did say," jim admitted angrily. "but my brother was a young fellow, and hot-headed. gage knew he could provoke the boy into firing, and then, when the boy missed, gage drilled him through the head." "i don't want to say anything unkind, jim," reade went on, thoughtfully. "please don't misunderstand me. but, as i understand the affair, if your brother hadn't been carrying a pistol he wouldn't have been killed?" "perhaps not," ferrers grudgingly admitted. "then the killing came about through the bad practice of carrying a revolver?" "bad practice!" snorted jim. "well, if that's a bad practice more'n half the men in the state have the vice." "popular custom may not make a thing right," argued reade. "but what are you going to do when the men who have a grudge against you pack guns?" jim queried, opening his eyes very wide. "i've had a few enemies---bad ones, too, some of them," tom answered slowly. "yet i've always refused to carry an implement of murder, even when i've been among rough enemies. and yet i'm alive. if i had carried a pistol ever since i came west i'm almost certain that i'd be dead by this time." "but if you won't carry a gun, and let folks suspect you of being a white-flagger, then you get the reputation of being a coward," argued ferrers. "then i suppose i've been voted a coward long ago," reade nodded. "no, by the great nugget, you're not a coward," retorted ferrers. "no man who has seen you in a tough place will ever set you down for a coward." "yet i must be, if i don't tote a gun in a wild country," smiled reade. "but to go back to the case of that good-for-nothing, dolph gage," jim ferrers resumed. "you advise me to forget that he shot at me?" "oh, no, i don't," tom retorted quietly. "but you don't have to go out and take your own revenge. there are laws in this state, aren't there?" "of course." "and officers to execute the laws" "to be sure." "then why not go back to dugout city, there to lay information against gage. that done, the sheriff's officers will have to do the hunting. having nothing personal against the officers, gage will very likely hold up his hands when the officers find him, and then go back with them as peaceable as a lamb. jim, you want to be even with gage for shooting your brother and for trying to finish you. won't it give you more satisfaction to feel that you've put gage day for his bread and water? i know that is the way i'd want to punish a man that i had cause to hate. at least, i believe it's the way; i don't really know, for i can't recall any man that i hate hard enough to wish him worse than out of my sight." "say, it would be kinder funny to go up to the state 'pen' some day, and see dolph gage walking lock-step with a lot of rascally chinamen, drunken indians, knife-sticking foreigners and sassy bill-collectors, wouldn't it?" grinned jim ferrers. "i'm glad your sense of humor is improving," smiled tom reade. "now, tomorrow, morning, jim, you take two of the other men, and our ponies, and ride into dugout. if you run across gage don't try to pick up any trouble. of course, i don't mean to say that you shouldn't shoot in self-defense if you're attacked, but try, if possible, to keep out of any trouble with gage. just save him for the sheriff. it's the law's business to handle such fellows. let the law have its own way." "i'll do it," promised ferrers. "putting it the way you've done, mr. reade, it doesn't seem like such a baby trick to use the sheriff instead of killing the hyena, myself. yes; i'll sure leave it to the law. if dolph gage gets caught and sent to the 'pen' i'll sure go there on some visiting day and see how he looks in his striped suit!" instead of being offended, it was plain that ferrers was in high good humor. he went about camp whistling that night, and with a cheery word for everyone. camp had been moved over to the ridge, and the young engineers were ready to begin blasting operations the following morning. ferrers was no longer concerned with cooking, he having engaged a man to do that work. the new man kept a sharp eye on alf drew, making that youngster do a really honest day's work every day in the week. "i hate to take two men from you, mr. reade right at the start of operations," complained jim, the next morning at breakfast. "i don't need two men, either, to protect me." "i don't need the two men here, either, jim for a few days. as for you, you don't know how many men you are going to need. all three of gage's partners have vanished, and i'm sure that they're together somewhere out on the range. they undoubtedly have rifles again, at that, and if you meet them, three men won't be any too many to stand off those four rascals." tom watched the trio of horsemen out of sight in the morning. "if jim doesn't lose his head that trip will mean that we shall see the last of dolph gage," mused the young engineer. for once tom reade was in grave error, as subsequent events proved. "it's ten minutes of seven," harry reminded him. "get ready, men," tom shouted to their few laborers, who were enjoying a few minutes leisure after breakfast. at seven o'clock the young engineers and their handful of toilers moved over to the point in the outcropping vein of ore that reade had selected for their first blast. a small portable engine had already been fired, and all was ready for turning on the steam drill. twenty minutes later a satisfactory boring had been made. "bring up the dynamite," called tom. "are you going to pack the charge?" harry inquired. "yes," nodded tom, and received the stick of dynamite from the miner who brought it. while this was being made ready, hazelton superintended the laying of the wires to the magneto battery. all was soon in readiness. "the red flag is up," tom shouted. the dynamite had been rather loosely tamped home, for young reade wanted to begin with light rending force and work up, through successive blasts, to just the proper amount of force. "get back, everybody!" reade called, and there was a flying of feet. tom was last to leave the spot. he ran over to where harry stood at a safe distance. "pump her up, harry," nodded the young chief engineer. "you watch me, and see just how i run this magneto," hazelton said to one of their men who stood near by. "this will be your job after we've fired a few charges. i want you to get the hang of the trick." harry worked the handle of the magneto up and down. bang! over where the drilling had been done a mass of dirt and rock was shot up into the air. "what are you running so fast for, harry?" laughed tom, as he pursued his chum back to the scene of the blast. "i want to see if we stirred up any real ore. i want to know if our claim is worth the grub it takes to feed the men," was hazelton's almost breathless response. chapter xiv the cook learns a lessen arrived on the spot it took tom only a moment to estimate that considerably less than a quarter of a ton of ore had been loosened from the rock bed by the blast. "we'll drill six inches deeper next time, and put in fifty per cent. more dynamite," reade decided. the men brought up the drill and set it, after which the engineer was signaled. harry, in the meantime, was down on his hands and knees, curiously turning over the small, loose bits of rock. "stung, if this stuff proves anything," sighed hazelton. "you can't judge by one handful, harry," tom told him. "besides, we may have to get down twenty, or even fifty feet below surface before we strike any pay-stuff. don't look for dividends in the first hour. i've been told that gold-mining calls for more sporting blood than any other way in which wealth can be pursued." "but i don't find a bit of color in this stuff," harry muttered. "if we're on the top of a vein of gold it seems to me that we ought to find a small speck of yellow here and there." a dozen blasts were made that morning. when the men knocked off at noon harry hazelton's face bore a very serious expression. "tom," he murmured to his partner, "i'm afraid we have a gold brick of a gold mine." "it's an even chance," nodded reade. "and think of all the money---out of our savings---we've sunk in this thing." "i hope you're not going to get scared as early as this," protested tom. "why, before we even get in sight of pay-rock we may have to sink every dollar of our savings." "then hadn't we better get out of it early, and go to work for some one who pays wages?" questioned hazelton. "yes," tom shot out, quickly, "if that's the way you feel about it." "but do you feel differently, tom?" "i'm willing to risk something, for the sake of drawing what may possibly turn out to be the big prize in the mining lottery." "but all our savings," cried harry, aghast. "that seems like a foolish risk, doesn't it?" "if you say so, i'll draw out now," tom proposed. "what do you think about it?" "if all the money at stake were mine," reade said slowly, "then i'd hang on as long as i had a penny left to invest." "tom reade, i believe you're turning gambler at heart!" "i intend to be a good, game business man, if that's what you mean by gambling. but see here, harry, i don't want to pull your money into this scheme if you feel that you'd rather hold on to what you have." "if you're going to stay in, tom, then so am i. i'm not the kind of fellow to go back on a chum's investment." "but if we lose all we've saved then you'll feel-----" "don't argue any more, tom," begged hazelton. "i'm going to be game. you've voted, old fellow, to stay by this claim as long as you can, and that's enough for me." "but if we lose all our savings," tom urged. he had now become the cautious one. "if we lose them, we lose them," declared hazelton. "and we're both of us young enough to be able to save more before we're seventy-five or eighty years old. go ahead, tom. i'm one of the investors here, but the whole game is in your hands. go as far as you like and i'll stand back of you." "but-----" "say no more. tom, i shall try never again to be a quitter. whoop! let the money slip! we'll make the old mine a dividend payer before we are through with it." that afternoon about a dozen and a half more blasts were laid and fired. some five hundred feet of the surface of the vein had been lightly blasted, and several tons of ore thrown up. "i wouldn't call it ore, though," muttered harry to himself. "i don't believe this rook holds gold enough to put a yellow plating on a cent." "it does look rather poor, doesn't it, harry?" tom asked, trying to speak blithely. "humph! we've got to go deeper than this before we can expect to loosen rock worth thirty dollars to the ton," harry declared cheerily. "oh, we'll surely strike pay-rock in big lots after a while," predicted reade, smiling happily and whistling merrily as he strode away. "i'm glad harry has his courage with him and his hopes high," reade added to himself. "i'm glad tom is so cheerful and positive," thought hazelton. "i'll do my best to help him keep in that frame of mind; though, for myself, i believe we would make more money if we stood on a cliff and tossed pennies into the ocean." "i'm glad to see that all your high hopes have returned," declared tom, at supper that evening. "oh, i've got the gold fever for fair," laughed hazelton. "tom, how are we going to spend the money when we get it?" "a new house for the folks at home will take some of my money, when i get it," tom declared, his eyes glowing. "any old thing that the folks take a fancy to will catch my share of the gold," harry promised. "but, of course, we'll wait until we get it." "you haven't any doubts about getting the gold, have you?" "not a doubt. have you?" "i'm an optimist," harry asserted. "what's your idea of an optimist, anyway?" laughed tom. "an optimist is a fellow who believes that banknotes grow on potato vines," laughed harry. "oh, we'll get our gold all right," reade predicted. "we will, and a lot more. tom, you and i still have mineral rights that we can file, with ferrers as trustee." "we'll go prospecting for two more bully claims just as soon as we begin to see pay-rock coming out of this vein," tom planned. "alf, you lazy cigarette fiend, hurry up and bring me some more of the canned meat." "bring me another cup of coffee on the jump," called harry. "while you're about it make it two cups of coffee." as soon as he had brought the required things alf tried slyly to slip away by himself, for he had already had his own supper. "here, you son of the shiftless one, get back here and drag the grub to this table," yelled one of the men at the miners' table. after that alf remained on duty until all hands had been fed. then he tried to slip away again, only to be roped by a lariat in the hands of the new cook. "let me catch you trying to sneak away from work again, and i'll cowhide you with this rope," growled the cook. "why are you trying to sneak away before your work is finished?" "i'm almost dead for a smoke," said alf. "smoke, is it? you stay here and wash the dishes. don't try to get away again until i tell you you can go. if you do---but you won't," finished the cook grimly. alf worked away industriously. at last this outdoor kitchen work was finished. "now i can go, can't i?" spoke up alf, hopefully. "say, i'm perishing for want of a smoke." "stay and have a man's smoke with me," said the cook. "here, hold this between your teeth." alf drew back, half-shuddering from the blackened clay pipe, filled with strong tobacco, which the cook passed him. "you're always itching to be a man," mocked the cook. "and now's your chance. a pipe is a man's smoke. them cigs are fit only for 'sheeters." "i don't wanter smoke it," pleaded alf, drawing back from the proffered pipe. "you take matches, light that pipe and smoke it," insisted the cook, a man named leon, in a tone that compelled obedience. poor alf smoked wretchedly away. finally, when he thought leon wasn't looking, he tried to hide the pipe. "here, you keep that a-going!" ordered the cook wrathfully, wheeling upon the miserable youngster. so alf puffed up, feebly, and, when the pipe went out, he lighted the tobacco again. "here!" he protested, three minutes later, handing back the pipe. "smoke it!" gruffed leon. "i---i don't wanter." "smoke it!" "i---i can't," pleaded alf drew, the ghastly pallor of his face bearing out his assertion. "you smoke that pipe, or i'll-----" "you can kill me, if you wanter," gasped, alf, feeling far more ill than he had ever felt in his life before. "i don't care---but i won't smoke that pipe. there!" he flung it violently to the ground, smashing the pipe. "you little-----" began the cook, making a leap after the youngster. but alf, his sense of self-preservation still being strong, fled with more speed than might have been looked for in one so ill. tom reade, passing a clump of bushes, and hearing low moans, stopped to investigate. he found the little cigarette fiend stretched out on the ground, his face drawn and pale. "what on earth is the matter, mosquito?" inquired reade, with more sympathy than his form of speech attested. "oh, dear!" wailed alf. "so i gathered," said tom dryly. "but who got behind you and scared you in that fashion?" "o-o-oh, dear!" "you said that before; but what's up?" "at first i was afraid i was going to die," alf declared tremulously. "yes?" "and now i'm afraid i won't die!" alf sat up shivering convulsively. "now, alf," tom pursued, "tell me just what happened." by degrees the young engineer extracted the information that he was after. bit by bit alf told the tale, interspersing his story with dismal groans. "i always told you, alf, that smoking would do you up if you ever tackled it," reade said gravely. "but i have smoked for a year," alf protested. "oh, no," tom contradicted him. "the use of cigarettes isn't smoking. it's just mere freshness on the part of a small boy. but smoking---that's a different matter, as you've found out. now, alf, i hope you've learned a needed lesson, and that after this you'll let tobacco alone. while you're about it you might as well quit cigarettes, too. but i'm going to change your job. don't go back to the cook. instead, report to me in about an hour." then tom strode forward. after he had left young drew there was an ominous flash in the young engineer's eyes. he strode into camp and went straight to the cook's shack. "leon," tom demanded, "what have you been doing to that poor little shrimp of a helper?" the cook turned around, grinning. "i've been teaching him something about smoking," the man admitted. "so i've heard," said tom. "that's why i've dropped in here---to tell you what i think about it." "if you're going to get cranky," warned the cook, angrily, "you needn't take the trouble." "punishing alf isn't your work, leon," tom went on quietly. "i'm one of the heads here, and the management of this camp has been left more or less in my hands. i gave you a weak, deluded, almost worthless little piece of humanity as a helper. i'll admit that he isn't much good, but yet he's a boy aged fourteen, at any rate, and therefore there may be in that boy the makings of a man. your way of tackling the job is no good. it's a fool way, and, besides, it's a brutal, unmanly way." "i guess you'd better stop, right where you are, mister reade!" snapped leon, an ugly scowl coming to his face. "i don't have to take any such talk as that from you, even if you are the boss. you may be the boss here, but i'm older and i've seen more of the world. so you may pass on your way, mister reade, and i'll mind my own business while you mind yours." "good!" smiled tom amiably. "that's just the arrangement i've been trying to get you to pledge yourself to. mind your own business, after this, just as you've promised. don't play the brute with small boys." "you needn't think you can boss me, mister reade," sneered leon, a dangerous look again coming into his eyes. "i've told you that i won't take that kind of talk from you." "you'll have to listen to it, just as long as you stay in camp," reade answered. "i don't want to be disagreeable with any man, and never am when i can avoid it. but there are certain things i won't have done here. one of them is the bullying of small boys by big fellows like you. do i make myself plain?" "so plain," leon answered, very quietly, as one hand traveled back to the butt of the revolver hanging over his right hip, "that i give you just ten seconds, mister reade, to get away and do your talking in another part of the camp." tom saw the motion of the hand toward the weapon, though no change in his calm face or steady eyes denoted the fact. "i believe i've just one thing more to say to you, leon. i've told young drew that he needn't bother about coming back as your helper. he is to report to me, and i shall find him another job." "are you going to get away from here?" snarled the angry cook. "presently." "i'll give you only until i count ten," leon snapped, his hand still resting on the butt of his revolver. "you're not threatening me with your pistol, are you?" tom inquired in a mild tone. "you'll find out, if you don't vamoose right along. one---two---" "stop it," tom commanded, without raising his voice. "you may think you could get your pistol out in time to use it. try it, and you'll learn how quickly i can jump on you and grab you. try to draw your weapon, or even to shift your position ever so little, and i'll show you a trick that may possibly surprise you." there was no trace of braggadocio in tom reade's quiet voice, but leon knew, instantly, that the young engineer could and would be as good as his word. "take your hand away from the butt of your pistol," came tom's next command. something in the look of the young engineer's eyes compelled the angry cook to obey. "now, unbuckle your belt and hand it to me, revolver and all." "i'll-----" leon flared up, but tom interrupted him. "exactly, my friend. you'll be very wise if you do, and very sorry if you don't!" white with rage leon unbuckled his belt. then he handed it out, slowly. he was prepared to leap upon the young engineer like a panther, but tom was watching alertly. he received the belt with his left hand, holding his right hand clenched ready for "business." "thank you," said tom quietly. "now, you may return to your work. i'm ready to forget this, leon, if you are." leon glared speechlessly at his conqueror. this cook had lived in some of the roughest of mining camps, and had the reputation of being dangerous when angry. from outside came an appreciative chuckle. then jim ferrers stepped into the shack. "so you were hanging about, ready to back up the kid?" demanded the cook. "i? oh, no," chuckled jim. "leon, when you've known mr. reade as long and as well as i do you'll understand that he doesn't ask or need any backing. mr. reade wants only what's right---but he's going to have it if he has to move a township." tom departed, swinging the belt and revolver from his right hand. "i'm through here," muttered leon, snatching off his apron. "that is, just as soon as i've squared up accounts with that kid." "then you'd better put your apron on again," jim drawled, humorously. "it takes longer than you've got left to live when any one goes after tom reade to get even." "jim ferrers, you know me well enough," remarked leon, reaching for his hat. "most times i'm peaceable, but when i get started i'm a bad man." "exactly," nodded jim undisturbed. "that's why you can never hope to come out on top in a row with mr. reade. while you may be a bad man, he's a good man---and all man! you don't stand any show with that kind. hang up your hat, leon. here's your apron. put it on and stay with us. when you cool down you can stay right along here and take lessons in the art of being a real man!" jim ferrers strolled out of the shack, leaving the vanquished cook in a towering rage. by degrees the expression on the fellow's face altered. ten minutes later he was at work---at cook's duties. chapter xv why reade wanted gold four weeks moved on rapidly. all too rapidly, in some respects, to please engineer harry hazelton. sheriff's officers had ridden into camp, and had scoured that part of the country, in an effort to locate dolph gage and that worthy's friends. just where the four vagabonds were now no man knew, save themselves. however, another spectre had settled down over the camp. the truth was that the young engineers were now using up the last thousand dollars of their combined savings. by way of income, less than fifty dollars' worth of gold and silver had been mined. every few days some promising-looking ore was turned out, but it never came in sufficient quantities. none of this ore had yet been moved toward dugout city. there wasn't enough of it to insure good results. brilliant in streaks, still the mine looked like a commercial fizzle. "hang it, the gold is down there!" grunted tom, staring gloomily at the big cut that had been blasted and dug out along the top of the ridge. "i'll be tremendously happy when you show me a little more of it," smiled hazelton weakly. "it's lower down," argued tom. "we've got to dig deeper---and then a lot deeper." "on the capital that we have left?" ventured harry. "oh, we may strike enough, any day, to stake us for a few weeks longer," urged tom. "we'll soon have to be working in covered outs, where the frost won't put up trouble for us, you know," hazelton hinted. "yes; i know that, of course. what we must begin to do, soon, is to sink the shaft deeper and then tunnel." "that will cost a few thousand dollars, tom." "i know it. come on, harry. get a shovel." tom himself snatched up a pick. "what are you going to do, tom?" "work. you and i are strong and enduring. we can save the wages of two workmen." both young engineers worked furiously that afternoon. yet, when knocking-off time came, they had to admit that they had no better basis for hope. "i wonder, tom, if we'd better get out and hustle for jobs?" harry asked. "you might, harry. i'm going to stick." mr. dunlop dropped in at camp, that evening, after dark. "you young men are doing nothing," said the mine promoter. "i can use you a couple of months, if you'll stop this foolishness here and come over to me." "why, i suppose hazelton could go over and work for you, mr. dunlop," tom suggested. "that would be of no use. i need you both, but you, reade, most of all." "i can't go to you now, mr. dunlop," tom replied regretfully. "i'm committed to the development of this piece of property, which is only a third my property." "bosh! a decent farm would be worth more to you than this claim," argued mr. dunlop derisively. "perhaps. but neither of my partners has quit, mr. dunlop, and i'm not going to quit, either." "this is the last chance i can give you, reade. you'd better take it." "no; though i beg you to accept my best thanks, mr. dunlop. however, hazelton can go over and help you." "both, or neither," returned mr. dunlop firmly. harry looked half eagerly at reade, but tom shook his head. "what do you say, mr. reade?" pressed the promoter. "last call to the dining car. with your funds running low, and a hard winter coming on you'll soon know what it means to be hungry." "i'm much obliged, sir but i'm going to stick here at my own work." "what do you say, hazelton?" coaxed the promoter. "nothing," harry replied loyally. "you heard what my partner had to say. in business matters he talks for both of us." "good night, then," grunted mr. dunlop, rising. "if you should change your minds in the morning, after breakfast, come and tell me." after dunlop had gone tom and harry walked up and down the trail together under the stars. "sixteen hundred dollars a month dunlop is offering the two of us," half sighed hazelton. "two months of that would mean thirty-two hundred dollars. how much money have we now, tom?" "six hundred and forty-two dollars and nineteen cents," reade answered dryly. "that won't last us long, will it?" "no; especially as we owe some of it on bills soon due at dugout." "then---what?" "i don't know," tom answered almost fiercely. "yes; i do know! as soon as our present few pennies are gone it means a future of fight and toil, on empty stomachs. but it's worth it, harry---if we live through the ordeal." "and for what are we fighting?" inquired harry musingly. "first of all, then, for gold." "tom, i never knew you to be so crazy about gold before. what are we going to do with it---if we get it?" "there are the folks at home." "of course, tom, and they would be our first thought---if we had the gold. but we can do all we want to for the home folks out of the pay that we are able to earn at steady jobs." "true." "then why are we fooling around here? we are nearly broke, but we can honestly settle all the debts we owe. then we could get back to work and have bank accounts again within a few months." "yes; but only pitiful bank accounts---a few hundreds of dollars, or a few thousands." it would be steady and growing." "yes; but it would take years to pile up a fortune, harry." "what do we really want with fortunes?" "we want them, harry," tom went on, almost passionately, "because we have ambitions. look out upon the great mountains of this range. think of the rugged bits of nature in any part of the world, waiting for the conquering hand and the constructive brain of the engineer! harry, don't you long to do some of the big things that are done by engineers? don't you want to get into the real---the big performances of our profession?" "of course," nodded hazelton. "for that reason, aren't we doubly wasting our time here?" "that's just as it turns out," reade went on, with a vehemence that astonished his chum. "harry, what's our office address? where are our assistant engineers---where our draftsmen? where are our foremen that we could summon to great undertakings? where is the costly equipment that we would need as a firm of really great engineers? you know that we must these things before we can climb to the top of our profession. the gold that's hidden somewhere under that ridge would give us the offices, the assistants, the draftsmen, the equipment and the bank account that we need before we can launch ourselves into first class engineering feats of the great civilization that rules the world today. harry, i've firm faith in our claim, and i can go on working on a meal every third day." "then now, as always, you can count on me to stand by you without limit or complaint," said harry generously. "but, just the same, you haven't my faith in the mine, have you?" tom queried half-disappointedly. "er---er---" "out with it, chum!" "so far i have been disappointed in the claim. but i am well aware that i may be wrong. listen, tom, old fellow. this isn't a matter of faith in the mine; it's one of faith in you. go as far as you like, and, whichever way it turns out, remember that i regard your judgment as being many times as good as my own." "yet you'd drop out if the decision rested solely with you, wouldn't you, harry," "you'll never again get my opinion of this claim of ours," laughed hazelton. "you'll have to be contented with my good opinion of you and your judgment." "but see here, harry, i wish you'd get out of here for a while. go back into the world; take a position that will support you and provide the luxuries and savings as well. i'll work here faithfully and work for both of us at the same time." "you must have a mighty small opinion of me, tom reade, to think i'd leave you in the lurch like that." "but i ask it as a favor, harry." "if you ever ask that sort of a favor again, tom reade, you and i will be nearer to fighting than we've ever been yet in our lives!" it was plain that hazelton intended to stick to the mine, even to the starving point, if reade did. after some further talk the two went back to their tent and lay down on their cots. five minutes later harry's quiet, regular breathing betrayed the fact that he was asleep. with a stealthy movement, tom reade threw down the blankets, reached for his shoes, his coat and hat and stole out into the quiet and darkness. from other tents and shacks nearby came snores that showed how soundly miners could sleep. "i believe this is the first night that i ever failed to sleep on account of business worries," muttered reade grimly, as he strode away. "this may be a fine start toward becoming a nervous wreck. in time i may become as shattered as poor little alf drew. i wonder if i shall ever fall so low as to smoke cigarettes!" for some minutes tom plodded on through the darkness. he did not go toward the claim, but in the opposite direction. he walked like one who felt the need of physical exhaustion. presently coming to a steep trail winding along among boulders he took to the trail, striding on at barely diminished speed. at last, out of breath from the rapid climb, tom halted and gazed down over the rugged landscape. "the gold is there," he muttered. "i'm sure of it. oh, if we could only find it!" as tom stood, deep in thought, the face of his patient friend rose before him. "i don't mind going to smash for myself, in a good, hard fight," reade went on audibly. "but it seems a crime to drag harry down to poverty with me. if i could only get him to go away i'd give up my own life, if need be, to prove what's under our ridge of nevada dirt." "ye'll give up your life for less'n that, i reckon!" sounded another voice, close at hand. around a boulder dolph gage stepped into view, followed by two of his men. chapter xvi the man who made good "good evening, gage," tom responded pleasantly, after a slight start of alarm. "what brings you in this section again?" "wanter know?" sneered gage, while his companions scowled. "that was my object in inquiring," tom smiled. "we're hiding---that's what we're doing here," gage volunteered harshly, though he spoke in a low voice. "hiding here---with the officers looking for you?" "well, what could be a safer place than right where we're wanted?" demanded dolph. "the officers are scouring other counties for us, and they have handbills up offering rewards for us. right here, overlooking your claim, they'd never think of looking for men who have a price set on their capture." "well, you needn't be afraid of me," offered reade, with mock generosity. "i'm short of money, but i'm not looking for blood money. you had better travel fast from here. i'll give you until daylight before i send word to the law's officers." "daylight? you'll never see daylight again," gage retorted. "you will be lying here, looking up at the stars, but you won't see anything!" "your words have a mysterious ring to them," laughed tom. he wasn't in any doubt as to what the rascals meant to do with him. it was a rule with tom reade, however, that he wasn't dead until he had actually been killed. even while he spoke so lightly, tom, through his half-closed eyes, was taking in every detail of the situation. none of the trio had yet drawn their weapons, though all wore them in plain sight. if they started to draw their pistols tom decided that he would leap forward holding to gage, kicking one of the latter's companions so as to render the fellow helpless, and---"but the third man will get me with his pistol," tom decided. "that is, unless they become flustered when i show fight. it's a slim chance for me---a mighty slim chance, but i'll do my best as soon as these wretches start something!" "lost your money in your claim, haven't you?" jeered gage, who was plainly playing with his intended victim. "serves you right, after jumping us out of the property just because the law said you could! but the gold's there, and we've got a man with mineral rights to nab the claim as soon as you give up." "that will be a long while, i imagine," tom smiled back at the rascal. "not as long as you may think," laughed gage harshly. "we've got you now, and we'll get hazelton and jim ferrers, next thing you know. then our claim will be established through our friend, and we'll protect him from being jumped by any one else." "if you live," tom reminded the fellow. "oh, we'll live!" gage retorted grimly. "we're hunted, now, and we'll kill every man that comes near enough." "begin with this cub!" spoke up eb, gruffly. "don't play with him until he tricks us and gets away." "perhaps you don't realize how close help is to me," tom broke in quickly. it was a "bluff," but he hoped that it might have its effect. "if there's help near you," quivered gage, his anger rising, "we'll make sure that it doesn't get here in time to do you any good. draw and finish him boys!" before reade could tense his muscles for a spring, a shot rang out behind them. eb fell, with a swift, smothered groan of pain. "duck!" panted dolph gage. "out of this! to cover, and then we'll reckon with any one who tries to follow us!" in the same instant tom turned, bounding down the trail in the direction from which the shot had come. "good! keep on going, boss!" whispered a calm voice. "don't let 'em catch you again." "who are you?" tom demanded, halting and trying to make out the man's face in the intense shadow under a ledge of rock. "duck!" commanded the same voice. "i'll follow close. i'm alone, and some of that crew may pluck up heart and follow us. vamoose!" "i'll go at your side, but i won't run ahead of you," tom whispered back. "i know you, now. thank you, leon!" in the darkness, in lieu of shaking hands tom gripped one of the man's elbows in sign of thanks. "we'd better get out of this," tom went on, in a barely louder whisper. "but how did you come to be on hand, leon?" "followed you," was the terse reply. "from the camp?" "yes." "why?" "wanted to get even with you." "you're talking in riddles," reade protested, in a puzzled tone. "at the same time i'm greatly obliged to you." "thought you'd be," grunted leon. "that's how i got even." "what do you mean?" tom wanted to know. "you got even by placing me under a great obligation?" "just that," nodded the cook, "we had trouble, once, and you came out on top, didn't you?" "yes; but that little affair needn't have prevented us from being friends." "it did, until i had done something to make you needed me as a friend," the cook declared. tom laughed at this statement of the case. it accorded quite closely, however, with the cook's generally sulky disposition. even a friendship leon would offer or accept grudgingly. "but why did you follow me?" tom continued, as they neared the camp. "did you think i was going to run into danger?" leon hesitated. "well," he admitted, finally, "when i saw you stealing off, soft like, i had a queer notion come over me that, maybe, you were discouraged, and that you were going off to put an end to yourself." tom started, stared in amazement, then spoke in a tone of pretended anger: "much obliged for your fine opinion of me, leon," he declared. "only cowards and lunatics commit suicide." "that's all right," nodded the cook doggedly. "i've seen men lose their minds out here in these gold fields." they were now in camp. "wait, and i'll call ferrers and a few of the men, leon," tom proposed. "what for? to stand guard?" "no; we must send back a few of the men to find that man you wounded. it was eb. he fell in a heap. if his own companions didn't carry him away he was left in a bad fix." "you'll be going back to nurse rattlesnakes yet!" almost exploded the cook. "that's all right, but we're going to find that wounded man if he's in need of help," tom stoutly maintained. he called jim ferrers, who roused five more men. then the party returned to the place on the trail where eb had been left. there were still blood spots on the ground, but eb had vanished. the party spent some minutes in searching the vicinity, then concluded that gage had rescued and carried away the wounded man. it may be said, in passing, that eb was subsequently found, by officers, lying in a shack not far from dugout city. the fellow was nearly dead, when found, from careless handling of his wound. at dugout the surgeons amputated his wounded leg, and eb finally wound up in prison. during all the excitement hazelton had not been aroused. he knew nothing of what had happened until morning came. before tom reade turned in that night he shook hands with the sullen cook. "i think you and i are going to be good friends, after this, leon," tom smiled. "i hope so, anyway." "and i'm glad you gave me back my gun," grunted leon. "it gave me a chance to do something for you. yes; i reckon we'll be good friends after this." chapter xvii the miners who "stuck" "hey, tom!" harry called down, from the top of their shaft, now one hundred and thirty feet down into the ground. "yes!" reade answered from below, making a trumpet of his hands. "doing anything?" harry bawled. "not much. why?" "if you want to come up i'll show you something." "what?" "the first snow of winter is falling." harry tried to speak jovially, but his tone was almost sepulchral. "yes, i'll come up, then," tom reade answered. "it's high time for us to see to building a shelter that will keep out of the shaft the big snows that are coming." "the big snows are likely to be here, now, within a week," remarked one of the miners who had paused to rest from digging for a moment. "men!" bawled tom, stepping from the long into the short tunnel. "all hands knock off and go up to the surface." there was a tub hand-hoist for carrying up ore, but the men always used the series of ladders that had been built in on the side of the shaft. two minutes later these ladders swarmed with men going above. as they stepped out into the world the first soft flakes of winter floated into their faces. "reade, we'll have to start building the cover to the shaft," spoke jim ferrers, who stood beside hamilton. "i know it," tom nodded. "however, first of all, i want a few words with you and harry." the three partners stepped aside, waiting in silence while a whispered consultation went on around tom. at length reade stepped back. "men" he began, and every eye was turned in his direction. "you are waiting for orders to start on shedding over the shaft, and the lumber is ready. however, we mean to be fair with you. you all know that this claim has been going badly. when my partners and i started we had some capital. before we do any more work here it is only fair to tell you something. we now have money enough left so that we can pay you your wages up to saturday. when we've paid that we shall have a few dollars left. if you men want to quit now we'll pay you up to saturday, and you'll have time to be in dugout before your time here is up." "do you want us to go, mr. reade?" asked tim walsh." "why, no, of course not," tom smiled. "if we had the money we'd want to keep you here all winter. but we haven't, and so we've no right to ask you to stay." walsh glanced around him, as though to inquire whether the men were willing that he be their spokesman. receiving their nods the big miner went on: "mr. reade, sir, we've seen this coming, though, of course, we didn't know just how big your pile was. we've talked it over some, and i know what the fellows think. if you don't pay us our wages, but put the money into grub only, you can keep a-going here some weeks yet." "yes," tom nodded. "but in that case, if the mine didn't pan out, we wouldn't have a cent left out of which to pay you off. at least, not until reade and i had been at work for months, perhaps a year, on some salaried job. so you see that we can't fairly encourage you men to remain here." "mr. reade," walsh declared, this time without glancing at the other men, and there was a slight huskiness in the big miner's voice, "we wouldn't feel right if we went anywhere else to work. we've never worked under men as fair and square as you three men have been. you've treated all of us white. now, what kind of fellows would we be if we cleared out and left you just because the snow had come and the money had gone. no, sir! by your leave, gentlemen, we'll stay here as long as you do, and the money can take care of itself until it shows up again. mr. reade, and gentlemen, we stick as long as you'll let us!" tom felt slightly staggered, as his face showed it. "men," he protested, "this is magnificent on your part. but it wouldn't be fair to let you do it. you are all of you working for your living." "well, aren't you three working for your living, too?" grinned walsh. "yes; but we stand to make the big stake here, in case of victory at last." "and i reckon we stand a show of having a little extra coming to us, if we do right by you at this minute," laughed walsh. "yes, you do---if we strike the rich vein for which we're hunting. yet have you men any idea a how little chance we may have of striking that vein? men, the mine may---perhaps i would better say probably will---turn out a fizzle. i am afraid you men are voting for some weeks of wasted work and a hungry tramp back to dugout city at the end. as much as we want to go on with the work, we hate to see you all stand to lose so much." "you're no fool, mr. reade. neither is mr. hazelton," returned walsh bluntly. "you're both engineers, and not green ones, either. you've been studying mines and mining, and it isn't just guess-work with you when you say that you feel sure of striking rich ore." "only one of us is sure," smiled tom reade wistfully. "i'm the sure one. as for my partners, i'm certain that they're sticking to me just because they're too loyal to desert a partner. for myself, i wouldn't blame them if they left me any day. as for you men, i shall be glad to have you stay and stand by us, now that you know the state of affairs, but i won't blame you if you decide to take your money and the path back to dugout city." "it's no use, mr. reade," laughed walsh, shaking his shaggy head. "you couldn't persuade one of us to leave you now." "and i'd thrash any man who tried to," declared another miner. "men, i thank you," tom declared, his eyes shining, "and i hope that we shall all win out together." "now, what do you want us to do?" asked walsh. "we have timbers and boards here," tom replied. "if the big snows are likely to be upon us within a week, then we can't lose any time in getting our shaft protected. at the same time we must use other timber for putting up two or three more shacks. the tents will have to come down until spring." harry immediately took eight of the men and started the erection of three wooden shacks not far from the mine shaft. ferrers took the rest of the men and speedily had timbers going up in place over the mouth of the shaft. for three hours the snow continued to float lightly down. then the skies cleared, but the wind came colder and more biting. jim ferrers and one of the men started for dugout city with a two-horse wagon, that the camp might be kept well-supplied with food. by night of the day following all of the carpenter work had been finished, though not an hour too soon, for now the weather was becoming colder. "never put in a winter on the indian smoke range, did you, mr. reade?" walsh inquired. "never." "then you'll find out what cold weather is like. a winter on this range isn't much worse, though, than what i've heard about cold weather in alaska." "it'll be a relief to see six feet of snow, after living on the hot desert of arizona," harry muttered. by evening of the following day, when jim and his companion returned with the wagon-load of provisions, another day's work had been done in the mine. "any color today?" was ferrers's first question. "no signs of gold," sighed harry. "i heard a new one over at dugout city," jim remarked carelessly. "heard a new one?" echoed tom. "what was it?" "a baby," jim answered dryly. "what are you talking about?" harry demanded. "what has a baby to do with a 'new one'?" when the men began to laugh harry suddenly discovered the joke. "that's all right, jim," growled harry. "but i know something that would tickle you." "a feather, or a straw," mocked ferrers. "no! a crowbar!" grunted hazelton making a reach for a tool of that description. jim hastily jumped out of the way as harry balanced the bar. "go and tell the men about the 'new one' you heard, jim," laughed tom. "by the time you get back harry will have the joke pried loose with that bar of his." "'heard a new one'!" grunted harry. but his look of disgust was because it had taken him so long to penetrate the "sell." chapter xviii the goddess of fortune smiles wistfully "haul away!" called jim, from the bottom of the shaft. up came the tub, filled with chunks of ore, each about the size of a man's head. at the top stood harry hazelton, on the crust of two feet of frozen snow. tom thrust his head out through the doorway of the nearby shack in which the partners lived. "is jim sending up any bricks" he inquired. "he's sending up ore, but i don't know whether it's any good," harry answered. "why don't you look the stuff over?" "i haven't had the heart to look at it." close to the shaft stood a wagon. the horses were resting in the stable shack, for by this time the weather averaged only a few degrees above zero and the horses were brought out only when they could be used. "take a good look at the stuff, harry," called tom, as soon as he saw two of the workmen dumping it. then reade closed the door, and went back to the furnace that he had rigged up under the chimney at one end of the shack. "oh, what's the use?" sighed hazelton, to himself, as he paused, irresolute. "in weeks and weeks we haven't brought up enough gold to pay for the keep of the horses." still, as tom had asked him to do so, hazelton presently walked over to the little pile that had just been dumped. "you men up there work faster," sounded jim's voice. "we want to send up a tub every five minutes." "want the team yet?" bawled the teamster, from another shack. "no," harry answered. "not for a half an hour yet." that question was enough to cause the young engineer to forget that he had intended to inspect the tub-load of ore. he strolled back to the head of the shaft. the wind was biting keenly today. harry was dressed in the warmest clothing he had, yet his feet felt like lumps of lead in his shoes. "arizona may be hot, but i'd rather do my mining down there, anyway," thought the young engineer. "if i could move about more, this wouldn't be so bad." just off of the shaft was a rough shack several feet square which contained a small cylinder of a wood stove. there was a fire going in the stove, now, but harry knew from experience that if he went in to the stove to get warm, he would only feel the cold more severely when he came out again. "say, i don't know why i couldn't run that furnace as well as tom, and he likes this cold stuff better than i do," murmured hazelton. "i am going to see if he won't swap jobs for a couple of hours." "getting anything out of those ore-tests of yesterday's dump?" harry demanded, entering their shack. "not so much," tom replied cheerily. "we're in a bad streak of stuff, harry. but i thought you were watching the dump. what's the matter? too cold out there?" "yes," nodded harry. "i feel like a last year's cold storage egg. don't you want to spell me a bit out there, tom? i can run the furnace in here." "certainly," reade agreed, leaping up. "there's nothing to do, now, but weigh the button when it cools." "did you really get a button?" harry asked, casually, as he drew off his heavy overcoat. "yes; a small one." "how much ore did you take it from?" "about two tons, i should say." "then, if the button is worth sixty cents," mocked harry, "it will show that our ore is running thirty cents to the ton." "oh, we'll have better ore, after a while," tom laughed. "we've got to have," grunted hazelton, "or else we'll have to walk all the way to our next job." "just weigh the button, when it cools, and enter the weight on this page of the notebook," directed reade, then went for his own outdoor clothing. "have you been inspecting the dump as the stuff came up?" "you'll think me a fool," cried harry, "but i totally forgot it." "no matter," tom answered cheerily. "i've been doing bench work so long in here that i need exercise. i can run over all the stuff." after reade had pulled on his overcoat and buttoned it he fastened a belt around his waist. through this he thrust a geologist's hammer. "don't go to sleep, harry, old fellow, until you've cooled and weighed the button. then you may just as well take a nap as not." "there he goes," muttered hazelton, as the door closed briskly. "faith and enthusiasm are keeping tom up. he could work twenty-four hours and never feel it. i wish i had some of his faith in this ridge. i could work better for it. humph! i'm afraid the ridge will never yield anything better than clay for brick-making!" harry did succeed in keeping his eyes open long enough to attend to the button. that tiny object weighed, and the weight entered, hazelton sat back in his chair. within a minute his eyes had closed and he was asleep. tom reade, out at the ore dump, looked anything but sleepy. with tireless energy he turned over the pieces of rock, pausing, now and then, to hold up one for inspection. in reaching for a new piece his foot slipped. glancing down, to see just where the object was on which he had slipped, tom suddenly became so interested that he dropped down on his knees in the snow. it was a piece of rock that had come up in the first tubful. at one point on the piece of rock there was a small, dull yellow glow. reads pawed the rock over in eager haste. then he drew the hammer from his belt, striking the rock sharply. piece after piece fell away until a solid yellow mass, streaked here and there faintly with quartz, lay in his hand. "by the great custer!" quivered tom. "what's the matter, boss?" called one of the workmen. "got a sliver in your hand?" "have i?" retorted tom joyously. "come here and take a look." "haul away!" sounded ferrers's hoarse voice from below. "tell jim to stop sending and come up a minute," nodded tom. "do you often see a finer lump than this?" tom wanted to know as the two workmen came to him. he held up a nugget. shaped somewhat like a horn-of-plenty, it weighed in the neighborhood of three ounces. "say, if there are many more like that down at the foot of the shaft this old hole-in-the-ridge will be a producer before another week is out!" answered one of the workmen. "how much is it worth, boss?" "allowing for the quartz that streaks this little gold-piece, it ought to be worth from forty to fifty dollars," tom responded thoughtfully. "fifty dollars?" broke in jim ferrers, as he sprang from the top ladder to the ground. "is there that much money on the indian smoke?" "not minted, of course," laughed tom. "but here's something as good as money." "where did you get it?" jim demanded, tersely, after one look at the nugget. "in this ore-dump." "today's send-up, then?" "of course." without a word ferrers fell at work on the pile of rocks, turning them over fast. tom helped him. the two men, released from hoisting duty, also aided. "nothing more like that sticking out of the rock," jim grunted, turning to one of the men. "bring me a sledge." with that larger hammer, held in both hands, jim placed ore pieces with his feet, swiftly bringing down sharp blows that reduced the rocks to nearly the size of pebbles. "i don't see any more nuggets coming," mused! tom. "but wait a minute. look at the yellow streak through some of these fragments." "we're getting into the vein, i believe," spoke jim solemnly. "look at the stuff! but wait! i've a little more hammering to do." back of them stood the teamster, who had just come up with the horses. "am i to take that stuff and dump it down the ravine?" he asked slowly. "if you do," retorted ferrers heatedly, "i'll hammer in the top of your head, andy! reade, won't you pick out what you want for the site of the ore-dump. we've got some real ore at last!" one of the two hoist-men now ran to the shaft, shouting down the great news. "hold on there, bill," tom called dryly. "don't get the boys excited over what may turn out to be nothing. don't tell 'em any more than that we have-----" "tell 'em yourself, boss," retorted bill. "here they come!" from the ladder a steady stream of men discharged itself until the last one was up. "where are you going, tim?" called tom, turning just in time to note big walsh's movements. "going to call mr. hazelton, sir." "don't do it. don't get him stirred up for nothing." "for nothing, boss?" "don't bother hazelton until we can tell him something more definite. boys, with all my heart i hope that we have something as good as we appear to have. but every man of you knows that, once in a while, gold is found abundantly in a few hundred pounds of rock, and then, from that point on, no more yellow is found. we won't get excited until we get our first thousand dollars' worth out of the ground and have the smelter's check in hand. we'll hope---and pray---but we won't cheer just yet." "humph! if you don't want us to cheer, then what shall we do?" demanded big walsh. "we'll work!" tom retorted energetically. "we'll work as we never did before. we'll keep things moving every minute of the time. back with you into the shaft and out into the tunnel! you hoist-men stand by for a big performance with the tub. jennison, you may stay up from below and tote specimens for me. i shall be at the furnace until midnight at the least." "i'll tote for you till daylight, if the good streak only holds out," laughed jennison, with glowing eyes. "come softly into the shack when you do come," tom directed. "i'm going to put mr. hazelton to bed, and i don't want any one to wake him. when i play out tonight he'll have to be fresh enough to take my place at the assay bench and furnace." softly tom entered their shack. harry lay fast asleep, breathing heavily. "this won't do, old fellow," spoke tom gently, shaking his chum's shoulder. "no; don't wake up. just get into bed. i may want to turn in later, and, when i do, i may have some work left over that i'll want you to do." "anything up?" asked harry drowsily. "i'm going to be busy for a while, and then i want you to be," tom answered. he half pushed his chum toward the narrow bunk against the wall. drowsy hazelton needed no urging, but stretched himself out in his bunk. tom drew the blankets up over him, adding: "don't stir until i call you." hour after hour the men below in the mine sent up tub-lots of rock. jim spent half of his time above ground, the rest below. jennison was busy bringing the best samples in to reade, but he walked so softly that harry slept peacefully on. still the yellow rock came up. none of it looked like the richest sort of ore, but it was good gold-bearing stuff, none the less. tom made many assays. it was seven in the evening ere the excited miners would agree to knock off work for the day. then tom quit and had supper with them. there was excitement in the air, but tom still counseled patience. "we'll know more in a week than we do now," he urged. "that's all right, mr. reade," laughed tim walsh. "as long as you were hopeful we didn't bring up enough yellow to pay for the dynamite we used in blasting. now, boss, you're begging us not to be hopeful, and the luck is changing." "i'm not kicking against hopefulness," tom objected, smiling. "all i ask of you men is not to spend the whole year's profits from the mine before we get even one load fit to haul to the smelter." "we've got the ore dump started," retorted jennison, "and we don't have to haul stuff to the smelter. boss, you can raise money enough without hauling a single load before spring." "how?" tom wanted to know. "the banks at dugout will lend you a small fraction of the value of the dump as soon as they're satisfied that it has any value," jim ferrers explained. "i didn't know that," tom admitted. "now you can understand why the boys are excited tonight. they know you'll outfit the camp liberally enough if the yellow streak holds out." "outfit the camp liberally?" repeated tom. "i'll go just as far in that line as my partners will stand for." "we want a bang-up christmas dinner, you see, boss," tim walsh explained. "we wouldn't have spoken of it if this streak hadn't panned today. now, we know we're going to have doings on the ridge this winter." "if the yellow rook holds out," tom urged. "don't say anything more in that strain, just now, reade," whispered jim. "if you do, and things go badly, the boys will think you've been the camp's jonah." tom went back to work in the partners' shack. jim came in at ten and went to bed. it was midnight when tom shook harry by the shoulder. "time to get up, young man, and give me a rest," tom announced. harry got drowsily out of his bunk. "why didn't you call me before, tom?" "well, to tell the truth, i was too busy. but now you may have a few hours' work all by yourself, while i turn in," drawled reade. "tom, old fellow, there's something up," discovered hazelton, now studying his chum's face keenly. "out with it." then tom told of the day's luck, though he cautioned harry against too soon growing elated. "we'll just wait and hope," reade finished. "now i'll show you the work that's on the bench." the gold news had waked up hazelton. he examined eagerly the assay reports that tom had filled out, then turned to the specimens that awaited his attention. at six in the morning reade was up again, nor did harry turn in. both were present to inspect the first tub-lot of ore that came up the shaft. the yellow streak was continuing. by the middle of the afternoon, however, the streak played out. though the men worked an hour overtime they did not succeed in sending up any more ore. "just one pocket?" wondered tom. "or does our vein run in scattered pockets?" "oh, we'll find more pockets soon," predicted harry cheerily. "our luck has turned again. it's running in the old channels." a feverish week passed. towards its end the first big snow of the winter came, and the ridge was shut off from the rest of the world. it would have been all but impossible to get over even to the bright hope mine. the week of brisk work was using up the stock of dynamite, while the rock was too hard to work much with picks. moreover, the money of the partners was gone. to seek credit at dugout would be a dangerous proceeding, for those who granted the accommodation of credit would be sure to want a high price for it, even to a goodly share in the output of the mine. more than one mine has been taken over by creditors, and the original owners have gone out into the world again, poor men. saturday morning of this week tom and harry descended the shaft together. jim was already there with the men. "i thought we had two more boxes of dynamite, reade," explained ferrers. "i find that we have just six sticks left." "then may the fates favor us with some lucky blasts!", muttered tom. "we can borrow money on our ore dump," suggested harry. "how about that?" asked tom, looking intently at ferrers. "how much do you figure there is in the dump?" queried jim. "about two hundred dollars' worth of metal." ferrers shook his head. "it would cost us forty dollars to cart the stuff to dugout in the spring. then there'd be the smelter's charges. we couldn't borrow more than fifty dollars on such security. no bank is going to bother with such a small item." tom said nothing, but went forward to the heading of the tunnel. here he made a careful examination ere he ordered the men to go ahead. one after another five sticks of the dynamite were fired in small blasts, but the ore that came out did not suggest hope. then another drilling was made, and the sixth stick put in place, the magneto wires being connected with the charge. tom himself seized the magneto handle. "now, hold your breaths," he called, cheerily. "this blast means a lot, and then a bit more, to all of us. this blast may point the path to fortune!" chapter xix harry's signal of distress through the tunnel a dull boom sounded. then, as if by a common impulse, all hands rushed back to the heading. "hard rock!" muttered reade. "the blast didn't make much of a dent. hand me a pick, one of you." then tom swung it with all the force and skill of which he was possessed. some of the miners, who thought themselves strong men, looked on admiringly as tom swung the pick again and again. clack! clack! clack! "some muscle there," proclaimed tim walsh. "i didn't think it was in a slim fellow like you." "i haven't so much muscle," tom informed him, "but i have a tremendous amount at stake here. one of you shovelmen come forward and get this stuff back." reade went tirelessly on with his pick. some of the big fellows came forward with their tools and worked beside him. tom still led. for half an hour all hands worked blithely. then tom, halting, called them off. "no use to go any further, boys, until we get some dynamite," he declared. "we're striking into harder and harder rock every minute. we are dulling our tools without making any headway." "dynamite?" asked jim ferrers, who had been looking over the shoveled back rook with harry. "where are we going to get any?" "it's time for a council of war, i reckon," sighed tom. "at any rate it's no use to work here any longer this morning. let's go above." as it was yet too early for dinner, the men congregated in one of the shacks, while the partners went to their own rough one-room abode. "what's to be done?" asked harry. "i'd say quit," muttered jim ferrers. "only, if we do, we lose our title to our claim. of course, i mean quit only for a while---say until spring---but even that would forfeit our title here." "then it's not to be thought of," rejoined tom, with a vigorous shake of his head. "i haven't lost a bit of my faith that, one of these days, this ridge is going to pay big profits to some one." "we either have to quit, and give up, or stay and starve," rejoined ferrers. "we've got to stick," tom insisted. "in the first place, we owe our men a lot of money." "they offered to take their chances," suggested jim. "true, but it's a debt, none the less. i shall see everyone of these men paid, even if i have to wait until i can save money enough at some other job to square the obligations in full. for myself, i don't intend to quit as long as i can swing a dull pick against a granite ledge." "then what did you come up for?" asked harry dryly. "because there's nothing the men can do for the present, and i wanted all hands to have a chance to get over their disappointment. jim, this snow-crust will bear the weight of a pony, won't it?" "why?" "i must get to dugout city." "for what?" "we haven't a big enough ore dump on which to borrow any money. but i've an idea i can sell this nugget for enough to get another good stock of dynamite." "you don't want to try to get to dugout today or tomorrow," replied ferrers slowly. "but i must," tom insisted. "every hour's delay is worse than wasted time. i must get to dugout and back again as speedily as possible." "hotel living is expensive in dugout," remarked jim. "but i don't intend to stop at a hotel for more than one meal." "have you looked at the sky?" it was reade's turn to ask: "why?" "just go to the door and take a look at the sky," suggested ferrers. tom swung the door open and looked. "well?" he asked. "what do you think of the sky?" jim persisted. "it looks as though we might have a little snow," tom admitted. "a little, and then a whole lot more," nodded ferrers. "notice how still the air is? we're going to have a howling blizzard, and i believe it will start in before night." "then we'd better turn the men out to fell and chop firewood," declared harry, jumping up. "we haven't enough on hand to last through a few days of blizzard." "will you look after the wood, harry?" asked tom. "i want to keep my mind on getting to dugout." "we'll knock over a lot of trees between now and dinner-time," promised hazelton, as he hurried away. "now, reade, you'd better give up your idea of getting to dugout for the present," resumed jim ferrers. "but the work? we've got to keep the men busy, and we must keep the blasts a-going." "you'll have to forget it for a week or so," insisted the nevadan. "your freezing to death in a gale of snow wouldn't help matters any." "but i must get to dugout," tom pleaded. "you won't try it unless you're crazy," jim retorted. "if you make an attempt to stir from camp this afternoon, reade, i'll call on the men to hold you down until i can tie you. do you think i've waited, reade, all these years to find a partner like you, and then allow him to go off in a blizzard that would sure finish him?" "then, if you're sure about this, jim, i won't attempt to go until the weather moderates." "when the time's right i'll go," proposed ferrers. "a pony is no good on this white stuff. from some of the swedes we've had working out in this country i've learned how to make a pair of skis. you can travel on skis where a pony would cut his legs in two against the snow crust." "then, if i'm not going to dugout, i'll go out and swing an axe for a while," tom suggested. "i want to be of some use, and i can't sit still anyway." "oh, sit down," urged ferrers, almost impatiently, as he filled his pipe and lighted it. "i'll amuse you with some stories about blizzards on this range in years past." outside they could hear axes ringing against the trees. then the dinner-horn called the men in. soon after the meal was over all the horses in camp were hitched and employed in bringing in the wood. harry was out again to superintend the men. by half-past two the first big flakes began to come down. there was still no wind to speak of. tom had lain down in a bunk, leaving jim to brighten the fire. ferrers, too, nodded in his chair. it was the howling of the wind that awoke tom. "where's harry?" he asked, sitting up. "eh?" queried! ferrers, opening his eyes. "where's harry! is he out in this storm?" "i've been dozing," jim confessed. "i don't know where he is." "hear the wind howl," cried tom, leaping from his bunk and pulling on his shoes. then he rapidly finished dressing, jim, in the meantime, lighting the reflector lamp. "where on earth can harry be?" tom again demanded. "maybe in one of the other shacks, with some of the men." tom threw open the door. the snow-laden gale, sweeping in on him, nearly took away his breath. then, after filling his lungs, he started resolutely for the nearest shack. "mr. hazelton in here?" tom called, swinging open the door. "no, sir; thought he was with you." tom fought his way through the gale to the next shack. here tim walsh had news. "we came in, sir, when the blizzard got too bad," walsh explained, "but we found we'd left one of the teams behind in the woods. mr. hazelton said he'd go back and get the team. half an hour later one of the boys here noticed that the team was standing up against the door of the stable shack. so i went out and put up the team." "didn't it occur to you to wonder where mr. hazelton was?" tom asked, rather sharply. "why, no, sir; we thought he had gone to your shack." "mr. hazelton wouldn't leave horses out in a storm like this one," tom rapped out briskly. "as a matter of fact he isn't in camp. you men get out lanterns and be ready to go into the woods. we've got to find mr. hazelton at the earliest possible moment!" twenty minutes later the beams of light from lanterns carried by the men revealed the form of harry hazelton, in the woods and nearly covered with snow. "pick him up," ordered tom. "make the fastest time you can to our shack." in the shack the fire was allowed to burn low. harry, still unconscious, was stripped and put to bed. "anything you want, let us know, sir," said tim walsh, as the men tramped out again. then tom and ferrers sat down to try to think out the best thing to do for harry hazelton. he was still alive, his pulse going feebly. he had been briskly rubbed and warmly wrapped, and a quantity of hot, strong coffee forced gently down his throat. after a while hazelton came to, but his eyes had a glassy look in them. "you're a great one, old fellow, to go out into the snow and get lost," tom chided him gently. "did---i get---lost?" harry asked drowsily. "yes. here, drink some more of this coffee. jim, make a fresh pot. you can stir the fire up a bit now." "i---want to sleep," harry protested, but tom forced him to drink more coffee. then hazelton sank into a deep slumber, breathing more heavily. "he's all right, now, or will be when he has slept," declared jim ferrers. "is he?" retorted tom, who held one hand against harry's flushed face, then ran the fingers down under his chum's shirt. "jim, he's burning up with fever. that's all that ails him!" then tom placed one ear over hazelton's heart. "none too strong," reade announced, shifting his head. "and here's a wheezy sound in his right lung that i don't like at all." "you don't suppose it's pneumonia?" asked jim gravely. it was congestion of the right lung that ailed harry hazelton. but tom knew nothing of that. jim ferrers, who had never been ill in his life, knew even less about sickness. as for harry, he lay dangerously ill, with a doctor's help out of the question! chapter xx tom turns doctor the door opened almost noiselessly. "shut that door," cried tom, angrily, without looking around. "whoever you are, do you know that we have a sick man here" "well, the men chased me out of one shack, and wouldn't let me in the other, and i don't want to go near the cook," complained a whining young voice. it was alf drew who uttered the words. "shut the door," tom repeated. "may i stay here?" asked alf, after obeying. "i suppose so, though we have about enough trouble here already. why did the men chase you out of their shack?" "they said they couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes," drew replied. "i don't wonder at that," muttered tom. "they were all smoking. i don't see why i couldn't smoke, too," alf whined. "that's just the point," tom returned. "the men were smoking. now, as i've told you before, the use of cigarettes isn't smoking at all. you annoyed men who were minding their own business." "they're a mean lot," complained young drew. being cold he went over to the fire to warm himself. then he drew a cigarette from one of his pockets, and struck a match. tom reade, slipping up behind the youngster, deftly took the cigarette away from him, tossing it into the fire. "you'll have to quit that," tom ordered sternly. "if i catch you trying to light a cigarette then out you go. we have a man here sick with lung trouble and with a high fever, and we don't propose to have any cigarette smoke around here." "what am i going to do, then?" asked alf, after a minute or so spent in a kind of trance. "do anything you please, as long as you keep quiet and don't light any cigarettes," tom suggested, rummaging in the cupboard for a medicine chest that he knew was there. "but i'll go to pieces, if i can't smoke a cigarette or two," whined the boy. tom had the medicine chest in his lap by this time. his hand touched a bottle of pellets labeled "quassia." "here, chew on one of these, and you won't need your cigarette," tom suggested, passing over a pellet. alf mutely took the pellet, crushing it with his teeth. "ugh!" he uttered disgustedly. "don't spit it out," urged tom. "it's the best thing possible to take the place of a cigarette. keep it in your mouth until it is all dissolved." alf made a wry face, but knew he must obey tom. so he stuck to the pellet until the last of it had dissolved on his tongue. the pellet was gone, but the taste wasn't. "ugh!" grunted the youngster. "you said that before," urged tom. "try to be original. want another pellet?" "no; i don't. i wouldn't touch one again!" "don't happen to want a cigarette, either, do you?" "i don't want anything, now, but just to get that taste out of my mouth," alf uttered. "all right; go over in the corner and keep quiet. jim, do you know anything about the use of the medicines in this chest?" "not a blessed thing," ferrers replied regretfully. "i never took as much as a pinhead of medicine in my life." "but harry must have something," tom insisted. "we can't let him lie there and die." it was one of those ready-made medicine chests that are sold to campers and others who must live at a considerable distance from medical aid. finding a small book of instructions in the chest, tom moved over under the strong light and settled himself to read thoughtfully. harry tossed restlessly, unmindful of what was going on around him. his heavy, rapid breathing filled the place. once in a while he moaned slightly, every sound of this kind going through tom like a knife. a particularly deep moan caused tom to shiver and close the book. he went over and felt harry's hot, drier skin. "jim," he directed, "i'm sure that, somehow, we should force the perspiration through his dry, parched skin. take some of the blankets out of my bunk and spread them over harry." "it'll make his fever worse, won't it?" "i'm sure i don't know," tom admitted helplessly. "we'd better try it for a while, anyway." then tom stood looking down at the flushed face of his chum, muttering below his breath: "harry, old fellow, i wish your mother were here. she'd know just what to do. and for your mother's sake, as well as my own, i've just got to blunder into something that will cure you." heaving a sigh, tom went back under the lamp to read with blurted eyes. at last he struck a paragraph that he thought bore on the case in hand. he read eagerly, praying for light. "i've got it, at last," he announced, moving over to the bunk, beside which ferrers stood. "got what?" asked jim. "i believe i'm on the track of the right stuff to give poor old harry." "what's the name of the stuff you're going to give harry" "there are three medicines mentioned here," replied reade, holding up the book. "they're all to be given." "_three_ medicines!" gasped jim. "by the great custer three are enough to kill a horse!" "i'm going to try 'em," sighed tom stolidly. "the poor fellow will die if nothing is done for him." "wouldn't it be better," suggested ferrers, hopelessly, "to try one medicine on the lad and then wait ten minutes. then, if that doesn't work, try one of the others on him! if that doesn't work then you know that the third kind of stuff is the right sort of bracer." despite his great anxiety, reade could not suppress the smile that jim's advice brought out. it was plain that ferrers, good fellow as he was, would be of no use on the medical end of the fight that must be waged. tom searched the chest and found the medicines. then he looked up the doses and started to administer the remedies as directed. even over the steadily increasing gale the notes of the supper horn reached them faintly. "it's too tough weather to expect the cook to bring the stuff over here tonight," said jim. "so, if you can spare me, i'll go and eat with the boys. then i'll bring your chuck over to you." alf came out of his corner, pulling on the ragged overcoat that he had picked up in a trade with an undersized man down at the bright hope mine. left alone, tom drew a stool up beside the bunk, and sat studying his chum's face. twenty minutes later hazelton opened his eyes. "you're feeling better, now, aren't you?" asked tom hopefully. "i---i guess so," harry muttered faintly. "where does it hurt you most, chum?" "in---in my chest." "right lung!" "yes." "is the pain severe, harry?" "it's about all i can---can stand---old fellow." "poor chap. don't try to talk, now. we're taking good care of you, and we'll keep on the job day and night. you've had some medicine, though you didn't know it. now, try to sleep, if you can." but hazelton couldn't sleep. he tossed restlessly, his face aflame with fever. jim ferrers came back with the supper, but reade could eat very little of it. alf drew did not return. he had made his peace with the workmen. through the night harry grew steadily worse. when daylight came in, with the blizzard still raging, the young engineer was delirious. chapter xxi the wolves on the snow crust the blizzard lasted for two days. toward the end the temperature rose, with the result that three feet of loose snow lay on top of the harder packed snow underneath. harry hazelton had passed out of the delirium, but he was weak, and apparently sinking. he was conscious, though he spoke but little, nor did poor tom seek to induce him to talk. by this time reade knew the little medicine book by heart. he also knew the label and dose of every drug in the case. but he had not been able to improve upon his first selection of treatment. "do you think he's going to die, jim?" tom frequently asked. "what's the use of a strong young fellow like him dying?" demanded ferrers. "then why doesn't he get better?" "i don't know. but he'll come around all right. don't worry about that. strong men don't go under from a cold in the head, or from a bit of wheeze in the lungs." "but the fever." "that has to burn itself out, i reckon," replied the nevadan. "reade, you'll be sick yourself next. lay out the medicines, and i'll give 'em, to the minute, while you get six hours' sleep." "no, sir!" was reade's quick retort. "then, before you do cave in, partner, suppose you pick out the medicines that you want me to give you when you can't do anything for yourself any longer." tom went back to his chair by the side of harry's bunk. outdoors some of the men were clearing a path to the mine-shaft. not that it was worth while to try to do any work underground. the rock at the tunnel heading was too stubborn to be moved by anything less than dynamite. "i'd get some lumber together, and make a pair of skis," suggested jim, the next day, "but what is the use? we'll have to have twenty-four hours of freezing weather before we'll have a crust. as soon as we can see snow that will bear a human being i'll start for dugout city." "but not for dynamite," declared tom. "no; for a doctor, i suppose." "a physician's visit is the only thing i'm interested in now," tom declared, glancing at the bunk. "i'd give up any mine on earth to be able to pull poor old harry through." on the fifth day, while the weather still remained too warm for the forming of a snow-crust, harry began to show signs of improvement. he was gaunt and thin, but his skin felt less hot to the touch. his eyes had lost some of the fever brightness, and he spoke of the pain in his chest as being less severe than it had been. "i've been an awful nuisance here," he whispered, weakly, as his chum bent over him. "stow all that kind of talk," reade ordered. "just get your strength back as fast as you can. sleep all you can, too. get a nap, now, and maybe when you wake up you'll be hungry enough to want a little something to eat." "i don't want anything," harry replied. "he's a goner, sure!" gasped tom reade, inwardly, feeling a great chill of fear creep up and down his spine. "it's the first time in his life that i ever knew harry to refuse to eat." "the weather is coming on cold," jim ferrers reported that evening, when he came back from the coon shack with tom's supper. "is it going to be cold enough to put a crust on the snow?" reade eagerly demanded. "if it keeps on growing cold we ought to have a good crust by the day after tomorrow." "i'll pray for it," said tom fervently. next day the weather continued intensely cold. jim ferrers went to another shack to construct a pair of skis. these are long, wooden runners on which norwegians travel with great speed over hard snow. jim was positive that he could make the skis and that he could use them successfully. harry still remained weak and ill, caring nothing for food, though his refusals to eat drove reads well-nigh frantic. the morning after the skis were made, jim ferrers, who had relieved worn-out tom at three in the morning, stepped to the young engineer's bunk and shook him lightly. "all right," said reade, sitting up in bed. "i'll get up." he was out of the bunk almost instantly. "i'm going to send tim walsh in to help you a bit," jim whispered. "the crust is right this morning, and i'm off for dugout. before we forget it give me that nugget." tom passed it over, saying solemnly: "remember, jim, you've got to bring a doctor back with you---if you have to do it at the point of a gun!" "i'll bring one back with me, if there's one left in dugout," ferrers promised, fervently. fifteen minutes later jim was on his way. tim walsh came in on tip-toe, and seemed afraid to stir lest he make some slight sound to disturb the sleeping sick lad. "a day or two more will tell the tale, tim," tom whispered in the big miner's ear. "oh, it isn't as bad as that, sir; it can't be," protested the big fellow in a hoarse whisper. "i reckon mr. hazelton is going to get well all right." "he won't eat anything," said tom. "he will when he's hungry, sir." "tim, have you ever had any practice in looking after sick people?" "quite a bit, sir. when i was a younker i was private in the hospital corps in the army." "why on earth didn't you tell me that before?" tom gasped. "why, because, sir, i allowed that a brainy young man like you would know just what to do a heap better than i would." "tim, do you know anything about temperatures and drugs?" "maybe i'd remember a little bit," walsh answered modestly. "it's twelve years since i was in the army." tom brought the medicine case with trembling hands. "to think that, all the time," he muttered, "i've been longing for a doctor's visit, and yet i've had a man in camp who's almost a doctor." "no, sir; a long way from that," protested tim walsh. "and, besides, i've forgotten a whole lot that i used to know." tom rapidly explained how he had been treating hazelton, according to the directions in the little medicine book. tim listened gravely. "was that all right, tim?" tom asked, breathlessly, when he had finished. "i should say about all right, sir." "tim, what shall i do next?" "do you want me to tell you, sir?" "yes, yes, yes!" "then i might as well do it, sir, as tell you," tim drawled out. "mr. reade, you're worn to pieces. you get into your bunk and i'll take charge for an hour." "i want to see you do the things you know how to do." "not a thing will i do, mr. reade, unless you get into your bunk for an hour," declared walsh, sturdily. "will you call me in an hour, if i lie down?" "i will." "you'll call me in an hour?" "on my honor, mr. reade." tim walsh thereupon bundled the young engineer into another bunk, covered him up, and then watched until tom reade, utterly exhausted, fell into a deep sleep that was more like a trance. "but i didn't say in which hour i'd call him," muttered walsh under his breath, his eyes twinkling. then he tip-toed over to look at harry hazelton, who, also, was asleep. through the whole day tom slept nor did the ex-army nurse once quit the shack. when dark came tim walsh had just finished lighting the lamp and shading it when he turned to find tom reade glaring angrily into his eyes. "tim, what does this treachery mean?" reade questioned in a hoarse whisper. "it means, sir, that you had tired yourself out so that you were no longer fit to nurse your partner. he was in bad hands, taking his medicines and his care from a man as dog-tired as you were, mr. reade. it also means, sir, that i've been looking after mr. hazelton all day, and he's a bit better this evening. him and me had a short chat this afternoon, and you never heard us. mr. hazelton went to sleep only twenty minutes ago. when he wakes up you can feel his skin and take his pulse, and you'll find him doing better." "tim, i know you meant it for the best, and that i ought to be thankful to you," tom murmured, "but, man, i've a good notion to skin you alive!" "you'd better not try anything like that, sir," grinned walsh. "remember that i'm in charge here, now, and that you're only a visitor. if you interfere between me and my patient, mr. reade, i'll put you out of here and bar the door against you." tom, though angry at having been allowed to sleep for so long, had the quick good sense to see that the big miner was quite right. "all right, tim walsh," he sighed. "if you can take better care of my chum than i can then you're the new boss here. i'll be good." "first of all," ordered walsh, "go over to the cook shack and get some supper. don't dare to come back inside of an hour, so you'll have time to eat a real supper." tom departed obediently. once out in the keen air he began to understand how much good his day's sleep had done him. he was alive and strong again. taking in deep breaths, he tramped along the path over to the shaft ere he turned his steps toward the cook shack. "come right in, mr. reade, and eat something," urged cook leon. "this is the first time i've seen you in days. you must be hungry." "there's a fellow ten times smarter than i who's looking after hazelton," spoke tom cheerily, "so i believe i am hungry. yes; you may set me out a good supper." "who's the very smart man that's looking after your friend?" leon asked. "tim walsh." "why, he's nothing but a miner!" "you're wrong there, leon. walsh has been a soldier, and a hospital corps man at that. he knows more about nursing in a minute than i do in a month. oh, why didn't i hear about walsh earlier?" leon soon had a steaming hot supper on the table. first of all, reade swallowed a cupful of coffee. then he began his supper. "i wonder if ferrers can get back tonight?" tom mused, after the meal. "he might, but a doctor couldn't get here tonight, unless he, too, could move fast on skis," leon replied. "anyway, i'm not as worried as i was," sighed reade. the door opened, and alf drew entered. that youngster rarely came to the cook shack alone, but the lad learned that tom reade was present. "sit down and keep quiet, if you're going to stay here," ordered cook leon. alf went to the corner of the shack furthest from the other two. tom, watching covertly, saw alf furtively draw out cigarette and match. very softly drew scratched a match. he was standing, his back turned to the others, over a wood-box. click-ick-ick! sounded a warning note. "ow-ow-ow-ow!" howled alf, jumping back, dropping both match and cigarette. "what's the matter, youngster?" demanded tom placidly. "there's a rattlesnake in there under the wood," wailed the boy, his face ashen. "how do you know?" "i heard him rattle!" leon, too, had heard the sound, and would have started after a poker, intent on killing the reptile, had he not seen tom shake his head, a twinkle in his eye. "there are no rattlesnakes about in the dead of winter on this range," tom declared positively. "that one has been keeping hisself warm in the bottom of the wood-box," insisted alf. click-ick-ick! "there, didn't you hear it?" quivered the cigarette fiend. "i heard no rattler," declared tom, innocently. "did you, leon?" the cook thought, to be sure that he had heard one, but he caught the cue from reade and answered in the negative. "go and turn the wood-box out, leon, to show the young man that there's no snake there," tom requested. just then that task was hardly welcome to the cook, but he was a man of nerve, and, in addition, he reasoned that reade must know what he was talking about. so leon crossed the room with an air of unconcern. "here's your rattlesnake, i reckon," growled the cook, picking up alf's dropped cigarette and tossing it toward the boy. "that's the only rattlesnake on the range," tom pursued. "i've been trying to tell alf that cigarettes are undermining his nerves and making him hear and see things." leon unconcernedly overturned the wood-box. alf, with a yell, ran and jumped upon a stool, standing there, his eyes threatening to pop out from sheer terror. leon began to stir the firewood about with his foot. click-ick-ick! alf howled with terror, and seemed in danger of falling from the stool. "you'll keep on hearing rattlers, i expect," grunted reade, "when all the time it's nothing but the snapping of your nerves from smoking cigarettes. the next thing you know your brain will snap utterly." click-ick-ick! on his stool alf danced a mild war-dance from sheer nervousness. "come, be like a man, and give up the pests," advised tom. "i---i---be-believe i will," half agreed the lad. click-ick-ick-ick! "didn't you hear that?" quavered the youngster. "i hear your voice, but no rattlers," reade went on. "are you still hearing the snakes? be a man, alf! come, empty your pockets of cigarettes and throw them in the fire." like one in a dream alf drew obeyed. then he sat down, and presently he began to recover from the worst of his fright. when his hour was up, tom reade went back to the other shack. harry was awake, and feeling rather comfortable under big walsh's ministrations. soon after nine that night, the camp lay wrapped in slumber, save in the partner's shack, where the shaded light burned. tim walsh was still on duty, while tom sat half dozing in a chair. for the first time in days the young chief engineer was fairly contented in mind. he now believed that his chum would surely recover. had tom been outside, hidden and keeping alert watch over the surroundings, his content would have vanished into action. in the deep darkness of the night, dolph gage glided about on the firm snow crust at the further side of the mine shaft. with him, looking more like two evil shadows or spectres, were his two remaining companions. most of the time since they had been seen last, gage and his confederates had been within a mile or so of reade's camp. they had found a cave in which they had been passably comfortable. for food they had depended upon the fact that the commissary at the bright hope mine was easily burglarized, and that no very strict account was kept of the miners' food. thus the three scoundrels had managed not only to hide themselves from the law's officers, but to keep themselves comfortable as well. "now we can fix these youngsters, and slide back to our hiding place during the excitement," gage whispered to his two friends. "this crowd is broke. if we fix the mine in earnest tonight they won't be able to open it again. with the dynamite we brought up from the bright hope on this sled we can fire a blast that will starve and drive reade and hazelton away from the indian smoke range for good and all!" chapter xxii dolph gage fires his shot "yes, if we don't blow ourselves to kingdom come in the effort," growled the man known as josh. "you're talking bosh!" grunted dolph. "why should we blow ourselves up? is this the first time we've used dynamite!" "but there's such a lot of the stuff," grunted josh. "we must have a hundred and fifty sticks on the sled." "all of that," nodded gage. "if the stuff goes oh accidentally, when we're near-----" "then our troubles will be over," said gage grimly. "i'm not so all-fired anxious to have my troubles over that way," grumbled josh. the other man said nothing, but he looked extremely thoughtful. "the best way to make the thing sure," gage went on, "is to get to work before some one comes prowling this way." "who's going to prowl?" queried josh. "the camp is asleep." "reade is up; we know that," dolph insisted. "humph! we saw through the window that he's too drowsy to stir." "don't be too sure," warned gage. "he may be only a boy, but he's a sure terror, the way he finds out things! he may be out at any time. come, we'll hustle, and then get away from here." "i'm ready," said the third man. "then get on to the top ladder," ordered dolph. "when you're down about fifteen feet, then stop and light your lantern. we'll each do the same." dolph waited until the other two had reached the bottom of the shaft and he could see their lanterns. then he, too, descended, lighting two more lanterns after he reached firm ground. "where are you going to set the stuff off?" josh asked. "in two places," gage answered. "one big pile in the tunnel, half-way between the heading and the shaft, and the other at the bottom of the shaft. get picks and a couple of shovels, and we'll soon lay mines and tamp 'em." while the men were obeying, gage reclimbed the ladders. roping about a third of the dynamite sticks, and passing a loop over one shoulder, he succeeded in carrying the dynamite below. in two more trips he brought down the rest. the fourth trip he came down with a magneto and several coils of light firing wire. on account of their industry the time slipped by rapidly. as a matter of fact their wicked task occupied them for nearly four hours. however, no sound of what went on underground reached the ears of those who slept in the shacks. "we're ready for the wiring," announced josh at last. "i'll do that myself," said gage. "i want it well done. each of you hold a lantern here." by the light thus provided dolph attached the light wires so that the electric spark would be communicated to each stick in this "mine." this was done by looping a circuit wire around each separate stick, and connecting the wire with each detonating cap. the dynamite, frozen on the snow crust, had thawed again at this subterranean level. "now, for the last tamping," ordered gage. while the others worked, dolph carefully superintended their operations. at last the tamping was done, and the connecting wires were carried back to the bottom of the shaft. here the second mine was connected in the same manner, and the wires joined so that the circuit should be complete. "one spark from the magneto, now," chuckled dolph, "and both blasts will go on at once. whew! this old ridge will rock for a few seconds!" for a few moments he stood surveying his work with huge satisfaction. "now, get up with you," he ordered. "remember, at the bottom of the last ladder, blow out your lanterns." "the wires?" queried josh. "i'll carry 'em. all you have to do is to get out of here." in quivering silence the three evil-doers ascended. the light of their lanterns extinguished, they stepped out of the shaft and once more on the hard snow crust. "now, take the magneto back about two hundred feet, leaving the wires stretched on the snow," whispered dolph. "who's that coming?" josh demanded, in sudden alarm, clutching his leader's sleeve. for an instant all three men quailed. but they remained silent, peering. "don't get any more dreams, josh," dolph ordered sharply. "there's no one coming. it's all in your nerves." "i was sure i heard some one coming." josh insisted in a whisper. "but you didn't" "what if some one comes now?" "no one is coming." "but if some one should?" "all the more reason for getting our work done with speed. once we've connected the magneto and fired the blast our whole job will be done." josh, only half-convinced, drew a revolver and cocked the weapon. "now, be mighty careful!" snarled dolph. "don't get rattled and shoot at any shadows! a shot might spoil our plans tonight, for it would bring men tumbling out this way as soon as they could get out of their bunks and into some clothes. give me that pistol!" josh, hesitating, obeyed, whereupon dolph gage let down the hammer noiselessly, next dropping the weapon into a pocket of his own badly-frayed overcoat. "now, get the magneto back, as i told you. i'll take care of the wires and see that they don't snap or get tangled." this latter part of the work was quickly executed. dolph deftly attached the wires to the magneto, then seized the handle, prepared to pump. "all ready, now!" he whispered gleefully. "two or three pumps, and damage will be done that it would cost at least fifteen thousand dollars' worth of material and labor to remedy. the kid engineers haven't the money and can't raise it. they'll have to give up---be driven out. then we'll send our own man, who has his mineral rights, in here to take possession, and the mine will be ours once more---as it always has been by rights." "let us get a little way to the rear before you fire the blasts," pleaded josh. "go back a couple of hundred feet, if you want," assented dolph. "but don't you run away! remember that part of your job is to stand by me if we're followed and fired upon." josh and his companion carefully made their way back over the crust. dolph gage waited until he saw them to be a sufficient distance away. "now, work away, my magneto beauty" muttered gage, exultantly. "do your work, straight and true. drive these upstarts off of indian smoke range and bring my mine back into my own hands! these fool engineers have found no gold in the ridge, but it's there---waiting for me. and---now!" he pumped the handle of the magneto vigorously. in another instant the spark traveled. from underground there came a sudden rocking, followed, after a breathless interval, by a loud, crashing boom. both blasts had exploded in the same instant, and the dynamite had done its work! chapter xxiii tom begins to doubt his eyes when the shock came it shook the shacks so that nearly all of the sleeping miners became instantly alert. harry hazelton, dozing lightly, sat up in bed, then felt dizzy and lay down again. "you keep on your pillow, mr. hazelton," tim walsh ordered, gently. "it isn't your time to sit up yet, sir." "what was the racket?" asked harry, anxiously. "a blast in the mine," tom reade answered, truthfully enough. "i didn't know we had any dynamite left," persisted harry. "you haven't been in a condition to know all that has been going on for the last few days," tom retorted, gently. "now, don't ask me any more questions, for i've got to go out and see how the blast came along." as he spoke tom was hustling into his coat and pulling his cap down over his ears. then, full of the liveliest anxiety, the young chief engineer hastened out. his instant conclusion had been that some treachery was afoot, but whence it came he had no idea. just now tom reade wanted facts, not conjectures. as he closed the door and hurried across the camp, tom found the aroused miners flocking out. several of them bore rifles, for they, too, had guessed treachery. "here's the boss!" "what's happened, mr. reade?" "men," tom called softly, "i don't know what's up. but don't talk loudly or excitedly, for hazelton has been aroused by the noise and the shake, and i've tried to turn it off. don't let him hear your voices." "it was in the mine, sir, wasn't it?" asked one man, hurrying to reade's side. "it must have been, hunter. come along, all of you. we'll go over to the shaft and take a look." several of the men were carrying lighted lanterns. at the shaft one of the first evidences they discovered was the wires running back to the magneto. "trickery, here!" muttered one of the men. "mr. reade, shall we try to pick up a trail and follow it?" "no," answered tom, after a moment's thought. "it would be wasted time. even if you pick up a trail on this frozen crust, which is hardly likely, you couldn't follow it except by lantern light. that would be slow work. besides, it would show the rascals where you were and how fast you were moving. they could fire at you easily. no; let's have a look at the damage." looking down the shaft, with their rim light, from the top, all looked as usual about the shaft. "hand me one of the lanterns," called tom. "hunter, you take another and come with me." "careful, sir," warned another man. "the blasts may not be all over as yet." tom reade smiled. "the blasts were fired by magneto," he explained. "there can't be any more blasts, unless some enemy should sneak back and adjust the magneto to some other 'mine.' you won't let any one down the shaft for that purpose, i know." there was a laugh, amid which tom and hunter descended. near the bottom of the third ladder reade found that the rest of the way down the shaft had been blocked by the smashing of the ladders. "go up, hunter," the young engineer directed, "and start the men to knotting ropes and splicing 'em. we want at least a hundred feet of knotted rope." tom waited on the last solid rung while this order was being carried out. by and by hunter reached him with one end of a long, knotted line. "don't pass down any more," tom called, "until i have made this end fast." this was soon done, and the rest of the rope was lowered. "hunter," tom asked, "are you good for going down a hundred feet or so on a knotted rope?" "i don't believe i am, sir." "then don't try it. go up and send down two or three men who feel sure they can do it. but urge every man against taking the risk foolishly. for a man who can't handle himself on a knotted rope it's a fine and easy way to break his neck." "are you going down now, sir?" "at once." "then i'll stay here and hold a lantern for you," replied hunter, doggedly. "i won't stir until i know you're safe at the bottom of the shaft." "go ahead up," ordered tom. "i'm tying a lantern to my coat." this he was even then doing, in fact, making the knot with a handkerchief passed through one of the button-holes of the garment. "why don't you go up, with my message, hunter?" tom demanded. "i'm afraid i can't stir, sir, until i know that you're safe at the bottom." "nonsense! what could you do to save me if i lost my hold and fell?" tom questioned. "nothing at all, sir; but i'll feel a heap easier when i know you're safe at the bottom." "all right, then," called reade. "watch me!" he swung off into space with the skill and sureness of the practiced athlete. a little later tom touched bottom, calling up: "now, get busy, hunter. i'm all right." "are you at the bottom of the shaft, sir?" "i'm on solid ground, but i'm not sure about being at the bottom of the shaft. i'm afraid the opening to the tunnel has been blocked. send down two or three men, and then some tools. the tools can come down in the tub, but forbid any men to try that way. the tub is too uncertain and likely to tip over." "if the tub tips out a pick or two, they might fall on you, sir, and wind up your life," hunter objected. "that's a chance to which no good sport can object," laughed tom. "go ahead and see that my instructions are carried out." one of the men came down the rope first. he landed safely, but looked at his hands in the dim light. "that's a hard road to travel, mr. reade," he remarked. "i'll not be much pleased with the trip back." "it's easy to any one who has had enough practice," tom observed, mildly. then two other men came down in turn. "we've enough men here," shouted reade. "now send tools." before long the young engineer had his little force busily engaged. of course, many of the timbers had been blown out of the walling of the shaft. there was danger of the dirt caving in on the few workers below. "now, you four can keep going, digging straight down and to the eastward," said tom. "i'm going up to get some more men at work, putting in temporary walling. i don't want any of you men hurt by saving dirt from the sides of the shaft." all four men stopped work at once. "what's the matter!" asked reade. "coming down's easy, sir; we're waiting to see you go _up_ that rope." "then i'll endeavor not to keep you long away from your tasks," smiled the young engineer athlete. grasping the rope just above a knot over his head, tom gave a slight heave, then went rapidly up, hand over hand. he was soon lost from the little circle of light thrown by the lanterns at the shaft's bottom. "not many men like him," remarked one of the miners named tibbets, admiringly. "i've been told that's what young fellers learn at college," said another miner, as he spat on his hands and raised his pick. for two hours reade attended to the mending of the walling, as the system of laying walls in shafts is termed. ladders had to be rebuilt even in order to put temporary walling in place. then the young chief engineer deemed it time to run over to the partners' shack. he opened the door softly, peeping in. feeling the draught tim walsh turned and came to the door. "mr. hazelton is doing all right, sir." "has he asked for me?" "no, sir." "if he does, tell him that i'm putting in all night at the mine. if he gets worse run over and get me." then tom went back to his labors. dolph gage and his fellow rascals, owing to their haste, and also to the fact that they did not know as much as they thought they did about laying and tamping blasts, had not done as much harm as they had planned. by the time that the miners had dug down some four feet, sending up the dirt in the hoist-tub, they came to the opening of the tunnel. thus encouraged, they worked faster than ever, until a new shift was sent down the repaired ladders to relieve them. by daylight the men, changing every two hours for fresher details, were well into the tunnel. here, for some yards, the tunnel was somewhat choked. after this semi-obstruction had been cleared away, tom reade was able to lead his men for some distance down the tunnel. then they came upon the scene of the late big blast. here the rock had been hurled about in masses. a scene of apparent wreck met the eyes of the miners and their leader, though even here the damage was not as great as had been expected by gage and his rascals. to the north of the tunnel lay a great, gaping, jagged tear in the wall of rock. this tear, or hole, extended some ten feet to the north of the tunnel proper. as tom entered, a glint caught his eye. something in the aspect of that dull illumination, reflected back to him, made his pulses leap. he passed his left hand over his eyes, wondering if he were dreaming. "i---i can't believe it!" he stammered. "look, boys, and tell me what you see!" chapter xxiv conclusion "it's the gleam of the real metal in the rock, sir---what's what it is," gasped one of the miners, as he held up a lantern to aid him in his quest. it lay there, in streaks and rifts, a dull gleaming here and there. to be sure, it was nothing at all like a solid golden wall, but tom reade could be contented with less than golconda. in spots the precious metal showed in darkish streaks, instead of yellow. but these dark streaks showed admixtures of silver. "run and get me a hammer, one of you," cried tom, breathing fast. when the miner returned with the chisel-nosed hammer he found the young engineer eagerly exploring the whole length of the new wall thus laid bare. "i knew that a real vein lay here," tom went on, as he took the hammer. "the only trouble with us, men, was that we were working eight or ten feet south of where the true vein lay. now, by the great custer, we've hit it---thanks to the enemy!" eagerly tom chipped off specimens of the rich gold and silver bearing rock. he loaded down two men and carried more himself. every piece of rock was a specimen of rich ore. up the shaft they went, emerging into the sunlight. "i'd like to know who the scamps were that fired the blasts in the mine," tom muttered joyously. "i'd like to reward them." "party coming, sir," reported a miner, pointing to the southward. over the snow came a cutter, drawn by two horses, slipping fast over the snow. from one side of the cutter a pair of skis hung outward. "that's jim ferrers and the doctor from dugout," tom breathed. "but who can the other lot of people be." a pung, drawn also by a pair of horses, contained five men. jim was quickly on hand to explain matters. "i've brought dr. scott. he'll have to see hazelton quickly, and then get back to dugout," jim declared. "the doctor is afraid the crust may melt, and then he'll be stalled here with his outfit. "those men over there?" inquired reade, as the pung stopped, and the five men got out "two of them look familiar to me." "i reckon," nodded jim ferrers. "they're officers---all of 'em. they've come over here to hunt the rocks to the south of here. up at the jail the keepers worried out of eb some information about a cave where dolph gage hangs out. it seems that gage and his pals have been stealing supplies at the bright hope mine." jim introduced dr. scott, who said: "i must see my patient and be away in an hour. i don't want to get stalled here by a thaw." so tom led the way to the shack, and did not see the departure of the law's five officers. outside reade carefully dropped the ore he had brought along and made a sign to his workmen to do the same. then the partners and the physician went inside. tom watched closely while the physician placed a thermometer in harry's mouth and felt his pulse. respiration was also counted, after which dr. scott produced a stethoscope and listened at harry's chest and back. a little more, and the examination was completed. "gentlemen," announced dr. scott, "you've brought me all this distance over the snow-crust to see a patient who is just about convalescent. this young man may have some nourishment today, and by day after tomorrow he will be calling loudly for the cook." "what has been the trouble, doc?" hazelton asked. "congestion of the right lung, my son, but the congestion has almost wholly disappeared." a mist came before tom reade's eyes. now that his chum was out of danger reade realized how severe on him the whole ordeal had been. as soon as tom found a chance he asked dr. scott: "will a little excitement of the happiest kind hurt hazelton any?" "just what kind of excitement?" "we've had a disappointing mine that has turned over night into a bonanza. i've a lot of the finest specimens outside." "bring them in," directed the physician. tom came in with an armful. "harry," he called briskly, "we were right in thinking we had a rich vein. the only trouble was that we were working eight or ten feet south of the real vein. look over these specimens." tom ranged half a dozen on the top blanket. when harry's glistening eyes had looked them all over, tom produced other specimens of ore. dr. scott examined them, too, with a critical eye. "if you've got much of this stuff in your mine, reade," said the medical man, "you won't need to work much longer." "won't need to work much longer?" gasped tom reade. "man alive, we don't want to stop working. when a man stops working he may as well consult the undertaker, for he's practically dead anyway. what we want gold for is so that we can go on working on a bigger scale than ever! and now, harry, the name for our mine has come to me." "what are you going to call it?" hazelton asked. "with your consent, and ferrers's, we'll name it the ambition mine. that's just what the mine stands for with us, you know." "the best name in the world," harry declared. "and now, young man," said dr. scott, addressing hazelton, "i want you to rest quietly while tim walsh sponges you off and the cook is busy making some thin gruel for you. reade, in order to get you out of here i'll agree to go down in your mine with you." dr. scott proved more than an interested spectator when he reached the tunnel. he possessed considerable knowledge of ores. "yes; you have your bonanza here, reade," declared the physician. "almost any ambition that money will gratify will soon be yours. from the very appearance of this newly-opened vein i don't believe it is one that will give out in a hurry." "by the way, doe," called ferrers, joining them, "here's that nugget that you wouldn't take when i offered it to you in dugout. you've made your visit, and now the nugget is yours." "i don't want it," smiled dr. scott. "i want real money, in place of the nugget, and i'll be content to wait for it. the owners of this mine will be welcome to run up a very considerable bill with me." "then can you stay a few days?" queried tom eagerly. "until good old harry is wholly out of danger." "yes; i'll stay a few days, if you wish it, mr. reade." finally jim had the presence of mind to pilot the physician to the cook shack. quietly enough the officers from dugout had reentered camp. with them they had borne one long, covered object---the remains of dolph gage, who had been shot and killed while resisting arrest. gage's two remaining companions had been brought in, handcuffed. these expert sheriff's officers from dugout had been able to find a trail, even on the hard-frozen snow crust, and had tracked the criminals directly to their cave. jim ferrers went over to where the body of gage lay on the snow. gently he turned down the cloth that covered the dead man's face. for a few moments ferrers gazed at the still face; then, awkwardly, after hesitating, he lifted his hat from his head. "that man killed your brother, jim," murmured tom, stepping up to his nevada partner. "you had other reasons for hating him. in the old days you would have run dolph gage down and killed him yourself. in these newer days you have left gage to the hands of the law. it is a much better way, and you will never even have to wonder whether you have done any wrong." "the law's way is always best, i reckon," returned jim ferrers, slowly. that same day, after the officers had gone with their men, jim ferrers, finding that the crust was holding, drove fresh horses to the doctor's cutter. the physician remained behind to take care of harry hazelton, but jim went fast toward dugout city. he was armed with letters from dr. scott that told certain dealers in dugout what unlimited credit the partners ought to have on account of their mine. before harry was sitting up vehicles had been employed to bring to ambition mine considerable supplies of dynamite, food and all else that was needed, including half a dozen of the latest books for the amusement of the invalid engineer. everything went on swiftly now. more miners, too, were brought over, while the hard crust lasted, and a score of carpenters. lumber camp also. there was a constant procession of vehicles between dugout and ambition mine. tom did not hesitate to avail himself of his sudden credit, for every day's work showed that the vein was not giving out. an ore dump was piling up that meant big returns when the ore could be hauled to the smelter. ambition mine proved a steady "payer." no; our young men did not become multi-millionaires. mines that will do that for three partners are scarce, indeed. ambition, however, did pay enough so that, by spring, tom and harry, after looking over their bank account, found that they could go ahead and furnish their engineer offices on a handsome scale. some thousands, too, found their way to their families in the good old home town of gridley. the mine was turned into a stock company. tom, harry and jim each retained one-fourth interest. the remaining fourth of the stock was divided evenly between cook leon and the twenty-four miners who had stood by so loyally, so that now each of the original miners, in addition to his day's pay, owned one per cent. of the gold and silver that went up in the new elevator that replaced the tub-hoist. alf drew did not receive one of the small shares in the mine property. his cigarette smoking had made him lazy and worthless, and he had done nothing to promote the success of the once desperate mining venture. however, there was hope for alf. at the time when he threw his remaining "coffin nails" in the cook's fire he really did "swear off," and he afterwards was able to refrain from the use of tobacco in any form. he grew taller and stouter and developed his muscles. tom and harry employed him at the mine as a checking clerk, where he actually earned his money, and saved a goodly amount of it every month. "tom, you rascal, you promised some day to show me how you scared that boy stiff with your rattlesnake click," harry reminded his partner. "nothing very difficult about it," laughed tom. "can you make a noise by grinding your molars together---your grinding teeth? try it." harry did. the noise came forth from his mouth, though it didn't sound exactly like the rattle of a rattler. "keep on practicing, and you'll get that rattle down to perfection---that's all," nodded tom. spring found the young engineers restless for new fields. they longed to tackle other big feats of engineering. jim ferrers understood, and said to them: "you youngsters know, now, that you can trust me to run this mine." "we always knew that we could trust you," tom corrected him. "well, you know it now, anyway. you want to get back into the world. you are restless for new fields to conquer. go ahead; only come back once in a while and shake hands with old jim. while you're away i'll send you a monthly statement of your earnings and see that the money is placed to your credit." on their ride to dugout, tom and harry were favored with the company of mr. dunlop, promoter of the bright hope mine. "i suppose it's a lucky thing for you boys that you stuck to your own mine," said dunlop. "you've come out a good deal better. i wish i had secured your services, though. we're making some money over at the bright hope, but we'd make a lot more with the right engineers in charge. i'm on my way to dugout to use the telegraph wires in earnest. i've learned that the real way to make money out of a mine is to have a real engineer in charge." tom and harry delayed but a couple of hours at dugout. then----however, their further adventures must be delayed in the narration until they appear between the covers of the next volume in this series. it will be published at once under the title, "_the young engineers in mexico; or, fighting the mine swindlers_." in this new volume will be described what tom and harry did in a land of mystery and romance; a land where the sharp contrasts of wealth and squalor have fostered the development of many noble characters and have created some of the vilest among men. the forthcoming story is one filled with the glamour and the fascination of that neighbor-country of hot-blooded men. in mexico, tom and harry encountered their most startling adventures of all. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: faster and faster danced ned rector.] the pony rider boys in the alkali or finding a key to the desert maze by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, the pony rider boys in texas, the pony rider boys in montana, the pony rider boys in the ozarks, etc., etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio -------new york made in u. s. a. copyright mcmx by the saalfield publishing company contents chapter. i. the desert's mystic spell ii. the first night in camp iii. twisted by a twister iv. the charge of the light brigade v. stalking big game by moonlight vi. bagged by lucky shots vii. chunky comes to grief viii. nearly drowned in an alkali sink ix. the boys discover a river x. a cowboy takes a header xi. a piece of human sandpaper xii. running down the trail xiii. coyotes join in the chorus xiv. fun in the foothills xv. bud promises some excitement xvi. the battle of the stallions xvii. on a wild-horse hunt xviii. roped by rough riders xix. winning their reward xx. visited by a halo xxi. off on a dry trail xxii. in the hermit's cave xxiii. lost in the desert maze xxiv. conclusion the pony rider boys in the alkali chapter i the desert's mystic spell "if this is the desert, then i think i prefer mountains," decided stacy brown. "it is not the desert. we have not reached it yet. this is the diamond range," replied tom parry, who was to guide the pony rider boys across the great nevada desert. "we shall soon be there, however." "you'll know the place when you see it, chunky," said ned rector. "and feel it, too, i guess," added tad butler under his breath. "we have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide. "were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert." "then, if we're so near, why not get out in the open, instead of floundering through these hills?" questioned stacy. "i'm thinking you'll wish you were back in the hills before many days," laughed the guide. "mr. parry has his own reasons for following this trail, master stacy," interposed professor zepplin. "we are entirely in his hands and it is not for us to question the wisdom of his decision." the guide nodded. parry was a splendid type of the plainsman of the great west. tall, straight, clear-eyed, his bronzed cheeks fairly glistening in the sunlight, he would have attracted attention anywhere. at present, he sat on his pony motionless, the broad sombrero tilted upward above his forehead as he peered into the amber haze that hung over the western horizon. "yes, we shall reach the desert soon enough. we are heading for the newark valley now, and should be there in time to make camp this afternoon, providing the weather is satisfactory," announced parry, more to himself than to the others. "weather--weather?" stammered professor zepplin. "what's the matter with the weather?" "one hundred in the shade. isn't that matter enough?" grunted stacy. "how do you know, chunky? you haven't seen any shade to-day," demanded ned rector. "there isn't a patch of shade as large as a man's hand in this whole country, so far as i have been able to observe." "and still less in the country we are about to enter," added the guide. tad butler, however, had been observing the guide keenly. though the lad had asked no questions, he had caught a note of anxiety in the tone, as well as in the apprehensive glances that parry kept continually casting to the westward. the guide, catching tad's inquiring look, smiled and nodded. "you should always keep your eyes on the weather in this country, especially when on the alkali," he told the boy after the party had started on again. "why more there than elsewhere, mr. parry?" "because storms here are frequently attended with no little peril. you'll see some of them, no doubt, before we reach the end of our journey, and you will wish you hadn't." "but there's no sign of storm now," protested tad. "perhaps not to you, young man. do you see that haze settling down like a fog on the western horizon?" "yes, i've been looking at it--a golden fog." the guide smiled grimly. "i wouldn't call it exactly golden. i should call it fiery," said the guide. "has it any particular meaning?" "may mean most anything. means storm of some kind--perhaps rain, and maybe wind. if it passes, we'll drop out of here and make camp on the desert to-night." "that will be fine," said tad. "we are all crazy for the desert. since we started out on our trips, last spring, we have experienced almost everything that could happen to us on mountain and plain----" "but not including the desert?" "no." "you'll find it different; very different." "i suppose you know every foot of it--in fact its every mood, do you not?" questioned tad. the guide, for the moment lost in thought, finally turned to the lad again. "moods, did you say? well, that describes it. the desert is as moody as an old hen with a brood of chickens. know the nevada desert? sometimes i think i do; then again, i know i don't." "but you could not get lost----" "i have," smiled the guide. "i've been wandering about the alkali for days without being able to find my way back. if you are able to read trails and the droop of the scattering sage brush you will have made a long stride toward knowing your way about the desert." "i don't understand," wondered the lad. "no; of course not. it's a long story, but when we have time i will initiate you into the mysteries of reading the desert signs. the west is clearing up. that's good," the guide exclaimed in a relieved tone. "which means that we go on?" "yes." "are we turning off into the desert, did you say?" asked walter perkins, with sparkling eyes. "well, not just yet, master walter. we shall have to refill our water-bags before leaving the range. i take it, you boys would not care to be without water?" "no, i guess not. but where are you going to get it?" asked ned. "about a mile further on there should be a mountain stream. there will not be much water in it just now, but we shall be able to fill our bags and water the stock, i guess." "hooray!" shouted the boys. "the call of the desert is stronger than ever," averred tad. "you are not the first ones who have felt that way, young man. 'the call of the desert,' as you put it, has lured many a poor victim to his death. water is the all important thing when on a journey of this kind, and we shall have to be vigilant that we do not allow ourselves to be without it." as the guide had said, the stream, when they finally came up with it more than two hours later, was a mere rivulet. "call that a stream?" sniffed stacy. "no, it's a freshet," replied ned rector. "you might take a swim in it were it not for the danger of drowning." "how are we going to get any water unless we dip it up with a spoon?" asked tad. "i'll show you," smiled the guide, dismounting. already the stock had sniffed the presence of water, even though there was so little of it. the ponies chafed at their bits and snorted, while the burros of the pack train tossed their heads in their impatience. "i used to have a plaything that worked just like the heads of those lazy burros," stacy informed his companions wisely. "that's about your gait," growled ned. "you didn't think so when he saved our lives in the ruby mountain," reminded tad. "that's right, ned," confirmed walter. "don't be ungrateful for small favors." "i apologize, master chunky," announced ned, removing his sombrero and unbending in a ceremonious bow to the fat boy. "we will now make a water hole. come along if you wish to know how it is done," called the guide. leading the ponies and pack animals down along the slender water course until they had reached a natural pocket, the guide halted. with a rubber blanket he formed a basin in the depression in the rocks through which the water had been trickling and losing itself far down in the earth. two of the pony rider boys held the blanket in place while it was slowly filling with water. "now, master stacy, if you will be good enough to fetch one of your pails we will water the stock first." stacy did so. to save time, walter brought another pail, so that this could be filled while his companion was giving the water to one of their animals. it was a slow process; and, by the time the six ponies and four burros had drunk their fill, something more than an hour had passed. by this time the rubber blanket had been thoroughly cleaned by constant rubbing. "bring on the canteens and water-bags," directed tom parry. "we'll have water enough to carry us through a few days of desert life, at any rate. load the burros down." the animals now having satisfied their thirst were nibbling gingerly at the scant growth of sage brush. it was not a tender morsel at any time, but from that time on they would be obliged to subsist almost entirely on the bitter stuff. "have you boys filled up?" asked tom, looking about. "better drink enough to last you for the rest of the day. we shall have to use our water sparingly for a time now. take on a supply while you have the chance." "how about you, chunky?" laughed ned rector. "think i'm a camel?" demanded stacy, with an air of indignation. "now, will you be good, ned rector?" laughed tad. even the stolid face of the guide relaxed in a broad smile of amusement. "then, if you are all supplied, we had better be on our way. if we are going to camp on the alkali to-night we shall have to make time between this and sundown. it's about three hours high." with a whoop and a hurrah, the boys swung into their saddles, heading joyously for the newark valley and the silent, mysterious desert that in the dim, misty past had been a great inland sea. readers of the preceding volumes of this series will recall how the pony rider boys came to spend their summer vacation on horseback, under the guardianship of walter perkins' tutor, professor zepplin. with a capable mountain guide, their first journey was through the wildest part of the rocky mountains, where they met with a series of rousing adventures and hair-breadth escapes--experiences calculated to try the stoutest hearts. it was here that the young explorers hunted big game--here that they discovered a valuable mine that had been the goal of prospectors for many years past. all this was outlined in the first volume of the series, "the pony rider boys in the rockies." in the second volume, "the pony rider boys in texas," was narrated how the four lads joined in a cattle drive across the plains of texas, becoming real cowboys. being by this time well hardened physically, they were able to do men's work in rounding up the stampeding cattle, which led them into many thrilling adventures. it will be recalled, too, how, during a visit to the mysterious church of san miguel, the pony rider boys solved the veiled riddle of the plains, which marked the end of the most eventful journey of their lives. in the third volume, "the pony rider boys in montana," we find the plucky lads following the old custer trail over mountain and plain. it will be remembered how tad butler, while chasing a bear that had disturbed their camp, overheard a plot to stampede and slaughter the herd of sheep belonging to a rancher whom they knew; how the lad managed to escape from the men who sought his life; his eventual capture by the blackfeet indians, his escape, and the final solving of the mystery of the old custer trail, during which the boys were in the thick of a battle between cowboys and sheep herders. in the volume preceding the present one the pony rider boys were once more in the saddle in search of further adventure. in "the pony rider boys in the ozarks," they met with a series of disasters and exciting experiences which tested their courage almost to the breaking point. they were beset by a band of robbers, who stole their ponies. nearly all the party, one by one, was lost in the fastnesses of the ozark wilderness. it will be recalled how the boys, during a visit to the red star mine, were caught in a wreck far underground; how a car of dynamite exploded, making them prisoners in a rocky tomb, and how, after being rescued by a mountain girl, they discovered the real secret of the ruby mountain, narrowly escaping with their lives in doing so. no sooner had they brought this eventful trip to a close than they set out to face the perils of the great, silent desert of nevada. they were almost upon it now. its spell was upon them and the lads fell silent as they waited anxiously for the first sight of the land which they had journeyed so far to gaze upon. they had not long to wait after leaving the water hole where they had replenished their supply. the guide at last rode out upon a rocky promontory, where he halted, waiting for the others of the party to come up with him. "where's the desert--is that it?" demanded ned, riding up beside him. the guide raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. "the desert lies before you," he answered, his eyes traveling meditatively over the miles of waste and mottled landscape. a brazen glare lay over the scene, while up from the white alkali flats rose a wave of heat that was suffocating. old, dried-up water sinks lay white and glistening here and there, framed by vast areas of sage brush, while on beyond in the blue distance lay miles and miles of monotonous, billowing hills and mountains. "whew!" gasped chunky, mopping the perspiration from his brow. "this is somewhat hotter than chillicothe, missouri. i wish i had a cake of ice to put under my hat." "beautiful! grand!" murmured professor zepplin. "reminds me of a turkish bath i was in once in st. louis," added ned. tad butler was silent. he was too profoundly impressed even to speak; and even the guide, familiar as he was with the scene, was silent and thoughtful, too. he understood full well the perils, the pitfalls for the unwary, that lay along the pathway of those who sought to traverse that barren waste. at last he turned to professor zepplin. "shall we move?" he asked. the professor nodded. "one of you boys get behind the burros and start them along, please," requested the guide. stacy brown complied gleefully. no more pleasant task could have been assigned to him than that of prodding the lazy pack-bearers. "forward!" commanded tom parry. the boys clucked to their ponies. not an animal moved. surprised, the lads brought their spurs against the flanks that they could feel were trembling a little. a strange, unlooked for thing occurred. with whinnies of terror the little animals reared and plunged. before their puzzled riders could control them every pony in the outfit had whirled suddenly and began plunging along on the back trail. a chorus of "whoa's" rose from the pony rider boys. quirt and spur were used freely, and firm hands on the bridle reins quickly checked the sudden rush. by dint of force and persuasion the boys finally succeeded in forcing their mounts back. that is, all had done so save stacy brown. his pony was spinning like a top, while stacy red-faced and perspiring was uttering loud, angry shouts, driving in spur and raining quick, short blows on the animal's rump. the burros had moved just far enough away to be out of reach of stacy's plunging animal. at last it threw itself violently to the ground. stacy, by a remarkably lively jump, cleared his falling mount, but not a second too soon to save himself from being pinned beneath it. he sat down on the animal's head, puffing from his exertions. after a minute, during which the other boys laughed so heartily that their own ponies nearly got the better of them again, stacy rose and began prodding his mount with the end of the quirt, urging it to get up again. but the pony refused to budge. "he's 'hog-tied,'" nodded the guide, riding up. "let him stay there till he gets ready to move. no use trying to hurry the beast. he's too much scared." "scared at what?" questioned stacy, looking up apprehensively. "yes; that's what i'd like to know?" agreed ned. "i don't see anything that looks like a scare." the guide was looking down at the animal pityingly, tad thought. "what are they so frightened at, mr. parry?" asked the lad. "my boy, they are afraid of the desert," replied the guide solemnly. chapter ii the first night in camp "the desert?" the pony riders gasped in chorus. "yes. it is not an uncommon thing. they seem to realize instinctively that there is danger off there. even in animals that never have been near the desert you will find the same inborn dread of the alkali flats. and i don't know that i blame them any." "but is my broncho going to lie here all day?" queried chunky. "if that's his idea i might as well give him another argument that will make him change his mind." "let him alone. he'll be better off if you do not force him. when he gets up be gentle but firm with him." "that's the strangest thing i ever saw," said tad quietly. "most remarkable," agreed the professor. the faces of the boys were serious. they too began to perceive the feeling that had stirred the ponies to resist when turned toward the silent plains that lay spread for mile upon mile before them. after a few minutes stacy's pony scrambled to its feet. the lad was in the saddle in a twinkling. "now, i guess you'll go where i want you to. whoa! quit that b-b-b-b-bucking." the animal had gone into a series of jolting bucks, with back arched and head well down. the fat boy held his seat well. his face was red and streaked with perspiration which ran down it in tiny rivulets under the violent exercise to which he had just been subjected. the boys forgot the serious side of the incident in their enjoyment of their companion's discomfiture. tom parry gazed upon the scene with more than ordinary curiosity. it was the first opportunity he had had of observing a pony rider boy in action. at that moment stacy brown was most distinctly in action. most of the time there was a broad patch of daylight under him, and when he hit the saddle it was with a jolt that seemed as if it must jar his head from his body. "put some salt on his tail," suggested ned rector. "y-y-y-you do it," gasped chunky, which brought a roar of laughter from the whole party. "yes, why don't you?" teased tad. "it's the only way you can make good." "salting down horse is not my business," laughed ned. all at once the pony whirled, heading down the mountain side with a disconcerting rush that nearly brought disaster upon its rider. with a shout the rest of the boys urged their mounts into a jog-trot and followed on down the trail as fast as they dared, for the descent was steep and dangerous. "he'll break his neck!" cried the professor. "after that bucking i'm sure chunky's neck is too well fastened to come off," laughed tad. stacy was out of sight. they could hear him yelling at his broncho, so they knew he was still in the saddle and right side up. the other ponies, apparently having forgotten their fear, were following the leader willingly now. all at once they saw lad and mount burst into view on the plain below. "he's on the desert!" shouted tad. laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the fat boy, the pony riders hastened to the base of the hill. stacy brown was still busily engaged trying to subdue his pony, though some of the lads shrewdly suspected that their companion was urging the animal on in order to show off his horsemanship. in a moment more they, too, were in difficulties. no sooner had their bronchos set foot on the desert than a sudden panic once more possessed them. professor zepplin's pony whirled on its haunches, then began climbing the rocks, with the agility of a squirrel. the others, however, had troubles of their own, which saved the professor from being laughed at. the animals seemed determined not to be forced to go on, and it required severe measures to induce them to take up the desert trail. tom parry's mount did not exhibit the same fear as did the others. still, it gave him more or less trouble, appearing to be excited, in spite of itself, by the actions of its companions. at last they succeeded in lining the animals up in an orderly formation. their next move was to get the burros moving along ahead of them. the way being open and level there was no necessity for leading the pack animals now. these could take care of themselves without danger to the outfit. "and this is the desert!" marveled the professor. "it is," smiled the guide. "looks to me more like a landscape of german measles," averred stacy, as they moved along through scattering sage brush and open sandy stretches. now that they had reached the plain itself, they discovered that it was not one level stretch of land. instead, the country was rolling; here and there were wide reaches of whitish desert sands and alkali sinks. the atmosphere was like an oven. not a breath of air was stirring. already the lads were mopping their brows and fanning their faces with their sombreros, while spots of dark shining moisture on the ponies' sides bore evidence that they, too, felt the baking heat. "i say, fellows, let's find some shade," called stacy. "all right, go ahead and we'll follow," laughed tad. "i'll ride up to the top of that knoll and make an observation." tom parry smiled appreciatively as the lad galloped up the sharp rise of ground, where chunky sat on his pony, shading his eyes as he gazed off over the cheerless desert. "well, how about that shade?" shouted ned. stacy turned disconsolately and rode back to his companions. "there isn't any," he said. "of course not," laughed ned. "but i know how to make some," added the fat boy. slipping from his pony he cut some sage brush, which he fashioned about his head in the shape of a hood, so that it gave his perspiring face some protection from the intense glare of the sun. "now, all you need is a strip of mosquito netting," suggested walter. "and a little red rocking chair," added ned. "with a dish of ice cream," laughed tad. "i guess you will have to be satisfied with a cup of alkali water," interjected the professor, dryly. "you will find the air much cooler, shortly," the guide advised them. "the sun is going down now and i think we had better make camp, if the professor has no objections." "not in the least. in fact, i am quite ready to call it a day's work." "where do we camp, mr. parry?" asked tad. "right here. it is as good a place as any that we shall find. there is little choice out here." they were now in a broad valley, the rolling hills covered with a sparse growth of sage brush rising gradually on each side. the boys threw themselves from their ponies gladly, stripping the saddles from the animals' backs. "better stake the animals down, for the first two or three nights, so they won't take french leave," advised the guide. "how about the burros?" asked tad. "let them roam. they'll stay as long as the ponies are here. the pack animals will fill up on sage, after which they will come back to camp to sleep." all hands began to unpack. the tents were pitched in record time, cots unfolded and preparations for the night made with a skill that comes from long practice in the open. "what are we to do for a camp-fire?" asked walter. "there is not a single stick of wood about here." "burn the sage," answered the guide. "that stuff won't burn," retorted ned. "try it." they did. in an incredibly short time a hot fire was blazing up, on which they piled armfuls of the stunted desert growth. "now, get your food ready and i will cook it," said parry, as the flames began to die down. when the fire had settled to a bed of hot ashes tom thrust the bacon directly into the ashes, placing the coffee pot near the center, around and on top of which he heaped the ashes. it was a new method of preparing a meal, and the lads watched the process with keen interest. "i shouldn't think that bacon would be fit to eat. however, i presume you know what you are doing," said the professor. "it's the only way, sir," replied parry. "we have to work with the implements that nature has provided." "nature must have been in a stingy mood when she made this country," laughed ned. "i don't agree with you," said tad. "it is the most beautiful and interesting scene that i have ever looked upon." parry nodded approvingly. "and as fickle as it is beautiful," added the guide. "the supper will be ready by the time you have the table set, boys." in spite of the heat the lads realized all at once that their appetites had not suffered. bacon, jelly and biscuits, which had been warmed over the ashes, seemed to them to have reached the proportions of a banquet. stacy helped himself to a large slice of bacon which he proceeded to munch. no sooner had he begun, however, than he made a wry face. "what's the matter. isn't the bacon all right?" asked the guide. "awful! somebody's trying to poison me," chunky shouted, red in the face. "must have a brown taste in your mouth,' laughed ned. "what's the trouble----" began the professor. "good gracious, there is something the matter with the stuff. ugh! never tasted such bitter stuff. did you purchase this meat in a reliable place, mr. parry!" the guide smiled good-naturedly. "the bacon is all right, sir. it's the sage brush taint that you get." "the what?" "sage brush. the same taste will be in everything you eat out in this country--that and the alkali." "then i starve," announced stacy, firmly, laying down his fork and folding his arms. "any time you starve it'll be because there is nothing to eat," retorted ned. "you'll all get used to the taste after you have been out a few days," comforted the guide. "never!" shouted stacy. "i rather like the peculiar taste," smiled tad butler. "good as a tonic," spoke up walter. thus encouraged stacy tried it again, at first nibbling gingerly at the bacon, then attacking it boldly. even the professor, after a time, appeared to forget the bitterness of the food, passing his plate for more. tom parry smiled indulgently. "you'll all like it after a while," he nodded. "i'm sure i'll have to take back some sage brush with me to flavor my food after we leave the desert," scoffed ned. supper finished the dishes were cleared away, after which the party threw themselves down beside the camp-fire in keen enjoyment of the hour. the evening was delightfully cool, with not a trace of the baking heat of the day. "doesn't seem possible that there could be such a change in the temperature in so short a time," marveled the professor. "it is the mood of the desert," answered the guide. "what time do we start in the morning?" interrupted tad, approaching them at that moment. "i was just about to suggest that we break camp at daylight, traveling until the sun gets hot. we can then pitch a tent or two during the middle of the day, and rest for a few hours." "why not keep on all day?" asked the lad. "it would prove too great a strain--both on man and beast. at noon we will eat a cold lunch, as too much food in this heat is not good for us. you will find the temperature rising as you get further south, and the hardships increasing in proportion." "we shall not fall by the wayside," laughed the boy. "no; i am convinced of that. you lads are as tough as pine knots, but you will need all the endurance you have for this trip." "if we are going to turn out so early, i think you boys had better go to bed pretty soon," advised the professor. "that's why i asked you, sir. i rather thought mr. parry would wish to make an early start in the morning. i'll see to the ponies; then i'll go to bed." "never mind the ponies. i'll look after them," answered parry. "that boy is a splendid type," he continued to the professor, after tad had walked away from them to notify his companions of the plans for the morrow. "they all are," answered the professor. "yes, i have been observing them all day. to tell the truth i was rather doubtful about the wisdom of taking a number of boys across the desert. it's bad enough for men well hardened to the work." "i trust your apprehension no longer exists," smiled the professor. "not a trace of it left," replied parry, with a hearty laugh. "young brown handled that bucking pony splendidly this afternoon. he's a good horseman for a boy." "master tad is a better one. you'll agree with me if you get an opportunity to see him in any work that's worth while." "well, good night, boys," called the professor, as he saw the lads moving toward their tents. "good night, professor, sleep tight," they shouted merrily altogether. "good night, mr. parry. we'll be up with the birds." "birds," sniffed stacy. "a tough old hen couldn't live out on this desert." in a short time the camp settled down to sleep. the guide, with a last look about and a long, comprehensive study of the sky, sought his own tent, where in a few moments he, too, was sound asleep. after a time the moon came up, in the light of which the weather-beaten tents of the pony rider boys were mere specks on the vast expanse of desert. not a sound disturbed the quiet scene. however, had any of the occupants of the little tents been awake, they might have observed a thin, fog-like film drifting across the sky from the southwest. on and on it came until finally it had blanketed the moon, casting a veil over the landscape. other sheets of film arose from out the southwest, placing layer after layer over the fast fading moon, until finally it was obliterated altogether. the desert was working out another of its mysterious phases, but none in the camp of the pony riders were awake to observe it. a dense pall of blackness now hovered over the southwest. all at once a squirming streak of lightning wriggled along the horizon, like a golden serpent, losing itself by a downward plunge into the black abyss beyond the desert. the air grew suddenly hot and depressing, while a gentle breeze stirred the sage brush on the higher places. the ponies moved restlessly in their sleep, kicking out a foot now and then, as if in protest at some disturbing presence. tad butler, ever on the alert, roused himself, and stepping out in his pajamas took a survey of the heavens. "i guess we're going to have a storm," he muttered. "i wonder if i ought to wake mr. parry? he thought, this afternoon, that there was a storm brewing. still, there's nothing he can do. the tents are staked down as securely as is possible. no, i guess i'll go back to bed." the lad did so, and after a few moments of wakefulness, dropped off into a sound sleep. a few moments later the breeze increased, picking up little patches of sand, which it hurled into the air, scattering the particles over a wide area. far down to the southwest a low roar might have been heard, and from the blackness there a funnel-shaped cloud detached itself, starting slantingly over the desert. it appeared to be following a northerly course, more or less irregularly, and from its direction, should pass some miles to the westward of the sleeping camp. whirling, diving, swooping here and there, lifting great patches of sand and hurling them far up into the clouds, the funnel swept on. suddenly, when about three miles to the southwest of the camp, it seemed to pause hesitatingly; and then, as if all at once having descried the little group of tents, started swaying, tottering toward them. as it moved the disturbing roar continued to increase in volume. tad butler heard it now. he slipped from his tent and stood listening apprehensively. "i think that means trouble," he said to himself. the hot, oppressive air felt like a blast from an open furnace door. "it's coming this way," he continued. the lad bounded to the tent of the guide. slipping inside he laid a hand on parry's shoulder. the guide was up like a flash. "what is it?" he demanded sharply. "it's i, tad butler. i think there is a bad storm coming----" "i hear it," snapped parry, springing from his blankets. he was out in the open in a twinkling, with tad butler close upon his heels. for a moment the guide stood with head inclined, listening intently. "bad one, isn't it?" questioned the lad. "yes." "do you think it is coming this way?" "i can't be sure. wait; don't wake them yet," he whispered, raising a restraining hand. "yes, here it comes! it's a cyclone. quick, get them out of their tents!" almost before the words were out of his mouth the funnel swooped down into the broad sage-sprinkled draw, setting its deadly coils over the camp of the pony rider boys. chapter iii twisted by a twister "turn out!" bellowed the guide, his voice faintly heard above the roar of the storm. "run for your lives!" piped the shrill voice of tad butler. "flat on the ground, every one of you!" commanded the guide. all the warnings had come a few seconds too late. ere the boys had awakened sufficiently to realize what was wanted of them there sounded above the roar a report like that of a cannon. the tents were lifted from over the startled pony riders and hurled high into the air. a cloud of sand swept over the boys like an avalanche, burying them, suffocating them, while the resistless coils of the funnel picked them out of the drift and cast them far from the spot where but a few minutes before they had been sleeping so peacefully. above the roar they heard the shrill voice of stacy brown. "w-o-o-ow!" he shrieked. his voice appeared to be somewhere in the air over their heads. blankets, trappings, together with all the other belongings of the party, shot up into the black funnel and disappeared, while the ponies strained at their tethers, floundering, kicking where they had been hurled on their backs, screaming with fright. the mad medley continued for only a few seconds, though to the unfortunate lads it seemed to have been tumbling them about for hours. as suddenly as it had appeared the funnel tore itself from the camp and went roaring off into the hills to the northward. staggering to his feet, some distance from where he had been caught, the guide rubbed the sand from his eyes and mouth and stood gasping for breath. an impressive silence had settled over the scene. "hallo, the camp!" he shouted when he had cleared his mouth sufficiently to enable him to do so. "hello!" answered tad butler far to the right. "are the others with you?" "i don't know." one by one the others of the party straggled to their feet, choking and coughing. as if to mock them, the moon suddenly burst forth, shedding a brilliant light over the scene which a few moments before had been the center of a whirling, devastating cyclone. not a speck of anything save the white, glistening sand of the desert remained to mark the spot where the camp of the pony rider boys had stood. they gathered shivering in their pajamas, looking fearsomely into each others' eyes, still dazed from the shock and the fright of their experience. "wha--what was it?" stammered walter perkins. "a genuine twister," laughed the guide. "twister?" questioned the professor. "cyclone, you mean?" "yes." "it was awful," breathed walter. "all our things gone, too," mourned ned ruefully. "you should be thankful that you are alive," chided the professor. "how about the ponies?" questioned walter. "they're over there. more scared than hurt, i guess." "but chunky--where's chunky? he isn't here!" cried tad, suddenly realizing that stacy brown was not with them. "chunky?" wondered the others. "why, i thought he was here a moment ago," said walter in an alarmed tone. "what can have become of him?" "probably went up with the twister," suggested ned. "yes, i heard his voice and it seemed to be right over my head," nodded tad. "we must look for him." the lads set up a shout as they started running about "better look for him that way," directed the guide, motioning in the direction that the funnel had taken after wrecking their camp. the boys spread out, calling and searching excitedly over the sand, peering into the sage brush and cactus shadows. but not a trace of stacy brown did they find, until they had gone some distance from camp. a faint call at last answered their hail. "hooray! we've got him!" shouted walter. "where are you, chunky?" called tad, hurrying forward. "here." "are you all right?" "no, i'm dead." the boys could afford to laugh now, and they did, after calling back to the camp that they had found the missing one. half buried in a sand drift they located him. stacy's head and one foot were protruding above the sand, the only parts of his anatomy that were visible above the heap of white sand beneath which he had been buried. the pony riders could not repress a shout when they came up with young brown and understood his predicament. "get me out of here." "no; you're dead. you stay where you are," retorted ned. tad, however, grasped the foot that was sticking up through the sand, and with a mighty tug hauled chunky right through the heap, choking, coughing and sputtering angrily, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter from his companions. ned grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him until the sand flew like spray. "wake up! wake up! how did you get here?" demanded ned. "i--i don't know. i--i guess i fell in." "you fell up this time. that's a new trick you've developed. well, it's safer. you won't get hurt falling up, but look out when you strike the back trail." "wha--what happened?" asked the fat boy peevishly. "everything," laughed tad. "we got caught in a cyclone. we don't know whether you were rolled along with it or carried here. which was it?" "i guess i flied," decided stacy humorously. "but i came down so hard that it knocked all the breath out of me. where's the camp?" the boys laughed. "ask the wind," replied ned. "we don't know. come! we'd better be getting back." "yee, i reckon there will be plenty for us to do," agreed tad. "can you walk all right, chunky?" "i guess so." "why not fly? it's easier and quicker. chunky doesn't need a flying machine. he's the original human heavier-than-air-machine," averred ned. the guide had by this time gathered a heap of sage brush, to which he touched a match, that they might the better examine their surroundings. "anything left?" called tad, as with his companions he approached the camp. "i don't see anything but the saddles and the rifles." "what, everything gone?" demanded professor zepplin anxiously. "it certainly looks that way." "where's my pants?" wailed chunky. "all 'pants' have gone up," chuckled ned. "and so have provisions and everything else so far as i am able to observe," added tad. "then--then we've got to cross the desert in our pajamas," mourned walter. they looked at each other questioningly; then the entire party burst out laughing. they were all arrayed in pink night clothes. not a stitch of clothing beyond these pajamas did any of them have. "we must look about and see if we can find any of the stuff," decided parry, his mind turning at once to the practical side of their predicament. "i hope we find the food at least." "yes, i'm hungry," spoke up stacy. "no wonder, after the shaking up you've had," agreed the professor. "guide, where do you think we'll find our belongings?" "you are lucky if you find them at all. more than likely they are scattered over the diamond range for half a dozen miles." "may--maybe it'll come back and bring our pants," suggested chunky, at which there was a loud protest. all hands formed in line, and with the guide to pilot them, started off in their bare feet, hoping to find some of their belongings. stacy made the first find. he picked up a can of tomatoes. ned rector rescued a can of pickled pigs' feet from the shadow of a sage brush, while their guide discovered a sombrero that belonged to stacy brown. but that was all. they traveled nearly to the foot of the mountains, yet not a scrap did they discover beyond what they already had picked up. "no use going any further," announced the guide. "well, this is a fine predicament," decided professor zepplin. "nice mess," agreed ned rector. "i want my pants," wailed stacy. "you'll want more than that. look at the guide, if you think you are in difficulties," grinned tad. all eyes were turned on tom parry. then they uttered a shout that might have been heard far off on the silent desert. the guide was clad only in a blue flannel shirt and a sombrero. he was in an even worse predicament than the party that he was guiding. minutes passed before the boys could control their merriment sufficiently to permit a discussion of their situation. tom parry took their joking good-naturedly. he was too old a campaigner to be greatly disturbed over his own laughable condition. "something must be done," announced the professor, after the laughter had subsided. "what do you propose, mr. parry?" "well, in the first place, like our friend, master stacy brown, i want a pair of pants. i can't very well cross the desert in this rig." once more their laughter drowned the voices of the guide and the professor. "is there no town near here where we can get a fresh outfit? i am thankful that i kept my money belt strapped about me. we should be in a tight fix, had i lost the funds, too," said the professor. "i have been considering what is best to be done," replied parry. "i see no other way than that we shall have to ride to eureka. that is a railroad terminal and quite a town. i am sure we shall be able to get there all we need for our journey. it will prove a little more expensive than in a larger city, however." "no question of expense just now," answered the professor. "will it be necessary for all of us to go?" "i think it will be best. i don't care to leave any of the party behind. one never can tell what is going to happen, you know." "so i have observed," commented the professor dryly. "how far is eureka from here?" questioned tad. "between twenty-five and thirty miles. the town lies to the northwest. if it were not for the pack train we could make it quickly, but we shall have to move rather slowly on the burros' account." "then why not start at once?" suggested tad butler. "the moon is shining brightly and the air is cool. that is, if you can find the way?" "no trouble about that," grinned parry. "your suggestion is a good one. we'll start just as soon as i can get ready." "i don't see anything left here to get ready," laughed ned. "you will excuse me, gentlemen, but there is something that i shall have to get ready," replied the guide with a peculiar smile. "what's that?" demanded the professor. "i've got to take a double reef in my shirt before i can go anywhere, except to bed." the boys shouted again. tom parry hurried off beyond the ponies, where he was engaged for several minutes. when he returned they discovered that he had taken off his shirt. first he had cut off the sleeves, and by thrusting his feet through the arm holes had made for himself a very substantial pair of trunks. this odd outfit he had made fast about his waist with a thong of leather that he had cut from a bridle rein. this, with the broad-brimmed sombrero, completed his outfit. the sight was too much for the pony rider boys. they shouted peal after peal of merriment, in which the professor joined, though in a somewhat more dignified manner. tom parry's mouth was stretched in a grin as he got busy saddling the ponies and urging the sleepy burros to their feet. "i think we are all ready now," the guide called back to the others. with many a shout and jest the strange procession started off across the desert, under the brightly shining moon, the cool evening breezes making their scanty covering none too comfortable. the boys devoted the greater part of their attention to the professor and tom parry, both of whom were riding as dignifiedly as if they were leading a parade at a fourth of july celebration. every little while the boys, unable to contain themselves longer, would burst out into merry peals of laughter. "hope it doesn't snow," said stacy brown wisely. "no," retorted ned. "the colors in your pajamas might run." "that's where the guide has the better of us," retorted tad a little maliciously, which brought still another laugh from the boys. "say, fellows, this saddle is getting harder every minute," called chunky, who was riding back and forth behind the pack train, urging on the burros. "stand up in your stirrups now and then," suggested tad. "what, in my bare feet?" yelled the fat boy. "think i want to get pancake feet?" "chunky's getting aristocratic," jeered ned. "he's so proud of those high insteps of his that he has to take off his shoes every little while to look at his feet. he's afraid they'll cave in some time when he isn't looking." daylight came all too soon, and following it the sun burst forth in a blaze of heat. ahead of them across the desert they were able to make out the town of eureka. "say, mr. parry, aren't you afraid this sunlight will spoil your complexion?" called ned. the guide grinned good-naturedly. "never mind," he retorted. "your turn will come pretty soon, young man." ned rector did not catch the significance of the remark just then, but he understood a few hours later. chapter iv the charge of the light brigade "you are not going to ride into town in daylight, are you?" demanded ned in surprise. though they had sighted the town of eureka early in the morning, it was well along in the afternoon before they finally came up with it. desert distances are deceptive and the further they journeyed the less headway did they seem to be making. this surprised all save the guide. parry explained to them that the clear air brought distant objects much closer than they really were. "we are going into town exactly as we are," replied the guide in answer to ned's question. "why not?" "well, maybe you are, but i'm not," returned ned. "it may improve your complexion, young man," retorted mr. parry. "i'll stay out here and hide on the desert while the rest of you go on in," said ned. "no, you don't," shouted the lads all at once. "you go willingly or we carry you." they gathered around him threateningly. "if you want a mix-up, we're here," warned chunky, pushing his pony up beside that of ned rector. ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of stacy's pony. "ouch!" roared ned. jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken. "did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed chunky, with a grimace. ned rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. he just barely reached the sleeve of chunky's pajamas. but his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side. ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions. with red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen. "i'll get even with you, chunky brown," ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle. "now, now, ned!" warned the boys. "take your medicine like a man. chunky never got mad when you nagged him." "i'll get even with him. i'll----" tad rode up beside the angry lad. "ned, you'll do nothing of the sort," said the boy gently. "you're mad, now, because your toes hurt. when they stop aching your temper will improve at the same time." "oh, pshaw! stop your preaching. of course it will. i'm a grouch. i take back all i said just now. chunky, when these toes get straightened out--they're all crooked now--i'll come over and hobnob with you. i deserve all you can give me." "you bet you do," chorused the lads. "stop teasing him," commanded stacy, with well-feigned indignation. "can't you see his toes hurt him?" the incident was lost sight of in the general laugh that followed. the others were beginning to appreciate that stacy brown possessed a tongue as sharp as any of them. ned now offered no further protest to entering the village, but it was observed that he dropped back behind the others as they reached the outskirts of the town. tom parry and professor zepplin were riding ahead, one in pajamas, the other clad in trunks--which resembled a meal sack--a sombrero hat and a sardonic grin of defiance. the others trailed along behind. not one of the party glanced to the right or left of him, except stacy brown, who could scarcely contain his bubbling spirits. "they'll think it's some new kind of a menagerie come to town," he confided to tad, who was riding beside him. "then i hope they don't shoot the animals," laughed tad. by this time they had entered the main street, down which they rode at a pace that the burros could follow. people passing along the street paused and gazed in unfeigned astonishment at the strange procession which they saw approaching. the most conspicuous of them all was tom parry. he was a sight to behold, but not one whit did he care for the amazed stares that greeted his strange outfit. soon the grins of the populace gave place to yells of derision. "look at the purty boy with the pink toes there behind," shouted one, pointing to ned rector. ned's face went crimson. "now, aren't you glad you didn't lose the tootsie-wootsies?" teased chunky. ned made no reply, but it boded ill for any of his tormentors who got within reach of his long arms. already more than a hundred persons had turned to follow the strange outfit. this number was being rapidly added to as they proceeded. "for goodness' sake, how much further have we to go?" begged ned. "the general store is down at the end of the street," the guide informed him. "i presume you want to get some clothes the first thing?" "i should say so." a whoop and a yell sounded far down the street. "here's trouble," muttered tad, instantly recognizing the cowboy yell. a band of them at that instant swung around a corner, straightening out in the main street, letting go a volley of revolver shots into the air. the band had come to town with a shipment of wild horses that had been captured among the desert ranges. they had been in eureka for twenty-four hours and were by this time ready for whatever might turn up. the horsemen clad in pink pajamas attracted their attention at once. here was fair game. "who-o-o-o-p-e-e-e!" the shrill cry sent a shiver to the hearts of the boys. it was not a shiver of fear, either. in a moment more the pony rider boys were the center of a ring of racing ponies, as the horse-hunters dashed round and round, yelling like mad and firing off their revolvers. "oh, see that purty boy with the pink toes!" jeered one. "give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "he ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies." ned did not dare refuse. he slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced ned rector. stacy brown was almost beside himself with joy. "better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned tad. evidently the cowboys had not recognized tom parry as yet. he might be the next victim. finally tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys. "i guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "let up now." a jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. their attention was instantly turned to him. "get off that broncho and give us a dance, young fellow," they shouted. "thank you, i'm not dancing to-day," smiled tad butler. "ain't dancing? we'll see about that. come off that nag." tad shook his head. at that instant a rope squirmed through the air from a moving pony. butler threw himself to one side just in time to avoid it. the lad's eyes snapped. "guess i'll take a hand in this, too," he growled. the lad unlimbered his rope in a twinkling and let fly at the cowboy who had just sought to rope him. with unerring aim tad's lariat caught the left hind foot of the cowman's broncho. pony and rider went down like a flash. instantly there was a loud uproar. the horse-hunters yelled with delight; at least all of them save the cowboy who had bit the dust, and he sprang up, bellowing with rage, as he made for the grinning tad. tom parry decided that it was time for him to take a hand. the guide jumped his pony between tad and the angry cowboy. "that'll do, bud! you stop right where you are!" tom commanded. "but the miserable coyote roped me." "you tried to rope him first." "it's tom parry," shouted the cowmen. "hey, tom! them's a fine suit of clothes you've got on there. where'd you get them?" "call off bud and i'll tell you," grinned tom, "he's got no reason to interfere with my boys here." laughing uproariously, the cowboys forced their bronchos between bud and the others, cutting him off and bidding him attend to his own business. then the cowmen halted their ponies, after closing in about the pony rider boys, while tom parry related the experiences they had passed through on the previous night. "come along. we'll take you to a place where you can get all the pants you want," shouted the leader of the party, after tom had finished his story. the cowboys wheeled their ponies and the procession moved on down the street. they had discovered that the pony rider boys were not the band of tenderfeet that they had at first taken them for. arriving at the store, the lads lost no time in leaping from their ponies, which they tethered at the rail in front, and hurried into the store. this was a postoffice as well as general trading post. half the town, it seemed, had gathered outside the building to get a look at the nearly naked strangers who had ridden in a short time before. but once inside the store, the boys did not propose to exhibit themselves further if it were possible to avoid it. an entire new outfit was necessary--tents, provisions and all, and to purchase all these things would occupy the greater part of the rest of the afternoon. no sooner had they entered the store and made their wants known, than the boys became conscious of the presence of ladies. the boys could not see them plainly, because it was a dim, dingy place at best. but, all at once ned felt a cold chill run down his back. one of the ladies was speaking to him. "isn't this mr. rector?" asked a pleasant voice. "i am quite sure i am not mistaken." ordinarily ned would have been glad to meet an old acquaintance, but when a boy is clad only in a pair of pink pajamas, his feet bare of covering, he is not particularly anxious to see anyone he knows. it was so with ned rector. at first he pretended not to hear. a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. then he turned, his face flushing painfully. "i am mrs. colonel mcclure from texas," she informed him. "we had the pleasure of entertaining you and your companions when you were with the cattle drive in our state." ned bowed and mumbled some unintelligible words. he failed to note the twinkle in the eyes of mrs. mcclure. "and this," she continued, "is my niece miss courtenay, miss barbara parks and miss long," continued mrs. mcclure mercilessly. the young women were blushing furiously as they acknowledged the introduction. ned failed to observe it, however. his eyes were on his feet and the pink toes which seemed abnormally large at that moment. "where are your companions, mr. rector? i thought they were with you a moment ago?" "wh--ye--yes--they are here, they----" ned looked about him blankly. no one was in sight. then he discovered the grinning face of stacy brown peering at him from behind the postoffice wicket. at the first alarm walter perkins had sunk down behind a cracker barrel with tad butler crouching behind him. over behind the counter was the guide, while, behind a pile of horse blankets, professor zepplin lay flat on the floor, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. ned rector was left to face the enemy alone. chapter v stalking big game by moonlight the tension of the moment was relieved by a merry laugh from mrs. mcclure and her friends, in which ned rector joined spontaneously. the situation was too funny for even his offended dignity to resist. the result was an invitation for the entire party to dine with mrs. mcclure and her friends that evening. ned rector accepted on the spot, much to the disgust of his companions, who felt a diffidence about meeting the ladies after the exhibition in the store. however, after they had properly clothed themselves they felt better, and the evening passed at the home of mrs. mcclure's friends was one of the most enjoyable they experienced. at sunrise next morning the pony rider boys were once more on the desert, bubbling over with spirits and anticipation. "i've got another invitation for you boys," announced tom parry after they had halted for the midday rest. "i hope we'll have some clothes on when it comes off, then," growled ned. "it won't make much difference whether you have or not, so far as this invitation is concerned." "what is the invitation?" asked professor zepplin. "bud thomas and the other cowboys are hunting wild horses for market, you know?" replied the guide. "wild horses?" marveled walter. "yes." "i didn't know there were any about here," said tad. "it is estimated that there are all of a hundred thousand wild horses in the different ranges of this state," replied the guide. "you haven't told us yet what the invitation is," reminded stacy. "you haven't given me a chance," laughed tom. "well, the invitation is to join in a wild horse hunt." "hooray!" shouted the lads. "very interesting," agreed the professor. "and lively, too," added the guide. "the boys took quite a fancy to you young gentlemen after the roping trick, and said if you would join in a hunt, you'd get all the fun that was coming to you." tad grinned at the recollection of their first meeting with the wild horse hunters. "whe--when do we join them?" asked chunky enthusiastically. "it will be a week or more yet before we reach that part of the desert where the hunts take place--that is, if we have good luck. but if we have any more such experiences as we have just passed through we shall not get there this summer," laughed the guide. by sunset, that day, the town of eureka had disappeared behind the copper colored hills, and the pony rider boys were again merely tiny specks on the great nevada desert. they pitched the new white tents for the first time that night, having made camp earlier than usual because they were not accustomed to working with the new outfit. no one knew where to find anything, which furnished the lads with plenty of amusement. ned and tom parry cooked the supper over a sage brush fire. they had brought a few cans of milk with them, but after sampling it all hands declared their preference for the condensed brand of which they had purchased a liberal supply. the fresh milk procured in eureka was strong with the sage brush taste, as was almost everything else in that barren country. the ponies refused the sage brush for their evening meal, having had a supply of real fodder back in town, so they were staked out near a growth of sage that they might browse on during the night should they decide that they were hungry enough. "well, i wonder what will happen to-night," said tad, as they finished the evening meal. "let us hope that it will be nothing more serious than pleasant dreams," smiled professor zepplin. "that means you, chunky," nodded ned. "you are not to have the nightmare to-night, remember." "and you look out for your tootsie-wootsies," retorted chunky. "we shall have to take a long ride to-morrow," announced the guide. "why to-morrow?" asked ned. "it is all of twenty miles to the next water hole, or where the next water hole should be. one cannot depend upon anything in this country." "haven't we enough water with us?" asked the professor. "enough to last us through to-morrow--that's all. we shall have to get water at night; so, if we have no interruptions during the night, we shall make another early start." "stacy, see to it that you do not lose your trousers this time. we don't wish to be disgraced by you again to-morrow," warned ned. stacy merely grimaced, making no reply. he knew that he had not been the one to get the worst of it, and so did his companions. he was quite satisfied with the punishment that had been meted out to ned rector. all hands turned in shortly after dark. they were tired after the long day's ride in the broiling sun. besides, they had not yet made up the sleep they lost two nights before when the "twister" invaded their camp and wrecked it. the boys had been asleep only a short time, however, before the entire camp was startled by a long, thrilling wail. all the pony riders were wide awake in an instant, listening for a repetition of the sound. it came a moment later. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" the boys leaped from their tents. the sound plainly come from some wild animal, but what, they did not know. "wha--what is it? a lion?" stammered stacy. "i--i don't know," answered walter. "do you, tad?" "i certainly do not. it's no lion, though. there are none here?" "maybe it's a pack of wolves," suggested ned. "there must be a lot of them to make such a howling as that." "d-d-d-d-do you thi--thi--think they're going to attack us?" stammered stacy. "how do we know?" snorted ned. neither the professor nor the guide having made their appearance, the boys took for granted that the two men were asleep. such was the case so far as the professor was concerned, but tom parry was lying on his bed awake, a quiet smile on his face. "are you sure it's a wild animal, tad?" whispered walter. "of course. what else could it be?" "then i'll tell you what let's do." "what?" demanded ned. "let's get our rifles and crawl up to the top of that knoll yonder, where the sound seems to come from----" "and take a shot at them," finished ned. "good idea. what do you say, tad?" "i guess there will be no harm in it," decided the lad, considering the question for a minute. they had moved away from the tents so that the sound of their voices should not arouse the sleeping men there. "two guns will be enough. we're not so liable to hit each other if only two of us have them." "who is going to shoot?" demanded walter. "what's the matter with ned and chunky?" that suited all concerned. "you'd better hurry. the animals have stopped howling," advised tad. ned and stacy ran lightly to their tents, returning quickly with their rifles. stacy bore the handsome telescope rifle that he had won in a pony race during their exciting trip through the ozark mountains. even in the moonlight one could see a long distance with the aid of the telescope on the gun's barrel. "see the brutes?" asked stacy, with bated breath. "no, nor hear them, either," answered walter. "i'll tell you what we'd better do," suggested tad. "yes," answered ned anxiously. "we'll crawl along in the shadow to the south. i think the prowlers are up there on the ridge to the west. if they are, they'll be watching the camp-fire. maybe they have smelled us and run away by this time, even if they didn't hear us talking." "keep still, everybody," warned ned. the boys stole along as silently as shadows. after moving some ten rods to the south, tad motioned for them to turn west, which they did. no sooner had they changed their course, however, than chunky with a loud "ouch!" plunged headlong, his rifle falling several feet ahead of him. with frightful howls he began hugging one foot, rocking back and forth in great pain. "what's the matter?" snapped ned rector. "my foot! my foot!" "what about it----" "i--i don't know. i----" tad grabbed the boy by the collar, jerking him clear of the place. the first thought that came to him was that stacy had been bitten by a snake, though tad did not even know whether or not there were snakes on the desert. "nice chance we'll have to shoot anything," growled ned in disgust. "stop that wailing." "it hurts, it hurts----" "keep still. i'll find out what the trouble is," warned tad, dropping down and examining his companion's injured foot. "ouch!" exploded chunky, jerking his foot away. "if you want me to help you, you'll have to be quiet." butler pressed gently on the bottom of the injured foot with the fingers of one hand, the other holding chunky's ankle in a firm grip. "humph!" grunted tad. "he's stepped on a cactus bush with his bare foot. it's full of prickers. hold still and i'll pick them out." "guess there's no use to keep still any longer. those animals probably have run away before this," complained ned. "k-i-i-o-o-o-o-! k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!" "s-h-h-h!" warned tad. "they're there yet. shall i take your rifle, chunky? you probably don't feel much like tramping up the hill in your bare feet." "no!" exploded the fat boy. "i guess if there's any shooting to be done, stacy brown can do it, even if he's only got one foot to hop along on." scrambling to his feet, stacy recovered his rifle. he had forgotten all about his injured foot now. cautiously the boys crawled up to the top of the rise of ground. "sit down, everybody," directed tad. "we ought to be able to see them from here." not a thing save clumps of sage brush met peering eyes of the pony rider boys. "lay the barrel of your gun over my shoulder and look through the telescope," directed tad softly. pointing the gun to the southward, stacy rested it on his companion's shoulder, placing an eye to the peep hole. the lads fairly held their breath for a minute. "i see him! i see him!" whispered stacy in an excited tone. "what is it?" demanded ned. "where?" "i don't know. i guess it's a wolf." "how many?" asked walter, crawling up to him. "see only one." "take your time, chunky," cautioned tad in a low voice. "draw a careful bead on the fellow and let him have it." "over your shoulder?" "sure. you never'll hit him without a rest." once more they held their breath. at last stacy exerted a gentle pressure on the trigger. there followed a flash and a roar. "o-u-u-c-h!" yelled the fat boy. the end of the telescope had kicked him violently in the eye as the gun went off. chapter vi bagged by lucky shots "k-i-i-o-o-o-o! k-i-i-i-o-o-o!" "there he goes!" shouted walter. stacy was picking himself up from the ground where the rifle had kicked him. bang! ned rector had risen to his feet the instant stacy fired. throwing his rifle to shoulder, he fired at an object that he saw bounding down the opposite side of the hill. "i got him! i got him!" shouted ned, dancing about in his glee. "chunky brown, you're no good. all you can do with a rifle is to get kicked and fall in. take a lesson from your uncle dudley----" "good shooting, boys," said a laughing voice behind them. they whirled around and found themselves facing tom parry, who had crept up to see that the boys got into no trouble. "you here?" demanded tad butler sharply. "i am that. think i could let you boys go off with a couple of guns to hunt wild animals? not without tom parry--no, indeed!" "i got him, mr. parry," glowed ned. "did you see me tumble him over?" the guide nodded good-naturedly. "and chunky missed him, even though he had a rest over tad butler's shoulder. chunky can't shoot." "yes, i can, too," objected the fat boy. "we'll see," replied the guide. "i am not sure whether he can shoot or not." "what do you mean, mr. parry!" asked walter. "chunky shot at the animal and missed it, didn't he?" "what kind of an animal was it?" interjected ned. "a coyote." "i thought it was a wolf," muttered stacy brown. "how many of them was there?" "only one, you ninny. and i shot him," scoffed ned. "we'll go down the hill and find the one you got, master ned," decided the guide, moving away, followed by the rest of the party. no sooner had they started than they heard professor zepplin, down in the camp, shouting to know what the shooting meant. "it's all right, professor," called the guide. "the boys have been shooting up some wild game. you'll be surprised when you see what they got." down the hillside sprang the enthusiastic lads. "remember, you're all barefooted," warned the guide. "you don't want to pick up any more cactus thorns." "were you here then?" demanded tad, glancing up sharply. "i was with you from the time you left the camp." "here he is," shouted ned, who had run on ahead of the others in his anxiety to learn the result of his shot. "and i caught him on the wing, too, didn't i?" "you certainly did." "just lift him. he's a whopper," went on the lad enthusiastically. "i'd like to see any of the others in this outfit make a shot like that----" "chance shot," mumbled stacy. "hit a bird once myself a mile up in the air, but i didn't flap my wings and crow about it. i couldn't have done it again. neither could you have hit that--that--what do you call it!" "coyote," replied the guide, but he pronounced it "kiute." "oh, i don't know," grumbled stacy. "suppose we go up the hill now and see what master stacy shot," suggested the guide, starting away. "shot?" sniffed ned rector. "don't you know what he shot?" "yes, we know," interrupted walter. "he shot thin air, that's what he did." "we shall see, we shall see," answered the guide enigmatically. though stacy did not grasp the guide's meaning, he did catch a note in the tone that filled him with hope. yet chunky was unable to see how he could have hit anything, in view of the fact that ned had shot the coyote. tom parry strode up to the crest of the hill and began looking about, peering behind sage bush and greasewood. the boys were a little to the north of him, all hunting for they knew not what. ned rector had seated himself by the side of his dead coyote, stroking its rough coat proudly. a sharp whistle from the guide attracted their attention. "what is it?" called tad. "come over here. i've got a surprise for you." the boys obeyed on the run. tom parry stood with a grin on his face, pointing a finger to the ground. "what is it? what is it?" demanded the lads in chorus. "why, it's a dead animal," marveled walter. "then that's what the coyote was doing up here. it was after the meat on the dead one," announced ned. "i knew there must be some good reason for its remaining so near camp all that time." "guess again," sniffed stacy, who had thrown himself down beside his prize. "what's that?" asked tad, who already suspected something of the truth. "it's my coyote, that's what it is." tom parry nodded. "he's right. he killed the animal the first shot----" "then--then----" stammered ned. "there were two of them. master stacy killed one and you the other, and for your gratification i'll say that they are a very difficult animal to kill. one might try a hundred times and never hit one." "if one knows how to shoot, it isn't," spoke up stacy pompously. "which you certainly do," laughed the guide. "may we take them back to camp and skin them?" asked ned. "you may take them in, of course; but i would not advise you to skin the brutes. the skins are not worth anything in the first place, and in the second, we should be unable to keep them all the way across the desert, i am afraid." "you mean they would spoil?" questioned ned. "yes." "then we'll take them down to show to the professor. after that we'll bury them." "not necessary at all," smiled the guide. "the buzzards will attend to that part of the work. they'll be around in the morning. you'll see them." "but how will the buzzards know?" asked walter. "that i cannot say. they do know. instinct, i suppose. all animals and birds have the instinct necessary for their kind, yet it is all a mystery to us." very proudly the lads dragged their trophies to camp, where, after heaping fresh sage brush on the fire, the youngsters stretched the carcasses out full length that professor zepplin might see. "very fine, young men. you say they were howling and woke you up?" "yes; didn't you hear them!" answered stacy loudly. "indeed i did not. the first thing i heard was the report of a rifle, and then, in a few seconds, another. i couldn't imagine what was going on. when i tumbled out and found the camp deserted, i was alarmed. i feared you boys had gotten into other and more serious trouble. you should not take the guns out without either myself or the guide being with you." "he was with us," interrupted chunky. "then that was all right." "but we didn't know he was with us, professor," tad butler hastened to explain. "so we were in the wrong, even if he was along. however, it has turned out all right, and we've bagged two coyotes. wish we could take their pictures. why didn't we think to bring a camera with us?" "i think i can supply that," laughed the guide. "i always carry one with me. in the morning i'll take your pictures. i got a new camera in eureka yesterday, having lost my old one in the blow-out we had the other night." the boys gave three cheers and a tiger for tom parry. chapter vii chunky comes to grief breakfast was cooked in the cool of the early dawn, long before the sun had pushed its burning course up above the desert sands. though the boys had but little sleep, they tumbled out at the guide's first hail, full of joyous enthusiasm for what lay before them that day. stacy brown emerged from his tent rubbing his eyes. the lads uttered a shout when they saw him. "look at him!" yelled ned. "look at chunky's eye!" the right eye was surrounded by a black ring, the eyelid being of the same dark shade, where the end of the telescope on his rifle had kicked him. "young man, you are a sight to behold," smiled the professor. "i don't care. i got the coyote," retorted stacy, with a grin. "and the gun got him," added walter. "judging from your appearance, i should say that the butt of your rifle was almost as dangerous as the other end," laughed tad. "come and get it!" called the guide. the lads never had to be called twice for meals, and they were in their places at the breakfast table with a bound. "do you know, i'm beginning to like the sage brush taste in the food," said walter. stacy made up a face. "i should think you would be ashamed to sit down to a meal with that countenance of yours, chunky," declared ned. "i might with some company." "see here, chunky brown. do you mean----" "i mean that my face will get over what ails it, but yours won't," was the fat boy's keen-edged retort. "all of which goes to prove," announced tad wisely, "that you never can tell, by the looks of a toad, how far it will jump. i guess you'd better let chunky alone after this. he's perfectly able to take care of himself, ned." ned subsided and devoted his further attention to his breakfast. the meal finished, all hands set briskly to work to strike camp. in half an hour the burros were loaded ready for the day's journey. the boys set off singing. "i don't see how you can tell where you are going," said the professor. "there is no sun and you have no compass." "we are traveling almost due southwest. i never use a compass. it is not necessary." "there, i knew i had forgotten to get something," announced tad. "forgotten what?" questioned walter. "to get a compass." "you have a watch, have you not?" asked tom parry. "why, yes; but that's not a compass." "oh, yes, it is," smiled the guide. "you can get your direction just as well with that as you could with a tested compass." "never heard that before," muttered tad. "nor i," added ned, at once keenly interested. "i'm easy. i'll ask how? what's the answer?" questioned stacy, gazing innocently at tom parry. "i am not joking, boys. every watch is a compass. you can get your direction from it unerringly whenever you can see the sun." "indeed?" marveled the professor. "the method is very simple," continued parry. "all you have to do is to point the hour hand directly at the sun. half way between the hour hand and the figure twelve on the watch dial you will find is due south." "i'll try it," answered tad. "there comes the sun now," said ned. the boys drew out their watches, having halted the ponies and turned facing the rising sun. "well, did you ever!" exclaimed the lads in one voice. "it is, indeed, the fact," marveled the professor. "you can depend upon that whenever you have lost your way," said tom parry. "it has helped me out on many occasions." "but what if there isn't any sun--what if the sky is clouded?" questioned stacy. "then you'll have to sit down and wait for it," laughed the guide. after this brief rest the party continued on its way. they had come out on the level plain, and before them for several miles stretched the white alkali of the nevada desert. as the sun rose higher, they found the glare of the glistening plain extremely trying to the eyes. the guide suggested that they put on their goggles. but the boys would have none of them. stacy's right eye was badly swollen, yet he refused to cover it, though the fine dust of the plain got into it, causing it to smart until the tears ran down his cheek. "where do the wild horses congregate?" asked tad, riding up beside the guide. "likely to see them anywhere, though they do not, as a rule, go far out on the desert on account of the scarcity of water. we may see some in the little smoky valley and the hot creek range when we reach there." "is it difficult to catch them?" "very. there is one magnificent white stallion that the horse-hunters have been trying to capture for the past five years." "why can't they get him?" "too smart for them. he knows what they are up to almost as well as if the hunters had confided their plans to him. twice, in the beginning, the hunters succeeded in getting him in a trap, but he managed to get away from his would-be captors." "i'd like to get a chance to take him," mused tad butler. "i'm afraid you wouldn't have much luck, but we'll have a hunt when we get down in the horse country, and i promise you that you will see some exciting sport. better than hunting coyotes by moonlight," laughed the guide. "i'd like to capture and break a real live wild horse," said young butler, his eyes sparkling at the thought. "it would be a fine prize to take away with me, now wouldn't it?" "if you chanced to capture a good one, yes. the poor stock, however, has been pretty well taken up, so that the horses on the ranges now are splendid specimens." "anybody want to run a race?" interrupted stacy, riding up near the head of the procession. "too hot," answered tad. "just the kind of a day for a horse race. i'll run any of you to see who cooks the supper," persisted stacy. "oh, go back with the burros. i wouldn't eat any supper that you cooked, anyway." "i'll remember that, ned. well, if none of you has spunk enough to race with me, i'll run a race with myself." "that a dare?" questioned walter. stacy nodded, blinking his blackened eye nervously. walter shook out the reins. "come on, then. i suppose you won't be satisfied until you've gotten into more trouble. where do you want to race to?" "see that patch of ground whiter than the rest off there?" "yes." "well, we'll race there and back. how far is it from here, mr. parry?" "'bout half a mile, i should say," answered the guide, measuring the distance with his eyes. "whew! i didn't think it was so far," marveled stacy. "but we'll run it, anyway." "i'll be the starter," announced ned. "if you break your neck, chunky, remember that i am not to blame for it." "if i break my neck i won't be likely to remember anything, so you're safe," retorted stacy. the others were too busy discussing wild-horse hunting to give heed to the boys' plan. "all ready!" "yes." "go!" both lads uttered a sharp yell, at the same time giving their spurs a gentle pressure, and away they went across the blazing alkali, their tough little ponies steaming in the intense heat as they straightened out, entering into the spirit of the contest with evident enthusiasm. "see those boys ride," laughed the guide, pausing in his argument on the wild-horse question: "i didn't suppose the fat boy could sit in a saddle like that." "oh, yes; he does well. you saw him master the bucker the other day in the mountains?" "yes, i remember. whoa! look out, there! there goes one of them! he took too short a turn." "walter's down!" cried ned. "hope he isn't hurt." "no; he's cleared all right. that was a mighty quick move the way he slipped out of that saddle. it would have broken his leg sure, if the pony had fallen on it," declared the guide. stacy had pulled up his own mount after making the turn safely. then he rode slowly back. "hurt you any, walt?" he asked. "jarred me a little, that's all. why don't you go on and win the race?" "waiting for you," announced the fat boy laconically. walter swung into his saddle. "come on, then. gid-ap!" he cried, shaking out the reins. the two little animals sprang away like projectiles. but stacy seemed not to be in his best form. he came in bobbing up and down, several lengths behind walter. "you won the race. i fell off," announced walter, with his usual spirit of fairness. "i guess not," drawled stacy. "now i'm going to do some stunts." with that, the fat boy galloped out over the alkali again, riding off fully half a mile ahead of the party, where he jogged back and forth for a time, then began riding in a circle. after a little they saw him toss his hat into the air ahead of him, and putting spurs to his pony dart under it, giving it a swift blow with his quirt, sending it spinning some distance away, at the same time uttering a shrill whoop. "thinks he's having the time of his life," grunted ned. "for a boy with a black eye, he is particularly cheerful, i should say," laughed parry. "what's he going to do now!" "pick up his sombrero while at a gallop, i guess," replied tad, shading his eyes and gazing off across the plain. "yes, there he goes at it." stacy, with a graceful dip from his saddle, swooped down on the sombrero, scooping it up with a yell of triumph, then dashing madly across the desert to the westward. all at once they saw his pony stumble. "there he goes!" warned the guide. "he will break his neck!" down plunged the broncho, his nose scraping the ground, his hind feet beating the air wildly. stacy kept right on. "the pony struck a thin crust on the alkali," explained the guide. almost before the words were out of his mouth stacy brown hit the desert broadside on. then, to the amazed watchers, he seemed to disappear before their very eyes. "he's gone! what does it mean?" cried the boys. where but a few seconds before had been a pony and a boy, there now remained only a kicking, floundering broncho. tom parry put spurs to his mount and set off at top speed for the scene of the accident, followed by the others of the party strung out in single file. chapter viii nearly drowned in an alkali sink tad rapidly drew up on the guide. "what has happened?" butler cried as the two now raced along side by side. "as i said before, the pony went through a thin crust----" "yes, but chunky--what happened to him?" asked tad. "he went through when he struck the ground." "i don't understand it at all." "you will when you get there." tad was mystified. the solution of the mystery was beyond him. "if he isn't drowned, he's in luck," snapped parry. "drowned?" wondered his companion. they cleared the intervening space that lay between them and the fat boy's pony in a series of convulsive leaps that the bronchos took under the urgent pressure of the rowels of their riders' spurs. as they neared the scene tad espied a hole in the desert, and began to understand. stacy also had struck a thin crust and had broken through. yet what had happened to him after that, tad did not know. both would-be rescuers leaped from their ponies and ran to the spot. with his body submerged, his head barely protruding above the water, sat stacy, vigorously rubbing his eyes to get the brown alkali water out of them sufficiently to enable him to look about and determine what had happened to him. the rest of the party dashed up with loud shouts of alarm, hurling a series of rapid-fire questions at the guide. parry and tad grasped stacy by the arms and hauled him, dripping, from the alkali sink into which he had plunged. they shouted with laughter when they saw that he was not hurt seriously. "well, of all the blundering idiots----" began ned. "that will do," warned the professor, hurrying to stacy's side. "hurt you much, lad?" "i--i fell in," stammered chunky. "i should say you did. how in the world did it happen?" the guide explained, that frequently these thin crusts were found on the desert, covering alkali sinks, some being dry, others having water in them. "and of course chunky had to find one. he's the original hoodoo," laughed ned. "oh, i don't know," replied the guide. "he has done us a real service by falling in." "how's that!" questioned tad. "master stacy has found a water hole, just what we need at this particular moment. the stock needs water, and especially the ponies that have been racing for the last half hour." "you don't mean that we are to drink that stuff, do you?" demanded walter. "not now. we still have some fairly good water in the water bags. later on you may be glad to drink alkali water. run up and down if you feel able. you'll dry off in a few minutes," suggested parry, turning to chunky. "i--i don't want to. feels nice and cool after my bath. jump in and take a swim, fellows." "no, thank you--not in that dirty water," objected ned. "i'll tell you what, boys," suggested tad. "after the stock has had a drink we'll take off our shoes and put our feet in. guess we can stand that much." "that's a good idea," agreed walter. "we'll all take a cold foot bath." in the meantime, the guide had been busily engaged in breaking the crust around the sink, so that the stock might more easily get at the water within it. the animals were impatiently pawing and whinnying, anxious to get the water. they were now willing to drink any kind of water after their half day's journey across the burning alkali. "you might unpack and get a cold lunch together, if you will," suggested parry. the boys soon had one of the tents erected, over which they stretched the fly, that the interior might be cooler. ned opened a can of pickled pigs' feet, which, with some hard rolls were spread out on a folding table under the tent. tad, not to be out-done, dug some lemons from his saddle bag, with which he proceeded to make a pail of lemonade. it was the first time they had had any such beverage since they began their summer trips. tad had purchased the lemons back in eureka. the lemonade made, it lacked only sweetening now. "where's the sugar?" he called. "where's the sugar?" echoed chunky. "we don't know," answered ned and walter in the same breath. "get busy and find it, then. if you don't want this lemonade i'll drink it myself. i don't care whether it is sweetened or not." that threat was effective. the other three boys made a dive for the burros. an examination of the first pack failed to reveal the sweetening. the same was the case with the next, and before they had finished, their entire outfit was spread over the ground, tents, canned goods, cooking utensils, thrown helter-skelter over several rods of ground. "here, boys, boys!" chided the professor. "this will never do. we can't afford to use our provisions in that way. soon we'll have nothing." "regular rough house. ought to be ashamed of yourselves," agreed stacy, surveying the scattered outfit, while he secretly slipped two lumps of sugar into his mouth. "here, cook, pick up your kitchen," to ned. "what you got in your mouth?" demanded ned suspiciously. "he's eating the sugar," spoke up walter perkins. "drop 'em!" roared ned. stacy started to run, whereupon the boys fell upon him, and the next second he was at the bottom of the heap. the boys were rubbing his face in the sand in an effort to make him give up the sugar. the professor took a hand--two hands in fact--about this time. he made short work of the "goose pile," tossing the boys from the very much ruffled stacy, whom he also jerked to his feet. "what's all this disturbance about?" demanded professor zepplin. "first you strew the outfit all over the desert, then you get to pummeling each other." "chunky's been stealing sugar," volunteered ned. "give back that sugar, instantly!" commanded the professor. the fat boy shook his head and grinned. "can't," he answered. "and, why not?" "'cause they're inside of me." "now, now, now!" warned ned. "you haven't chewed that hard sugar down this quick. i know better than that." "no, i swallowed the lumps whole when you fellows jumped on me. nearly choked me to death, 'cause one of 'em got stuck in my throat," chunky explained. tad, in the meantime, had been busy gathering up the scattered provisions. "get to work, young gentlemen. straighten up the camp," commanded the professor. "don't we get any lunch?" begged stacy. "you're full of sugar. you don't need anything else," replied walter. "when you have set the outfit to rights, we'll all sit down and eat like civilized beings," asserted the professor, with emphasis. "civilized beings making a meal on pigs' feet! huh!" grumbled chunky, picking up a can of tomatoes, then throwing it down again. after this, he slipped around to the opposite side of the tent. crawling in under the fly he promptly went to sleep, the others being so busy that they had not observed his act. the next stacy knew was when he awakened to find himself being hauled out by one leg. "here, what are you doing? leggo my foot." "lunch is ready. you ought to thank us, instead of finding fault because we woke you up. you might have slept right through the meal; then you wouldn't have had anything to eat," explained walter. stacy shook his head. "no danger. i wasn't afraid of that!" "not afraid of that? why not?" demanded ned. "'cause i knew you'd haul me out. left my feet sticking out so you would." everybody roared. there was no resisting stacy brown's droll humor. "hopeless," averred the professor, shrugging his shoulders. "he's a wise one," differed the guide. "another name for laziness," nodded ned. "what's that disease they have down south?" asked walter. "i heard the professor and the postmaster talking about it back in eureka." "you mean the--the hook-worm disease?" grinned the guide. "that's it. that's what chunky's got. when a fellow is too lazy to do anything but eat, they say he's got the--the----" "the hook----" finished the guide. "that's what he ought to get," agreed ned. "gentlemen, gentlemen!" corrected the professor. "this is not a seemly topic for table discussion." "but we eat pigs' feet," suggested stacy in wide-eyed innocence. the meal finished, amid laughter and jest, the party stowed their belongings, and after a brief rest, pushed on, having decided that they would feel the heat less in the saddle. at sundown the travelers were still some distance from the water hole for which the guide was making. "we'll have to go on," he said. "we may have to ride some time after dark." "will that be advisable?" questioned the professor. "not advisable, but necessary. the stock must have their water you know." so the party pushed on. the moon came up late in the evening, and the guide looking about him, discovered that they had borne too far to the east, which necessitated their covering some four miles more of alkali than would have been the case had they kept more closely to their course. "it can't be helped," he laughed good-naturedly. "i guess the pigs' feet will last you until we make camp." "how long will that be, mr. parry?" questioned chunky anxiously. "all of an hour and a half." stacy humorously took up his belt three holes. "got two more holes left to take in," he decided after examining the belt critically. "that's a new way to measure distance and time, isn't it!" laughed the guide. "how?" wondered stacy. "by the holes in your belt." at eleven o'clock that night tom parry announced that they had arrived at the end of their day's journey. "where's the water? i don't see any water?" said walter. "after supper we'll look for it. i presume want something to eat first, don't you?" questioned the guide. "yes," shouted the lads in chorus. "we're nearly starved." bacon and coffee constituted the bill of fare for their late meal, which they ate out in the bright moonlight with the crackling camp-fire near by. "this is fine," announced tad, with which sentiment all the boys agreed. "wish we could do this every night." "your supper would be breakfast after a few days," replied parry. "how's that!" questioned ned. "if you waited for moonlight, i mean. the moon comes up later every night, you know." "that's so." "we'd get hungry, wouldn't we?" chuckled stacy. "you wouldn't get. you always are," retorted ned. "now, i'll show you how i know there is a water hole near here," said parry after they had finished their late meal. "when i locate it, you boys may help me take the stock to it." they walked back some twenty rods from where they had pitched the camp, parry meanwhile hunting about as if in search of something that he had dropped. "nope. no water here," decided stacy. "you don't know. ah! here is what i am looking for." the guide pointed to a heap of stones that rose some twelve inches above the ground. on the west side of the heap several stones had been placed in a row, thus forming an arm that extended or pointed almost due west. "know what that is?" asked parry. the lads shook their heads. "that's a water marker. when a traveler across the desert finds a sink he indicates it either by a heap of stones, which he sticks in the ground, or by any other means at his command. for instance, this pile of stones tells me there is a water hole somewhere near by, and the arm points the way to it." "where is it, then?" wondered walter. "i don't see any signs of water." "nor do i. we'll follow the direction indicated by the arm and see if we don't come up with a water tank somewhere close by," replied parry. with the guide leading the way, the others following in single file, they trailed away to the westward until, finally, they came to a slight depression in the ground. "it should be near here," the guide informed them. "there it is. see that dark hole?" the boys bounded forward, dropping on their knees by the opening into which they peered inquiringly. suddenly they uttered a yell, and, springing up, ran back as fast as their legs would carry them. as they did so, some dark object bounded from the water tank and leaped away into the sage brush. "goodness me, what was that?" cried walter, after the boys had pulled up and faced about. "come back, come back. that was only a badger," laughed the guide. "in the water?" asked tad, who had stood his ground. "no; so much the worse for us! there is no water there. no need to look. the tank is empty. some wandering prospector has emptied it to save his burros and fill his canteen," announced the guide. "what are we going to do, then!" queried ned. "do without it. we shall have to give the stock a very little of our fresh supply, saving only enough out of it for our own breakfast and a canteen full apiece to take with us on the morrow. i think i shall be able to find a river about ten miles below here, providing it has not changed its course or gone dry. the water here in this country is as fickle as the desert itself." "what if we should fail to find any?" breathed tad. "well, you know, neither man nor beast can travel far on the desert without it. but we'll find some to-morrow. don't worry," soothed the guide, though in his innermost heart he was troubled. that this water hole should prove to be dry did not promise well for those that were to follow. chapter ix the boys discover a river "where's that river you were talking about?" demanded the lads when the outfit pulled up at noon next day. "don't you see it?" smiled parry. "not a river," answered ned, gazing about him, then allowing his glance to rest on the face of the guide to determine if parry were making sport of them. "i am not sure myself. i know where it should be. whether it's there or not is another matter. fetch the shovels and we'll soon find out." "finding a river with shovels!" muttered stacy. "huh! who ever heard of such a thing?" but as soon as the boys had returned with the digging implements, parry swung the tools over his shoulder and strode confidently to the left of where they were encamped for the noonday rest. the boys followed him full of curiosity. finally the guide threw down the tools and began to run his hands over the hot, yellow soil. "guess the sun's gone to his head," muttered ned, as he squatted down to observe more closely what the guide was doing. the other three lads followed his example. in a moment they were on all fours, hopping about like so many quadrupeds. parry was shaking with laughter as he observed them. "bow! bow wow!" barked chunky, jumping on hands and feet, snapping his teeth together suggestively. the boys looked at each other and burst out laughing. they had discovered all at once what a ridiculous figure they were making. "sun gone to your head, too, chunky?" chuckled ned. "oh, no, i forgot; it's dog days," he added maliciously. "your master had better get a collar and chain for you, then, ned," laughed stacy, in high good humor with himself. the guide's voice put a sudden end to their merriment. "here's the river," he cried. "there is plenty of water in it, too." the boys gathered about him quickly. "i don't see any river," averred walter. "there isn't any," answered ned, in a low voice. "i'll show you whether there is or not," snapped parry, who had overheard the remark. "you boys think i have gone crazy, don't you? you'll find there is something to learn about this old nevada desert--some things that you never even dreamed of. hand me a shovel, please." all at once stacy began pushing his companions roughly aside. "here, here, fatty! what are you trying to do?" the others demanded, beginning to struggle with him to prevent being bowled over. "i'm saving your lives," cried the fat boy. "saving our lives?" cried ned. "go shake the alkali out of your eyes." "yes, you'll fall in and drown." "in what?" "in the river. don't you see the river right there in front of you?" queried stacy, his eyes fairly beaming with importance. "no, i don't. if there was a river there you'd be the first one to fall in, and don't you forget that." "what's this? what's this?" inquired the professor, approaching. "it's a river," answered stacy solemnly. "a river?" "yes, sir. don't you hear it roar? wish i had a boat." "is it water you are digging for, mr. parry?" asked professor zepplin. but the guide did not hear the question. he was too busy with his mining operations at the moment. "come on, boys," he urged. "get busy here." "at what?" asked ned. "we're with you, but we don't know what you want us to do." "yes; can we help you?" inquired tad. "of course you can. get those other shovels and dig." "where?" "right here. make the dirt fly as fast as you want to. i'll show you something in a minute." he did. all at once the sand beneath them gave way, and the pony rider boys, all except stacy brown, uttered a yell as they sank waist deep into a sink of soft, wet sand. parry had felt the sand giving way, and with a warning had leaped from the hole. the lads had not been quick enough. "there's no danger. don't be alarmed. you'll get wet feet, that's all." "what is it?" asked the professor in amazement. "water, my dear sir. water in plenty. it's a branch of the pancake river. these streams run underground for great distances on the desert, but they change their course so often that you can't place any dependence on them. we're lucky, boys." "hurrah for the water!" shouted the lads. "keep on digging. we haven't got it yet. master stacy, will you run to the camp and bring the folding buckets? we'll soon have the hole cleaned so we can dip up some water." "sure," answered the fat boy, thrusting his hands in his trousers pockets and strolling off at a leisurely gait as if there were no necessity for haste. "that's chunky's idea of running," laughed ned rector, jerking his head in stacy's direction. the three lads finding there was no danger in their position, had made no attempt to clamber from the hole. instead, they began digging, until the dirt flew so fast that the professor was obliged to withdraw. somehow most of the dirt seemed to be flying through the air right in his direction. now the water began to rise above the caved-in sand. it was a dirty yellow in color and the boys' clothing suffered as a result. but the youngsters did not care. besides, they were cooling off. at last the hole had been cleared sufficiently to enable them to dip up some water, but stacy not having returned with the pails, the professor was sent to fetch him. he found the lad enjoying himself tickling the nose of a drowsy burro. professor zepplin led chunky out to the water sink, by one ear. the lads now quickly dipped up pailful after pailful, which they passed to the guide on the bank. he ran with them to the stock, giving each of the animals a little, so that all might share in the first instalment. ponies and burros were wide awake now, expressing their pleasure in loud whinnies and blatant brays. "it's foggy on the river," laughed ned. "the burros have started up their fog horns." when parry returned he brought with him the drinking cups, which he had taken from the saddles. "is it fit to drink?" asked tad as the cups were passed down to them. "it's wet." "so are we," retorted ned. "but we're dirty. uh! that's horrible stuff." "strongly alkaline," nodded the professor, after sipping gingerly at the brimming cup parry had passed to him. "do you not think we had better wait a little while until it settles?" "not a second, if you're thirsty," answered the guide shortly. "this stream is liable to change its course in the next ten minutes. don't you take any chances with a desert stream. fill the water bags and the canteens as fast as we can that's what we'll do. then, if the water holds out, there will be time enough to empty out our supply and fill with fresh." "hey, chunky! haul those water bags over here," called walter. "can't," called stacy. he was sitting on the ground pulling off a shoe. "what's the trouble now?" snorted ned. "got a cramp?" "no; i've got a sore toe." "supposing we duck him," suggested ned. "we'll save all the water we have," warned the guide sharply. "no nonsense about it, either." the party was in great good humor, now that they had found a water hole, and the animals had drunk until their sides were distended like balloons in process of being inflated. "they've had enough," announced the guide, going to the animals and glancing over the herd sharply. "no more water for the present." "then perhaps we might as well be on our way," suggested the professor. parry did not reply. he was shading his eyes with one hand, gazing intently off over the desert. the professor, following the direction in which the guide was looking, discovered a cloud of dust rising into the air. the cloud was approaching them at a rapid rate. chapter x a cowboy takes a header "what is that?" questioned professor zepplin sharply. "that's what i'm trying to make out," replied the guide. "looks like horsemen." "yes, it is. but i can't understand why they can be riding at that killing pace on a hot afternoon such as this." about this time the boys' attention had been attracted to the yellow cloud by stacy brown, who, notwithstanding his apparent slowness, had sharp eyes when there was anything to be seen. "somebody's coming," he announced between sips. "what's that?" demanded tad, springing from the water hole, followed closely by walter and ned. "somebody coming to pay us an afternoon call. by the way they're whooping it up they must be in a hurry about something." all hands ran to where mr. parry and the professor were standing. the yellow cloud was rolling toward them at a rapid pace, and ahead of it the boys discovered half a dozen horsemen, who had evidently discovered the white tent that the pony rider boys had erected during their midday stop. "know them?" asked tad. "i'm not sure, but i think it's bud stevens and the wild-horse outfit. judging from the way they ride they're pretty wild themselves." with a series of shrill "y-e-o-w-s," the strangers bore down on the little desert camp. from the gray, alkali-flecked backs of the ponies clouds of steam were rising, their sides streaked with dust and sweat. "whoop! hooray!" bellowed the newcomers, dashing up to the camp, letting go a volley of revolver shots right into the ground in front of the pony rider boys. not a boy flinched. "how!" said tom parry. "how!" roared bud stevens, the leader, throwing himself from the back of his trembling mount. "where's the boss?" asked parry. "he's gone down ralston way." "thought so. where you headed?" "san antone range after more hoss flesh. we'll rope the white stallion this time, and don't you forget it. eh, kiddie? you're the little coyote what roped my pony and plunked me into the street back in eureka, ain't you?" half jokingly, he swung a vicious blow at tad with the flat of his hand. had it landed it would have laid the lad flat. tad ducked and came up smiling. "wow! the kiddie's a regular little bantam. we'll have to take a fall out of you. got to give you the desert initiation like they do in the secret societies back in eureka." he sought to close with tad, but the boy eluded him easily. "that'll do, bud," warned the guide, stepping between them. "no rough house here. want some water? we've got a water hole right over there." "water? water? call the stuff we get out of the ground here water?" "he--he's had his head in soak already," piped stacy, noting the perspiration dripping from the cowboy leader's face. parry gave the lad a warning look. "they're good enough fellows, but they are full of pranks when they are not at work. no need to stir them up and make them mad." "got anything to eat?" demanded bud. "how would you like some coffee, sir?" asked tad politely. "coffee?" jeered the cowboy. "now what d'ye think of that, fellows? ain't that right hospitable?" "yes, thank you, young man, i guess that would touch the spot," spoke up another of the band. "'course we'll have some coffee." "all right. ned, will you and walt fix something for the boys to eat? if you will lead your ponies over to the water hole i'll dip up some water for them in the meantime, gentlemen." "kiddie, yer all right," bellowed bud stevens. "but i've got to take a fall out of yer yet." "some other time," grinned tad, who felt no fear of the hulking cowboy. "see that nose?" demanded bud, sticking out his head at tad. "yes; what's the matter?" "that's my nose. and that's where i barked it when you roped my pony tother day. oh, i've got to take it out of yer hide, kiddie." "come along. we'll water the ponies. chunky, help lead those bronchos to the water hole, will you?" the two boys and the noisy plainsmen gathered the tired animals and led them to the hole that had been dug in the desert. stacy sprang in and began dipping out pails of water. bud grabbed the first pailful, but instead of offering it to one of the thirsty animals, he deliberately emptied the contents over the head of the boy down in the hole. "hi, there! stop that, will you?" howled stacy brown. the fat boy was mad all through. he scrambled from the hole, dragging a slopping pail of water after him, while bud stevens roared with delight. but his mirth was short-lived. stacy ran around the hole and straight at the cowboy who had soaked him with the yellow water. up went the pail. splash! the contents of it were hurled full in the face of the wild cowboy, who at that moment, having his mouth wide open, got a mouthful of it. the battle was on instantly. tad knew it was coming, but he did not think it would be directed at him this time, though he realized that he would have to protect his companion at any cost. choking and sputtering, bud made a blind lunge at tad, his eyes being so full of muddy water that he could barely make out the slender form of the pony rider boy. tad ducked and dodged, hoping that stevens would tire of pursuing him in a moment. the lad might have called to the others over by the camp, but he was too proud to do that. he would fight his own battles, no matter what the odds were against him. "i've got to get in," muttered the lad. "he's seeing clearer every minute, and the longer i wait the less chance i'll have of getting out with a whole skin. "i'm coming, kiddie!" roared bud. tad made no reply. stooping as if for a spring, butler launched himself straight at the pillar of brawn and muscle before him. had he hesitated for the briefest part of a second--had he permitted those muscular arms to close about him, tad butler would have gone down to a quick and inglorious defeat. but he did not wait. the lad's right arm was brought sharply against the neck of his adversary, while at the same time his left arm was slipped under the cowboy's right leg. the result was that stevens lurched to the left. a quick jerk and bud was fairly lifted from the ground. tad gave a quick, forceful tug. bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water, his feet beating the air wildly. [illustration: bud stevens landed on his head in the pool of yellow water] "grab hold of a foot, chunky!" commanded tad. "quick! he'll drown in a minute in there." "oh, let 'im drown," drawled stacy, blinking to get the sand out of his eyes. "get hold, i tell you! i'll thrash you, stacy brown, if you don't!" stacy reluctantly complied, tad in the meantime having grasped the cowboy's foot and began pulling. "not that way, chunky. do you want to pull him apart?" the fat boy was trying to get bud's right leg out from the opposite side of the water hole. the disturbance had by this time attracted the attention of the men over in the camp. they started on the run when they saw bud turned head first into the water hole. by the time they reached the scene tad and stacy had succeeded in hauling the victim from his perilous position. bud was choking between roars of rage. his companions went off into shrieks of laughter when they understood what had happened. they rolled on the ground; they danced about their fallen companion, and then their revolvers began to add their vicious voices to the tumult. tad paid no attention to the uproar. he was too busy shaking the water out of his fallen antagonist, to whom he was giving first aid to the drowning. bud staggered to his feet, gasped for breath, while tad stepped off a few paces, so as not to be within reach of those long, bony arms, should bud decide to stretch them forth and take him in. "guess you got all that was coming to you that time, bud stevens," grinned tom parry. "served you right. you'll let those boys alone after this or you'll have to reckon with me." stevens's face was streaked with wet sand, his hair was disheveled and his clothes stuck to him as if they had been pasted on. the cowboy's sullen face slowly relaxed into a mirthless grin. "say, kiddie, you put it over me like a cactus plant. i owe you two." "i'd cancel the debt if i were in your place," laughed the boy. "come along and have a drink of coffee. it'll warm you up after your swim." chapter xi a piece of human sandpaper an appetizing meal had been spread for the visitors. but every time the men glanced at their companion they broke out into loud guffaws. "you're a sight, bud," jeered one. "next time better take a man of your size," said another. "guess that's right," grinned the vanquished one. "ye can't most always tell what a kid's going to do." "we know what this one did do to you, though," laughed another. "reckon i do myself," admitted stevens. "say, kiddie, you come along with us and try them tricks on the wild hosses we're going to catch. mebby i'll forgit to take it out of you. i'll let the white stallion do that." "thank you; i'll accept that invitation, with professor zepplin's permission." "we intended to drop in on your bunch, anyway," interposed parry. "the boss has invited us to join a horse hunt with you." "better go along with us now, then," suggested stevens. "we won't have no more rough house, leastwise till we get to the san antone range, eh?" "no," replied parry. "we have a pack train to drag along. besides, you fellows travel too fast for us. we'll take our time and join you later." the bath and the hot coffee had served to quiet bud stevens's bubbling spirits. he was by this time a more rational being. after they had finished the meal bud drew tad butler aside confidentially. "say, kiddie, i like you," he said, slapping the lad a violent blow between the shoulders. "glad of it," laughed tad. "but you have a queer way of showing your affection." "say, can you ride?" "some," admitted tad. "as well as you can fight and throw a rope?" "i was not aware that i did either one very well." "go away! go away! you're a champeen. i've got a spavined, ring-boned cayuse over in the range that i'm going to put you up against when you join us. he'll give you all the exercise you want----" "hey, bud, ain't it 'bout time we were moseying?" called one of stevens's companions. "i reckon. can't be any hotter than 'tis now. when you going to join us, parry?" "we'll be there in a few days. but come here; i want to talk with you?" "sure thing." "if we go on a hunt with you, remember there's to be no funny business. these boys, while they're no tenderfeet, are fine fellows and they must be treated well. i'm responsible for them. what i say goes. understand?" "we'll look out for the kids, don't you get in a hot stew 'bout that." with a final whoop and a cheer for the members of tom parry's party, the turbulent cowboys put spurs to their ponies. once more a cloud of dust rose from the desert, across which it slowly rolled. the boys watched it for half an hour, until the cloud had dwindled to a mere speck in the distance. "not such a bad lot, after all," was the professor's conclusion. "rough diamonds," smiled the guide. "are we going on now, mr. parry?" asked tad. "no; i think we may as well unpack and make camp here until to-morrow morning. then the stock will be fresh, and so shall we." "the stock looks to be in pretty good shape already," answered tad. "yes; but they will be much better to-morrow. a day's water and feed will do wonders for them. i guess the bunch of horse-hunters made quite a hole in our fodder, didn't they?" "there was nothing the matter with their appetites that i observed," laughed tad. "but we've got enough to last us for some time. how long before we shall strike the range where we are to join them?" parry glanced off over the desert meditatively. "if we have no bad luck we ought to make it in three days. the cowboys will get there some time to-morrow." "one of them won't," answered tad, confidently. "why not?" "his pony is wind-broken. didn't you hear him breathe when they rode in?" "what, with the bunch howling like a pack of coyotes? no, i didn't hear a horse breathe." "i did," chimed in stacy. "did what?" queried ned, turning on him sharply. rector had not heard the fat boy approach them. "heard the big cowboy breathe. he wheezed like a leaky steam engine." tad and the guide burst out laughing. "why, boy, we weren't talking about the cowboy. we were speaking of one of the bronchos. tad says he is wind-broken." "huh!" grunted stacy, strolling off with hands thrust in his pockets, chin on his breast. "when i'm not right i'm always wrong," he muttered. "mostly wrong." they did not see the lad again for more than an hour. the rest of the party gathered under the tent they had first erected, where they now fell to discussing their late visitors, next turning to their plans for the morrow. "do we follow the same course when we next start?" asked the professor. "not quite. we veer a little more to the west, until we string the san antonio range. when we leave there, if you conclude to go on, we shall head southward toward death valley. i understand you are willing to penetrate it a little way." "yes, if you think it is safe to do so." parry shrugged his shoulders. "death valley is no better than its name. if you wish merely to see it, i think i can gratify your desire." "yes, yes, we want to see death valley," chorused the boys. "don't be afraid for us." "i'll try to get some water bags from the horse-hunters when we join them; for the further south one goes on the desert the more scarce the water becomes." the sun was lying low by this time and the advance guard of the evening coolness began crowding back the heat of the day. "i wonder what has become of chunky?" questioned tad suddenly, rising from the ground where he had thrown himself in the shade of the tent. the others glanced quickly about them. "probably find him asleep behind a bunch of sage somewhere," answered ned lightly. "don't trouble yourself about him." "perhaps over by the water hole," suggested the guide. "i'll stroll over that way." just then a figure topped the ridge beyond them. it was yelling lustily, leaping into the air, rolling and groveling on the ground alternately. "there he is! something's happened to him," shouted walter. all hands started on a run. they could not imagine what had gone wrong with the fat boy. as they drew nearer to him they discovered that he had taken off all his clothes. his body was as red as if it had been painted. the professor's long legs were covering the alkali at a pace that left the others behind, until tad spurted and headed him. "chunky, chunky! what's the matter?" he shouted. stacy yelled more lustily than ever. "what is it? what is it?" shouted the others in chorus. "i'm burned alive? i'm cremated! oh, w-o-w!" "should think you would he. what on earth have you got your clothes off for?" they discovered that something was the matter then, for an expression of real pain had taken the place of the complacent look they were wont to see on the face of stacy brown. "he's been boiling himself!" exclaimed the guide, with quick intuition. grasping the fat boy, parry threw him flat on the ground and began rolling him in the sand. stacy yelled more lustily than before. "run to my saddlebags. fetch the black bottle you will find there!" commanded the guide. "it's oil, yes. hurry, before his skin all peels off." tad was back with the black bottle in no time. tom parry spread the oil over the blistered flesh of the fat boy, whose yells grew less and less explosive as he felt the soothing effects of the grease on his body. "wha--what happened?" stammered walter. "i--i fell in." "in where?" questioned the professor sharply. "i don't know. it was hot." "put your clothes on. you'll be all right in a little while. where did you leave them?" stacy pointed back on the desert some distance, whereat parry laughingly said he would go in search of the clothing. "now if you will be good enough to tell me what all this uproar is about, i shall be obliged to you," requested the professor. "why, the boy found a boiling spring----" "and he fell in," added ned solemnly. "he did," agreed the guide, without the suspicion of a smile. "is that it, master stacy?" stacy nodded. "tell me about it." "i--i was walking along with my hands in my pockets----" "thinking," interjected ned. "what'd you suppose i was doing! ain't i always thinking when i'm not asleep?" "go on, go on," urged ned unsympathetically. "all at once something slipped. i went right through the ground. at first i thought i was a pond of ice water, it felt so cold. next thing i knew i was burning up." "but your clothes? what did you have them off for?" urged the professor. "i took them off when i thought i was burning up. say, fellows, that was the hottest ice water i ever took a bath in my life." the boys could barely resist their inclination to laugh. "why don't you laugh if you want to? never mind me. i don't count," growled chunky. parry explained that these boiling springs were not infrequent on the desert. they were found, generally, further north, he said. this one must have worked its way up through the alkali until only a thin crust covered it, and this crust the boy had had the misfortune to step on and break through. "you wouldn't think there were so many pitfalls under this baked desert, would you?" questioned ned. "i look like a piece of human sandpaper, don't i?" muttered stacy ruefully, as he carefully drew on his clothes. "every time i sit down i'll remember that hot ice water." chapter xii running down the trail "thank goodness, we're in the foothills," sighed tad, when three days later they came to a halt at the base of the san antonio range far down on the nevada desert. "yes, it is a relief to see some real rocks once more," agreed walter. "chunky, look out that you don't step into any more ice water. you'll miss the horse-hunt if you do." "no danger of that up here," laughed the guide. behind them lay the desert maze, to the right and left, mountain ranges, high plateaux, mesas and buttes. giant yucca trees, short, spreading piã±on and spindling cedars clothed the higher peaks of the san antonio range. trees, too, were scattered about in the foothills, and though they gave little shade it was a relief to every sense of the pony riders to feel the hills and trees about them. there, with what little shade they could get, the lads made camp. as yet they had found no water, though parry said there would be springs in plenty further up in the mountains. the bags still held enough to last them until the following day, so no effort was made to locate fresh water that afternoon. stacy had thrown himself down under one of the yucca trees, but the late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, making his face look red and heated. "you don't seem to be getting much shade from that tree," laughed the guide. "'bout as much as i would from a barbed wire fence," frowned stacy. "what do you know about barbed-wire fences?" demanded ned. "me? know all 'bout them. one night i had a falling out with one, when i was taking a short cut across the fields to get home." "how about the apples? did you get them?" asked tad. "apples? what do you know 'bout it? were you there, too?" a laugh greeted the fat boy's reply. "come, come, young men. are you going to make camp?" urged the professor. "didn't know we were going to remain here to-night," replied walter. "of course we're going to make camp if that's the case. it'll be a good time to shake the alkali dust out of our belongings and from ourselves." "i haven't got any dust," piped stacy. "i--i had a bath--a hot bath." "are we anywhere near the horse-hunters, mr. parry?" inquired tad, as the boys began unpacking the burros, some devoting their attention to the kitchen outfit, the rest spreading the canvas on the ground preparatory to erecting the tents. "they are supposed to be further up the range. they will be down this way to-morrow, probably, to pick us up. they were not certain where they would make their permanent camp, stevens said. all depends upon where the wild horses are grazing." "i don't see any wild horses, nor any other wild anything," objected ned. the guide dropped the ridge pole that he was about to carry to the place where the cook tent had been laid out ready to be raised. "come with me," he said, taking ned by the arm and leading him to the left of their camping place. "do you see that?" "what?" "use your eyes. if you're going to be a plainsman you'll have to depend on your sense of sight. take the desert for instance. it's a desert maze if you are unable to read its signs; no maze at all if you do." "what is it you were going to show ned?" asked the rest of the boys, who had followed them out. "see if you can tell, master tad." but master tad had already been using his eyes. he nodded as he caught the guide's eye. "there has been a bunch of unshod ponies along here, if that is what you mean," he said. "how do you know?" demanded stacy. "i see their tracks there. saw them the minute i got over here." "maybe that's the crowd that called at our camp the other day," suggested walter. the guide shook his head. "there was no one on these horses," said tad. "right," emphasized the guide. "that's observation, young men. you will notice, by examining these hoofprints carefully, that the weight of the animal is thrown more on the toe----" "how do you know that?" cut in stacy. "because the toe sinks into the soil more than it would if the animals were loaded. in the latter event, the heels would dig deeper. now if you will follow along a little further i may be able to show you the hoofprints of the leader of the band of wild horses, for that is what they are----" "wild horses?" marveled the boys. "wish we could see them," said tad. "i'll wager they have seen us already, for they surely are in this neighborhood," replied parry. "but a wild horse is as sharp as an old fox. the herd have been down in the foothills and, by the hoofprints, you will observe that they have returned to the mountain fastness." "perhaps they saw us coming," suggested tad. "more than likely," agreed the guide. "they were in a hurry and moving rapidly--there! there's the leader's trail. look carefully and you will see where he leaped up to this little butte here. reaching it, he turned about and took a quick, comprehensive look at the desert." "and at us," added stacy. "yes, i think so. come up here. you see this little ridge gave him a very good view of the desert maze. see if you can tell how many wild horses there were in the bunch," suggested tom parry. instantly the boys went down on all fours, crawling along the trail seeking to read the story that it told. "well, how many?" queried the guide, after they had finished their inspection. "fifty!" shouted stacy. "forty-five!" answered ned and walter at the same time. "what do you say, master tad?" "i am afraid i must have missed some, then. i only make out twenty-one old ones and a colt. i take it the old mare was with the colt, for the prints show that the little animal was hugging the other closely," was tad's decision. "very good. very good," nodded parry. "there were twenty-two. you didn't get the trailer, probably an old mare. she traveled along off to the right yonder a little. but i should like to know how you made fifty, master stacy!" twinkled the guide. "counted 'em," answered the fat boy. "show me?" stacy did so, going over the hoofprints carefully, pointing to them with his index finger as he did so, the guide making mental calculations at the same time. "and that makes fifty--fifty--fifty-four this time. there's more of them than i thought." parry laughed softly. "i'm afraid you'd make a poor indian, young man. you not only have counted the hoof-prints, but you have counted the foot marks of yourself and your companions as well. master tad, let me see if you can run the trail up the mountain side a little way. it will be good practice. i want you boys to be able to follow a trail as keenly as the best of them before you have finished this trip. you never know when it's going to be useful--when it's going to get you out of serious difficulties, even to the extent of saving your lives." tad was off on a trot, stooping well over, with eyes fixed on the foot marks. "tad could hunt jack rabbits without a dog, couldn't he?" questioned stacy innocently. his companions laughed. "is that a joke?" asked ned. "if it is, i'll cry. your jokes would make a texas steer weep." tad was picking his way up the rough mountain side, now losing the trail, then picking it up again. the marks left by the wild horses were almost indistinguishable after the animals had reached the rocks, but here and there a broken twig told the lad they had passed that way. once he appeared to leave the trail, moving sharply to the right, where on a shelving ridge, he straightened up and looked down into the valley. tom parry nodded encouragingly. "know what you've found?" "yes, this is where the leader came to make another observation," answered tad. "that's right. he's a plainsman already, boys. go on. run the trail up to the top of this first ridge. it will not be a bad idea for us to know which way they've gone. if the hunters don't show up by to-morrow we can take a little run after the herd on our own hook." tad obeyed gladly. every sense was on the alert. the rest of the boys were all impatience to take part in the hunt. but the guide said no. he feared that, if all were to start up the mountain side, their enthusiasm might lead them too far from camp, resulting in their losing their way. he knew how tricky the trail of a band of wild horses was, the clever animals leaving no ruse untried that would tend to mix up and lose their pursuers. tad's figure was growing smaller as he ascended higher and higher. "you don't mean to say that horses climbed up the way he is going!" questioned walter incredulously. "that's the way they went, my boy. they 're regular goats when it comes to mountain climbing. they'll go where a man could not, oftentimes." tad crept, cautiously on, now finding little to guide him, save his own instinct. he finally disappeared behind the rocks and trees of the low-lying range. the lad was moving almost noiselessly now. a sound a short distance beyond him caused him to prick up his ears sharply. "i believe i am near them," he breathed, as he glanced about him. "why did i not think to bring my rope?" it was just as well for his own well-being, that he had not brought along that part of his saddle equipment. he was following the trail with the skill of a trained mountaineer. an indian himself could have done it no better. perhaps the guide understood, better than did tad himself, why he had started the lad on the trail, for a quiet smile hung about the lips of tom parry. all at once his twinkling eyes lit up with a new expression. "look! look!" gasped walter. "where? where?" demanded ned. walter pointed to a pyramid-shaped rock far above their heads. at first they could scarcely believe their senses. there poised in the air, feet doubled into a bunch, stood a splendid specimen of horse-flesh, resting, it seemed, fairly on the sharp point of the rock, gazing down into and across the valley. "the white stallion," breathed the lads all in the same breath. the magnificent animal was a creamy white. its head was held high, nostrils distended as if to catch the scent of those for whom it was looking. beneath the rays of the low lying sun, its coat glistened and shone with a luster that no brush or comb could bring to it. the lads gazed upon the beautiful statue almost in awe. they were standing quite close up under the shadow of the mountain at that moment. "why doesn't he run?" whispered walter. "do you think he sees us?" asked ned. "no. stand perfectly still." "why doesn't he? all he would have to do would be to look down?" questioned stacy. "he scents us. he knows we are somewhere near. but, if you will observe him closely, you will notice that he is looking at the camp. he sees the professor moving about," explained parry. "do--do you think we could catch him?" asked ned eagerly. "the most skillful men in this part of the country have been trying to do that very thing for the last five years, my boy," answered the guide in a low tone. "no, you couldn't catch him. he's the finest animal to be found in the entire nevada desert district. wouldn't mind owning him myself." in the meantime tad had been creeping nearer and nearer. he soon discovered that the leader of the band had swerved to the left. he concluded to follow, to see where the solitary animal had gone to. but so quietly did the lad move that the stallion neither heard nor scented him. all at once the wonderful sight unfolded before the eyes of tad butler. he flattened himself on the ground, within thirty yards of the splendid animal. suddenly the stallion whirled. tad rose to his feet, the two stood facing each other, tad with head thrust forward, the stallion with nostrils held high in the air. "oh, my rope, my rope!" breathed the boy. "if i had my rope!" chapter xiii coyotes join in the chorus those down in the foothills saw the animal whirl and face the other way. "he sees something," cried walter, forgetting in his excitement that they were trying to keep quiet. "yes, he has probably scented master tad," explained the guide. "think he'll try to catch the horse?" asked stacy. "hope not. those wild horses are bad medicine. no, of course, he has no rope with him. but he'll be wise if he keeps out of the way of the beast." tad had no thought of doing either. he stood perfectly still, gazing in awe and wonder at the handsomest horse he had ever seen. the stallion's eyes blazed. he uttered a loud snort, then rose right up into the air on his hind feet. one bound brought him many feet nearer the boy who was observing him. it was the only direction in which the stallion could go without plunging into a chasm. "whoa!" commanded tad sharply. the white horse never having been trained, failed to understand the word, but he halted just the same, gazing angrily at the bold boy standing there, who, it appeared, was defying him. uttering another snort, this time full of menace, the animal leaped straight toward the lad in long, graceful bounds. tad threw up his hands to frighten the stallion aside. the animal, however, refused to be swerved from its course. "he's going to run over me," cried the boy, as he noted that the horse was rising for another leap. tad ducked just as the beast sprang clear of the ground. he felt the rush of air as the gleaming body was lifted over his head, the boy at the instant uttering a shrill yell to hasten the stallion's movements. the front hoofs caught the rim of the pony rider boy's sombrero, snipping it from his head. the hind feet came closer. they raked tad's head, bowling him completely over, rolling him from the knoll on which he had been standing. he brought up with a jolt some ten feet further down. tad scrambled to his feet a little dizzy from the blow and the fall. "whew! that was a close call," he muttered, feeling his head to learn if it had been injured. "no; the skin isn't broken, but i'm going to have a beautiful goose egg there," he concluded. "it's swelling already. if i'd had my rope i could have roped him easily when he rose at me that last time." scrambling up the bank, tad found his hat. then he picked his way to the pyramid-shaped rock on which he had first discovered the stallion. poising himself, he swung his sombrero to his companions down in the foothills. "hurrah!" he shouted. "i met the enemy. i've seen the white stallion, fellows!" "is the enemy yours?" jeered ned rector. "no; i rather think i was his," laughed tad, turning back and hurrying down the rocks to rejoin his companions. he was met by a volley of questions the moment he reached the foothills. with his companions gathered about him, tad told them how he had followed the trail, finally coming upon the handsome animal while the latter was taking an observation from the pyramid-shaped rock. "it's a wonder he didn't attack you," said the guide after the lad had finished his narration. "those wild stallions are very savage when aroused." "i guess he tried to do so all right," laughed tad. "i knew he was up there somewhere, watching us, but i did not think for a minute that you would get close enough to him to be in any danger," announced tom parry, with a disapproving shake of his head. "i could have roped him easily," said the lad. "lucky for you that you didn't try it. it's getting late now. i presume the professor is beginning to think we are not going to finish pitching our camp. come, we'll go back and get to work." the work went rather slowly, however, for the lads were too full of the subject of the wild stallion to devote their whole attention to putting their camp to rights for the night. then again, they had to go all over the story for the professor's benefit. "do you think we could catch one of these wild ones to take back east with us?" asked tad. "you couldn't catch one yourself, but you might be able to buy one for a small sum from the horse-hunters," the guide informed him. "how much?" "depends on the animal. perhaps twenty or twenty-five dollars." "then, i'll do it. i could get him home for as much more, and he'd be worth at least two hundred dollars. perhaps i might take two of them along, providing i can get what i want." "you ought to be a horseman," laughed the guide. "you've got the horseman's instinct." "he is a horseman," volunteered stacy. "there aren't any better." "thank you," glowed tad. "i'll pull you out next time you fall in, for that." they were very jolly at supper that night. they had nothing to trouble them. water was near by and they were soon to participate in the most exciting event in their lives, a wild-horse hunt. "do you think they will be able to find us!" questioned walter. "who, the horses?" returned ned. "i hope they do," laughed the guide. "no; master walter means bud stevens and the gang. find us? why, those fellows could trail a cat across the desert maze if they happened to take a notion to do so." there being plenty of dry stuff about, the boys built up a blazing camp-fire as soon as night came on. gathering about it they told stories and sang songs. "i move that stacy chunky brown favor us with a selection," suggested ned. "he has a very rare voice--an underdone voice some might call it." "yes, chunky," urged walter. "you haven't sung for us since we started." "me? i can't sing. besides it might scare the wild horses," protested stacy. "i guess there's no doubt about that. but we'll take the chances." "yes, do sing, chunky," added walter. "it may soften ned's hard heart." stacy cocked an impish eye at ned rector. "all right, i'll sing," decided the fat boy, clearing his throat. "stand up," thundered ned. "have some respect for the audience." stacy stood up. "what are you going to favor us with?" questioned tad. "it's a little thing of my own," grinned stacy. "hope you'll like it." "oh, we'll like it all right," chuckled ned. "the audience will please refrain from applauding until the performer finishes." "what's the name of the piece?" demanded walter. "hasn't been named. you can name it if you wish." "go ahead, go ahead. never mind the name," chorused the lads. stacy surveyed the upturned, laughing faces of his companions and then launched out in a shrill soprano: it's all day long on the alka-li, where the coyotes howl and the wells run dry, where the badgers badge in the water holes, and the twisters twist the old tent poles- right up from the alka-li. "yeow!" shrieked the pony rider boys. "it's a new poet. hurrah for the poet lariat!" shouted ned rector, jumping up and down, slapping his thighs in his amusement. "go on, give us another verse," laughed the guide. "that's real po'try that is." "is there another verse?" cried walter. chunky nodded solemnly. "hush! he is going to sing some more," cautioned tad butler, holding up his hand for silence. "ahem," began stacy. throwing back his head he began again: when the wind blows high o'er the desert maze, and sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze, then the pony rider boys they lose their pants; don't dare sit down for fear of the ants- that hide in the alka-li. stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. but if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. the boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse: don't dare sit down for fear of the ants- that hide in the alka-li. professor zepplin and tom parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous pony riders. no such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the san antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great nevada desert. "sing it again! sing it again!" commanded the boys. they hauled the protesting chunky to his feet, stood him on a box of pickled pigs' feet, compelling him to begin the song all over again. "it's all day long on the alka-li. where the coyotes howl and----" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-o-ki! k-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" a long wailing sound--a dismal howl, suddenly cut short the joyous ditty. "what's that!" "ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! ki-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" "coyotes," laughed the guide. there seemed to be hundreds of them. from every peak in the range their mournful voices were protesting. all at once out in the black maze of the desert another bunch of them began their weird wailing. "we're surrounded," announced the professor. "shall we get the guns?" asked walter. "no, they're expressing their indignation at chunky's song," jeered ned. "let 'em howl. i don't care. if they don't stop i'll sing some more," threatened the fat boy. chapter xiv fun in the foothills the professor found difficulty even in driving the lads to their beds that night. when they did finally tumble in and pull the blankets over them they were unable to sleep, between the howling of the coyotes and their laughter over stacy brown's new-found talent. "they'll go away when the moon comes up," called the guide when the boys protested that the beasts kept them awake. "why can't we shoot at them?" asked stacy. "it will alarm the wild horses," said the guide. "we don't want to chase them off the range. neither would the horse-hunters like it if we were to begin shooting." "go to sleep!" commanded the professor. then the boys settled down. after a time the moon came up, but instead of quieting the coyotes it seemed to have urged them on to renewed efforts. they grew bolder. they approached the camp until a circle of them surrounded it. out of stacy brown's tent crept a figure in its night clothes. it was none other than stacy himself. in one hand he held a can of condensed milk that he had smuggled from the commissary department that afternoon. he wriggled along in the shadow of a slight rise of ground until he had approached quite near the beasts. he could see them plainly now and stacy's eyes looked like two balls. the animals would elevate their noses in the air, and, as if at a prearranged signal, all would strike the first note of their mournful wail at identically the same instant. suddenly the figure of the pony rider boy rose up before them, right in the middle of one of the unearthly wails. "boo!" said stacy explosively, at the same time hurling the can of condensed milk full in the face of the coyote nearest to him. his aim was true. the can landed right between the eyes of the animal. the coyote uttered a grunt of surprise, hesitated an instant, then, with tail between his legs, bounded away with a howl of fear. "yeow! scat!" shrieked the fat boy. the whole pack turned tail and ran with stacy after them in full flight, headed for the desert. tom parry, aroused by this new note in the midnight medley, tumbled out just in time to see stacy disappearing over the ridge. the guide was followed quickly by the other three boys of the party and professor zepplin. "hey, come back here!" shouted parry. the fat boy paid no attention to him. he was too busy chasing coyotes across the desert at that moment to give heed to anything else. "get after him, boys! if he falls they're liable to pile on him and chew him up before we can get to him!" commanded the guide. over the ridge bounded the pajama brigade. the coyotes, frightened beyond their power of reasoning, if such a faculty was possessed by them, were now no more than so many black streaks lengthening out across the desert. the lads set up a whoop as they started on the chase after their companion. "rope him, somebody!" shouted parry. "haven't any rope," answered tad, with a muttered "ouch!" as his big-toe came in contact with the can of condensed milk. laughing and shouting, they soon came up with stacy, however, because he could not run as fast as the other boys. tad caught up with him first, and the two lads went down together. in another minute the rest of the party had piled on the heap. "get up!" shouted tad. "somebody's standing on my neck." "yes, and--and you've pushed my face into the desert," came the muffled voice of chunky brown. laughing and all talking at once, the knot was slowly untied. two of them grabbed the fat boy under the arms, while a third got between the lad's feet and picked them up, much as one would the handles of a wheelbarrow. in that manner they triumphantly carried stacy back to the camp. reaching his tent, they threw the fat boy into his bed. the tall, gaunt figure of the professor appeared suddenly at the tent entrance. some of the boys darted by him, the others crawling out under the sides of the tent, all making a lively sprint for their own quarters. "young men, the very next one who raises a disturbance in this camp to-night is going to get a real old-fashioned trouncing. not having any slipper, i'll use my shoe. do you hear?" not a voice answered him, but as he strode away the moon-like face of stacy brown might have been seen peering out at him. quiet reigned in the camp of the pony rider boys for several hours after that. yet they were destined not to pass the night without a further disturbance, though the professor did not use his shoe to chastise the noisy ones. it lacked only a few hours to daylight when the second interruption occurred. and when it arrived it was even more startling than had been the fat boy's chase of the cowardly coyotes. there was a sudden sound of hoof-beats. "ki-yi! ki-yi!" shrieked a chorus of voices. a volley of shots was fired as an accompaniment to the startling yells. a moment later and a body of horsemen dashed into camp, which they had easily located by the smouldering camp-fire. the pony rider boys were out of their tents in a twinkling. "wow!" piped stacy. bang! bang! two bullets flicked the dirt up into his face. bud stevens and his companions were in a playful mood again. "hey, you! better look out where you're shooting to!" warned stacy. bud let go another volley. "the professor'll take you over his knee and chastise you with his shoe, if you don't watch sharp," said stacy. "come out of that. where's the kiddie? i want to see my kiddie!" laughed bud stevens. by this time, with his companions, he had dismounted, turning the ponies loose to roam where they would. the whole camp, aroused by the shouting and shooting, had turned out after pulling on their trousers and shoes. tom parry, piling fresh fuel on the embers of the camp-fire, soon had the scene brightly lighted. there was no more sleep in camp that night. professor zepplin accepted the new disturbance with good grace. "we're going to eat breakfast with you," bud stevens informed them. "that's right. what we have is free," answered the professor hospitably. "that's what i was telling the bunch," nodded bud. "our chuck wagon'll be along when it gets here. we've got a schooner with six lazy mules toting it down along the edge of the foothills. if it ever gets here we'll stock you up with enough fodder to last you the rest of your natural lives." "a schooner, did you say?" questioned stacy, edging closer to the cowboy. "yep; schooner." "where's the water?" "say, moon-face, didn't you ever hear tell of a prairie schooner!" chunky shook his head. "well, you've got something coming to you, then," replied bud, turning to the others again. "when do you start your horse-hunt? i presume that's the purpose of your visit here?" asked the professor. "yep. soon as the wagon gets here with the trappings. after breakfast we'll look around a bit. been some of them through here to-day, i see." "yes, how did you know that!" questioned tad. "we crossed the trail just at the edge of the camp here when we came in. didn't you see them?" "we saw one of them and the tracks of the rest----" "yes, we--we--we saw the white horse----" "the angel?" demanded bud, interested at once. "i don't know whether you'd call it an angel or not. it struck me that it was quite the opposite," laughed tad. "it was a white stallion, and when i got in its way it just bowled me over and rolled me down the hill----" "the white stallion, fellows," nodded bud. "i told you so. come along, kiddie, and show me that trail. i'll tell you in a minute if he's the one." tad took the horse-hunter to the trail that he had followed up the mountain side. bud lighted match after match, by the light of which he ran over the confusion of hoofprints. finally he paused over one particular spot, and with a frown peered down upon it. "that's him. that's the angel," he emphasized. "why do you call him that?" "because of two things," answered bud. "first place, he's white. that's the color angels is supposed to be, most of 'em says. then, if you'll look at his hoof-mark, you'll see the frog is shaped like a heart. more angel. then again--that's three times, ain't it?--he's got a temper like angels ain't supposed to have." "so i have observed," agreed tad, with a laugh. "and that's why we call him the angel. we'll get the old gentleman this time or break every cinch strap in the outfit." there was rejoicing among the horse-hunters when they heard that it was indeed the angel himself whose trail they had come upon. "he's got the finest bunch of horse flesh with him that you'll find anywhere on the desert," averred another. "old angel won't travel with any scarecrows in his band. he's proud as a peacock with a new spread of tail feathers." "s'pose you don't know how many there are in the band, eh, kiddie?" questioned bud. "twenty-one and a colt," answered tad promptly. "oho! so--but tom parry told you, of course." "tom parry didn't," objected the guide. "master tad read the trail himself." "shake," glowed bud, extending his hand to tad. "you're the right sort for this outfit. we'll let you help point the bunch into the corral when we get them going. you'll see stars before you get through with that job--stars that ain't down on the sky-pilot's chart." "it won't be the first time, mr. stevens. i've seen enough of them to make a fourth of july celebration, already." just after breakfast, to which the camp had sat down at break of day, the horse-hunters began their preliminary work. bud directed two of his men to work south, two more to ride north, while he would take the center of the range. "what i want," he explained to the boys, "is to find where the wild horses are waterin' these days. they've been around these parts for more than two weeks, so we know they've got a nice cold water hole somewhere." "what were they doing on the desert?" asked walter. "i thought they had just come across." "no; they were out for a play. that shows they had had plenty to eat and drink. professor, i think i'll take the kiddie along with me," announced bud, much to tad's surprise, and, judging from the expression of the lad's face, pleasure, as well. professor zepplin glanced at the guide inquiringly. parry nodded his head. "he'll be all right." "yes, you may go, tad. but be careful. don't let him get into any difficulties, mr. stevens. he's a venturesome lad." "guess he's able to wiggle out of anything he gets into," grinned the horse-hunter. "come along; take a hunch on your cinch straps, a chunk of grub in your pocket; then we're ready to find where the angel washes his face every morning and night." tad lost no time in getting ready for the trip to trail the wild horses to their lair, and in a few moments the horse-hunters rode from the camp, followed by the envious glances of the pony rider boys. "wish i were going along," muttered chunky ruefully, as he turned his back on them and gazed off across the desert. chapter xv bud promises some excitement the horse-hunter and his young companion laid their course at right angles to the reach of the range. the trail rose slowly to pass between low buttes, leading on under the great spreading joshua trees that capped the range itself. off to the east and south of them, plainly exposed to view, lay the yellow stretch of the ralston valley that went on and on until it eventually terminated in death valley. the dry lake beds in the desert, looked, with the sun shining on them, like great pearls set in the desert maze. tad thought they were water, but bud stevens informed him that they were filled with water only after a heavy thunderstorm, or in the early spring. "you ought to have come down here earlier in the season," he told the lad. "it's a pretty bad time to cross the desert now." "yes, we know that. but we are not looking for easy trips," laughed the lad. as they moved slowly along, the cowboy horse-hunter explained many of the secrets of the trail to his young companion, as well as describing horse-hunts in which he had taken part in the past. "but i don't understand why they have come all the way across the desert to get into this range?" said tad. "why did they not remain on the other side where, i understand, there is plenty of forage?" "it's a peculiar thing, kiddie, but hosses, wild or tame are like human beings in some ways. they like to get back home." "what do you mean?" "wild horses always will go back to the range where they were born. sometimes they run away from the range ahead of a storm; sometimes they are captured and taken away. but if they ever get the chance, back they go to the place where they were born. angel was born in this range, and so were most of the mares and others that have come over with him. when a halfbreed cherokee came into camp and told us the band of horses was seen stretched out on the mesa on the other side, i knew they were getting ready to hike across the desert, so we prepared to come here." tad was listening intently. all this was new to him and much of it not entirely understandable. "did you ever notice how animals act before a big storm?" asked bud. "no; i can't say that i have." "next time you see a lot of horses stretched out on the ground on their sides, heads close to the ground, all looking as if they were asleep, you'll know there's a big storm coming." "why do they do that?" "i don't know, unless it is to rest themselves thoroughly before running away from the storm that they know is coming." "how do they know a storm is coming, unless they can see it?" marveled the boy. "kiddie, you'll have to ask the horses. bud stevens don't know--nobody knows. a fellow with whiskers and wearing spectacles one of--of them scientific gents--told me once that it was a kind of wireless telegraph, that newfangled way of sending ghost messages. said they got it in the air. mebby they do; i don't know. they get it. sometimes you'll see the colts running up and down. that's another sign of storm." "that's strange. i never heard it before," mused the lad. "and speaking of colts, did you ever know that sometimes a band of horses will take a great fancy to a frisky young colt?" "no." "yes. they'll follow the colt for days, with their eyes big and full of admiration for the awkward critter. and they'll fight for him too. but 'tisn't often necessary, 'cause very few horses will bother a colt. ever see a hoss fight?" tad admitted that he had not. "ought to see one. it's the liveliest scrimmage that you ever set eyes on. beats that one back there on the desert, when you plunked me on my head in a water hole. jimminy! but you did dump me proper," grinned the cowboy. "hope you don't lay it up against me," laughed tad. "no. got all over that. i got what was coming to me--coming on the run. say, got the trail on your side there? they seem to have shuffled over to the northward a bit." "yes, i'm riding on their footprints now." "that's all right then. don't want to let it get away from us." "where do you think they are heading, mr. stevens?" "for the mesas up the range further. there's plenty of grazing there and there must be water close by. what we want to do, to-day, is to locate them and find out just where they go for their water. then, when the schooner gets down to your camp, we'll haul our outfit up in the range and build a corral to drive them into." "do you always make a capture?" "us? no. sometimes the leaders of the band are too smart for us. they beat us proper. why, they're sharper than a goldfield real estate man, and those fellows would make you believe an alkali desert was a pine forest." "look there!" interrupted tad, pointing. "what is it, kiddie?" demanded the horse-hunter, pulling up sharply. "one of the horses, i think it must be the leader, seems to have left the trail here and started off at right angles." stevens rode over to the other side of tad, and gazed down, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. "yes, that's the angel. don't know what he's side-tracked himself here for. he can't see far, so it was not an observation that he was about to take. he's either seen or scented something. hold my pony while i take a look." the cowboy dismounted, striding rapidly away with gaze fixed on the trail ahead of him. a few moments later he returned. "find anything?" asked tad. "the big one scented something, or thought he did." "but where did he go?" "turned just beyond here and followed along the same way the others were going. you'll find his trail joining ours after we get on a piece. i'd like to know what he thought he smelled," mused bud. "i didn't know horses could scent a person or thing like that." "what, horses? wild horses have got a scent that's keener than a coyote's." "there's the white stallion's trail again," exclaimed the lad. bud nodded. "told you he'd come back." for the next hour they rode along without anything of incident occurring, tad constantly adding to his store of knowledge regarding mountain and plain. the lad was himself a natural plainsman and proved himself an apt pupil. all at once bud pulled up his pony sharply and studied the ground. "what is it?" questioned tad. "we've struck luck for sure. boy, i'll show you something that'll make your eyes stick out so you can hang your hat on them," cried the cowboy exultingly. "you--you mean we have come upon the wild horses?" asked the lad. "yes, and more. come this way and i'll show you. see this trail?" tad nodded. "well, it was made by another band of horses." the announcement did not strike tad as especially significant. "they headed for the mesas, too?" "looks that way," grinned bud. "and they're headed for trouble at the same time. there's going to be music in the air pretty soon, kiddie, and you and i want to be on hand to hear the first tune." tad gazed at him questioningly. "this second bunch of horses is led by a big black stallion known to the hunters as satan. he's up to his name too. he's one of the most vicious cayuses on the open range. don't you see what this trail means?" the lad confessed that he did not. "it means that satan is on the trail of the angel. when satan and the angel meet there'll be the worst scrap you ever heard of, kiddie." "will they fight?" "will they fight?" scoffed bud stevens. "guess you never saw two wild stallions mix it up." "no." "there's bad blood between satan and the angel and there has been for a long time. the black stallion has been on the white one's trail for more than a year. i don't know what it's all about, but i know that, if they come up with each other, there is going to be trouble. if they don't look out we'll bag the whole bunch. i wish our outfit was here. i suppose we ought to hustle back and get ready for the drive, but i'm going to see satan and the angel meet, if it's the last thing i ever do. come on--we'll have to ride fast." putting spurs to their ponies, they set off at a fast pace over the uneven, rugged trail. chapter xvi the battle of the stallions the trail grew hotter as they advanced. "see, satan's running now." the pursuers increased their speed, although they could not hope to travel as rapidly as the black stallion and his followers. the wild horses' trot had by this time become leaps, as the followers could plainly see from the trail that had been left behind. satan and his band were traveling in single file, their whole attention being centered on running down the angel. "do you think satan scented the others?" asked tad, when they struck a level piece of ground so that they could relax their vigilance a little. "no doubt of it at all. but he didn't know it was just then. he only knew it was a horse. he knows now that the other bunch is ahead of him." "how do you know that?" queried tad. "by the trail," replied stevens. "don't you see, the angel is going faster. they are both on a run now." "then the angel must be afraid. is that it?" "not much. he wants to find a better place in which to fight. this place is bad medicine for a horse battle. they're all heading for the mesas, just as i thought first." the cowboy was leaning well forward in his saddle, eyes on the trail, instead of looking ahead. tad, on the contrary, was straining his eyes, hoping to catch sight of the two bands of fleeing horses; but not a sign of them did he see. bud was the first to inform him that they were nearing the object of their chase. "satan's going slower. he is coming up with the others. let up a little, and don't talk in a loud tone. we don't want to disturb them nor let either of the bands get an idea they are followed. they might race off to some other part of the range. we want to catch them all later, if we can." their ponies were slowed down to a trot, with bud stevens leading. all at once he held up his hand for a halt. tad pulled up shortly. "what is it? do you see them?" he whispered. bud shook his head. "not yet. we're close to them, though. jump off and tether your nag. we've got to go on afoot. they'll smell our ponies if we ride any further." moving rapidly, the man and the boy, led their mounts in among the trees, where they made them fast with the stake ropes. then both started on a jog-trot along the trail. "how far do we have to go do you think?" "don't know. hope it's not far or we're liable to miss the show." "i can run as fast as you can if you want to go faster." "hark! hear that?" exclaimed bud. "yes, what was it?" "they're lining up for the battle. that was a stallion's scream of defiance. it is a challenge for battle. there goes the other one. that's the angel telling satan to come on and fight. now satan's answering him." it was all just so much noise to tad butler. the meaning of the harsh sounds conveyed nothing to him, but to bud stevens they were full of meaning. "careful, now. we're getting near." both men sped along as fast as their feet would carry them, but without making a sound that might have been heard a dozen yards away. "hist!" warned bud, crouching low. grasping his companion by the arm, he crept to the right, finally emerging from behind a rise of ground which had shielded their progress. "look there," he whispered. tad looked. below him lay a broad, open mesa, its upper end within a stone's throw of where he stood. but that was not what attracted his attention. a band of horses of many colors and sizes stood arrayed on each side of the little plain. advanced a few yards from the band on the right, was a magnificent black stallion, pawing the earth and uttering shrill challenges. on the other side of the field was the angel. he was not pawing the earth. instead he was standing proudly, his curving neck beautifully arched, his pink nostrils distended and held high. "what a wonderful animal!" said tad under his breath. "and that black! i can understand why he is called satan. what are they going to do?" "fight! don't you understand? they're getting ready to settle their old score, and a merry mix-up it'll be," replied the cowboy in a whisper. "yes, yes," breathed tad, scarcely able to curb his excitement. "there they go!" with a wild scream satan and the angel bounded into the center of the field. as they neared it each swerved to his right and dashed by, avoiding his opponent. "act as if they were afraid of each other," said tad. "they're not. they're trying each other out--sparring for an opening as it were. you'll see in a minute." the fighters returned to the charge. they did not flinch this time. with a rush they came together, rearing in the air, jaws wide apart. their fore-feet struck out. both stallions broke, wheeled and kicked viciously. neither had landed a blow. next time they came at each other walking on their hind feet. they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring, their hoofs making such rapid thrusts that the eye could scarcely follow them. satan reached for the head of his antagonist with a quick sweep. the white stallion blocked the blow cleverly. [illustration: they were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring.] yet, in doing so, he had left an opening. satan took instant advantage of it. the black stallion's head shot forward. it reminded tad of a serpent striking at its victim. "ah! he landed!" exclaimed the cowboy. a fleck of crimson on the creamy neck of the angel showed where the vicious teeth of the black stallion had reached him. yet, no sooner had the wound been inflicted than the angel whirled. it was like a flash of light. a white hoof shot out catching the black on the side of the head, sending him staggering to his haunches. the white animal was upon him with a scream of triumph. just as it seemed that the angel was about to run him down, the black sprang to his feet, leaping to one side, and as the angel passed, the hind hoofs of satan were driven into his side. the angel uttered a cry of pain; it was returned by one of triumph from his antagonist. "oh, what a pity to see two such magnificent animals seeking to kill each other! do you think one of them will be killed, mr. stevens?" "they may. you can't tell. hope there won't be a knock-out, 'cause we want both of those fellows and we'll get them too. i tell you, we're in luck this trip. we'll make a haul that will be worth a few thousand dollars, you bet. there they go again." changing their method of attack, the fighters began rushing, whirling, kicking and so timing their blows that their hind feet met with a crash that might have been heard a long distance away. the shiny coat of the black did not show that he had been wounded, but the watchers knew he had, for they had seen the teeth of the white animal buried in his side at least once. a vicious charge of satan's, threw the angel from his feet. he struck the hard ground with a mighty snort, but was on his feet in an instant, returning to the charge, mouth open, feet pawing the air. the two men could see the eyes of the desperate antagonists fairly blaze, while their shrill cries thrilled tad through and through. never in his life had he gazed upon such a scene--two giants of the equine world engaged in mortal combat. it was a scene calculated to make the blood course more rapidly through the veins of the boy, who, himself, possessed so much courage. and it did, in this case, though as a lover of horses his heart was filled with pity for the one who was to lose the battle. as yet there was no indication as to which this would be. they seemed equally matched, and thus far honors had been about even. "think the black can whip him?" he asked. "don't know, kiddie. i'll make a bet with you; take your choice." "thank you, i don't bet," answered the lad. "if i did, i couldn't bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are trying to kill each other. ah! there goes the black flat on his back!" before satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven against him with unerring aim. yet, the blow while it must have hurt, served to assist satan to roll over. as a matter of fact he was kicked over, and thus helped to spring to his feet. each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping. on each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses, stood stolidly observing the conflict. neither side made an effort to participate in the battle. here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field, only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother. "it's queer they do not take a hand," marveled tad. "no; they never do. they look to their leader to fight their battles for them. when the battle is ended you will notice something else that will interest you." "what?" "you'll see when the time comes. now watch them go at it." and they did. it appeared as if each of the combatants was determined to put a quick end to the conflict. there was no lost time now. it was give and take. blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. now, one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid evolutions. "i wish the boys might see this," breathed tad, fascinated by the sight in spite of himself. "so do i," grinned bud. "did you ever see a battle of this kind?" asked the lad. "not like this. i've seen stallions fight, yes, but never such a scrap as this. looks as if they'd be fighting all day. but they won't." "why not? they seem as strong as when they began." "they are, but they're getting careless. they're taking longer chances every round. first thing you know, one of them will get kicked into the middle of next week. whoop! that was a dandy!" the angel had planted both hind hoofs fairly on the side of satan's head. satan had gone down. but when the white stallion made a leap, with the intention of springing upon his prostrate victim, the black rolled to one side, and in a twinkling had fastened his teeth upon his adversary's leg. only for a brief second did he cling there, then throwing himself out of the way sprang to his feet. the two animals met with a terrific crash, head-on. biting, kicking, screaming out their wild challenges of defiance the battle waxed hotter, faster and more furious. the mares in the herds showed signs of uneasiness. they might have been observed tossing their heads and shifting almost nervously on their feet, but making no effort to move away or out into the field. "are the mares getting excited?" asked tad in wonder. "no. they see one of the stallions is going to get his knock-out in a minute." "which one?" "i don't know." "but how can they tell that, if we are unable to see either one of them weakening?" "more ghost telegraphy, i guess," answered bud, not for an instant removing his gaze from the fascinating scene before him. he, too, was becoming excited. he could scarcely restrain himself. all at once, despite his caution, bud stevens uttered a whoop. "the black's got him!" "no, the angel's got him!" shouted tad butler excitedly. "no, he hasn't! it's the black, i tell you. see! there, he's kicked the angel halfway across the mesa." now it was the angel's turn to do some kicking. he did, and with terrific effect. both hind hoofs were planted in the black's abdomen. not once, but again and again. yet the black was not thus easily defeated. with the sledge-hammer blows raining all over him, he struggled to his feet, and, with a desperate lunge, fastened himself upon the neck of his adversary. back and forth struggled the black and the white now, like a pair of wrestlers. "now, who do you think's got him, hey?" laughed bud. "why, the black'll eat his head off." "i said angel was going to win, and i think he is," retorted tad. the white with a mighty toss of his powerful neck, threw satan off, the fore feet of the angel smiting and knocking satan down. then followed a series of gatling-gun-like reports as the angel's hind hoofs beat a tattoo on the head of his prostrate victim. the black was conquered. satan had been knocked out by the angel, in the greatest equine battle that human eyes ever had gazed on. "aren't you glad i don't bet?" laughed tad, his eyes flashing with the excitement of it all. "i'd been willing to lose on that fight," grunted the cowboy. "is he killed, do you think?" asked the lad. "no; he's just dizzy after the wallops he got on the head. you'll see him get up in a minute." the angel had backed off a few paces and there he stood, head erect, waiting as motionless as a statue until the moment when his fallen adversary should rise, if at all. slowly the black pulled himself to his feet. his head came up. he eyed the now calm white stallion half hesitatingly. the watchers fairly held their breath, for it was a dramatic moment. "they're going to fight again," muttered tad. "he's licked! he's got enough!" exclaimed bud. the black turned his back upon the white stallion, and with lowered head, dejection and humiliation apparent in every line, every movement of his body, walked slowly back to his own band. the angel followed at a distance, almost to the lines of the enemy. then he paused, galloped back to the center of the field, and throwing up his head uttered a long, shrill scream of triumph. one by one the mares of satan's band detached themselves from his ranks, and, with their colts, trotted across the field to join the angel's band. chapter xvii on a wild-horse hunt a corral, constructed partially of brush on its wing ends, and of canvas for the corral proper, had been erected in one of the wide sage-covered draws of the san antonio range. across the opening of the corral, which resembled a pair of great tongs, the distance was fully half a mile. bud stevens had decided to place the trap for the wild horses here in this open space in preference to laying it in the mountains. there was more room for operations in the open, he said. then again, the wild horses, as he knew from personal observation, were strong and full of fight. "i guess we'll have to tire them all out before we can hope to get them in the corral," he told his men after they had finished their work of preparation. the wagon with the horse-hunters' outfit had driven in late on the night following the battle of the stallions, and early next morning the horse-hunters, accompanied by the pony rider boys and their own party, started out to make camp in the mountains, where they were to remain while the hunt lasted. the battle which tad and bud had seen furnished a fruitful topic for discussion, and the two were kept busy relating the story of the fight until long after midnight. but, while watching the battle, bud stevens had not lost sight of the object, of his trip into the mountains. he had calculated exactly where the stock had found a mountain spring, and it was from that point that the hunters were to start the animals on their trip to the corral. the plan of operation was laid out with as much care and attention to details as a general would employ in planning a battle. the pony rider boys were to participate in the chase. they could scarcely wait for the moment to arrive when they would be given an opportunity to show their horsemanship. in the camp in the mountains they were told with great detail just what they were expected to do. "i think you had better leave chunky at home," warned ned. "he'll stampede the whole bunch just as you are ready to drive them into the corral." chunky protested loudly. "guess i can stick on a pony as well as you can," he retorted. "i'll vouch for that," smiled tom parry. "he'll do," decided bud. "now, you fellows are all to string out in single file, following me until we have circled the herd. we should have them pretty well surrounded by noon. at that time they'll be at the spring filling up. when i'm ready to close in, i'll fire a shot. each of you will fire in turn so that every one in line may be notified. if the critters refuse to drive, then we'll have to whip them into a circle and tire them out. but first, we must get them out on the open, no matter which way they go, then work them into the draw as fast as we can." the horse-hunters nodded. they understood perfectly what they were expected to do. and the boys were to be scattered among the men at intervals instead of traveling together. it seemed very simple to them, but they were to learn that wild-horse hunting was a man's task. "are we allowed to rope if we get the chance?" questioned tad. "not during the run. of course, if you see an animal escaping after we have rounded them up, and you can do so without losing any of the others, rope if you want to. i reckon you'll have your hands full if you try it," concluded the horse-hunter. "are you going out, professor?" smiled the guide. "no, thank you. i think i shall remain close to camp and collect geological specimens. the boys will get into just as much trouble if i go with them as they would were i to remain at home. i suppose there is more or less peril in these wild hunts?" "yes, it's going some," laughed bud. "but i guess none of them will get very badly knocked out if they obey orders and don't get in the way of a stampede. those wild critters won't stop for nothing." a scout came in late with the news that the herd was less than five miles from where the hunters' camp was located. "that makes it all the easier. we'll start at daylight," said stevens. "the plans will work out just right. now you'd better all turn in and be ready for the hurry call in the morning." next morning all ate breakfast before the first hot wave trembled over the crest of the mountains across the broad desert. there was bustle and excitement in the camp. when ponies had been saddled, ropes coiled and final preparations made, bud stevens looked his outfit over carefully, nodded his head and mounted. "you boys don't want to do any shouting after we get out on the trail, you understand," he said. "we have to work quietly until we get them surrounded; then you may make all the racket you want. the more the better." the pony riders nodded their understanding of the orders, and the company of horsemen set out across the mountains. they made a wide detour so as not to alarm any of the stragglers who might not have followed the main body of horses to the watering place for their noon drink. a careful examination of the trail showed that the angel and his band, as well as satan and his few faithful followers, were well within the circle. "we've got the whole bunch inside," exulted bud, turning to tad. "now, boy, do your prettiest. we want to bag 'em all. if we do, i'll make you a present of any horse in the outfit." "how about the angel?" questioned tad, with a twinkle in his eyes. bud hesitated. "what bud stevens says goes," replied the cowboy. "the one who catches the stallion on these hunts, however, usually has the right to keep him if he wants to. if you want the angel you've got to rope and take him after we get them rounded up." "no, i wouldn't do anything like that," laughed tad. "if i catch the angel i'll make you a present of him." at twelve o'clock, by the watch, they had completed the circle, or rather three-quarters of a circle, about the band of wild horses, leaving an opening toward the broad draw where the hidden corral had been located to trap the unsuspecting wild animals. stevens drew his gun, and, holding it above his head, fired two shots. the signal was answered, almost instantly, by two shots some distance to their rear. like the rattle of a skirmish line, guns popped in quick succession, the sounds growing further and further away as they ran down the long, slender line of horsemen to the eastward. "close in!" commanded the leader quietly. "ride straight ahead; never mind me. i shall move further on before i turn. good luck. don't try to get in the way of a stampede. you can't stop them if they try it altogether." "i'll look out," smiled tad. then they separated. tad could not hear a sound, save the light footfalls of his own pony. the mountain ranges might have been deserted for all the disturbance there was about him. he had ridden on some distance when a loud snort suddenly called his attention to the right and ahead of him. there stood the angel, facing him angrily. tad was so surprised at the suddenness of the meeting that he pulled his pony up shortly. for a moment they stood facing each other, then the wild animal with a loud scream of alarm, turned and went crashing through the brush. from the sound, a few seconds later, the lad knew that the stallion had gathered his band and that they were sweeping away from him at a lively pace. "here's where i must get busy," laughed the lad, the spirit of the chase suddenly taking strong hold upon him. he touched his pony lightly with the spurs, drawing in on the reins. the little animal leaped away, tad uttering a shrill yell, to warn any of the other hunters who might be within reach of his voice, that he had started on the trail of the wild band. he heard a similar cry far off to his right and knew that bud stevens had heard and understood. "i believe they're coming back," said the lad, realizing that the sound of galloping was plainer than it had been a few moments before. "i wonder what i ought to do. i'm going to try to head them off if they come this way," he decided. all at once he saw the wild horses first from behind a huge rocky pile. uttering a series of wild yells and whoops, swinging his quirt and sombrero above his head, the lad rode straight at the herd, his pony seeming to enter into the full spirit of the fun. to tad's surprise the leader of the herd deflected to the northward, running along a line almost parallel to that which the boy was following. tad pressed in the rowels of his spurs a little harder, uttering a chorus of shrill yells. "they mustn't get through," he fairly groaned. "they shan't get through! no, not if i ride my head off!" suddenly a volley of shots sounded some distance ahead of him, followed by a series of yells as if the mountains were alive with savage redskins. it was bud stevens. the wild herd had come upon him just as they were about to turn northward and dive into the fastnesses of the mountains. observing him they turned slightly to the west and continued on their mad course. "good boy!" bud shrieked. "draw up on 'em! draw up on 'em!" tad did. it was a race, but a most perilous one. to the boy it seemed as if the feet of his pony were off the ground most of the time, his run having merged into a series of long, curving leaps as it reached from rock to rock. down a steep slope suddenly plunged the herd. tad saw the flying pony of bud stevens directly abreast of them. the lad, apparently feeling no fear, brought his quirt down sharply on the flanks of his mount. the pony hesitated, rose and took a flying leap fully ten feet down the mountain side before its feet braced sharply and thus saved pony and rider from plunging on over. now tad was yelling at the top of his voice, as that seemed the proper thing to do under the circumstances. the wild band was heading for the open, just as bud stevens had planned. but the fleeing horses were seeking to get out on the open plain where they might soon outdistance their pursuers. tad and his pony went down that rugged mountain side as if the pony were a mountain goat. the boy never had experienced such a thrilling ride, and the jolts he got made his head dizzy. "m-m-my, this is going some!" he gasped. tad was shouting for pure joy now. when his mount landed on all fours among the foothills he was not more than two minutes behind bud stevens himself. "great! great!" floated back the voice of the horse-hunter, who, turning in his saddle, had observed tad's leaping, flying descent of the mountain. tad admitted to himself that this was riding, and he compared it with the day he first rode his own pony up the main street in chillicothe, missouri. that ride, at the time, seemed a very exciting one. since then he had acquired more skill, else he never would have been able to shoot down the rugged mountain at almost express train speed. they were now out on the desert prairie. bud was trying to point the leaders in to send them to the southward. now that tad was on level ground he was able to put on more speed. very slowly, indeed, his pony straightening out to its full length, he drew up on the racing herd. "guess i'd better not yell any more till i get abreast of them," he decided, which was good judgment, as bud stevens said to him afterwards. "lay back a little!" shouted bud when the boy got too close. "they're liable to dodge behind me at any second and break through our line." tad slackened his speed, at which the wild band drew away from him almost as if he were standing still. then, he put spurs to his mount again, and drew up abreast of the trailers. at the head of the line the horse-hunter was fighting with the leaders, trying to turn them toward the place where the great corral was hidden. suddenly that which bud stevens had feared occurred. the white stallion's forefeet plowed the earth. cowboy and pony shot by him, and the wily stallion slipped behind them. followed by his band, the angel headed off across the desert in the very direction that the hunters did not want him to go. "nail him!" bellowed bud. tad needed no further command. already his keen eyes had noted the move. putting spurs to his pony he raced to the white stallion's side, leaving bud far to their rear. the angel sought, in every way in its power, to shake off the boy who so persistently hung at its side. all at once the stallion reached over, fastening its teeth in the neck of tad butler's pony. tad, however had been quick enough to foresee the move and had jerked his little mount to one side. yet, he had not done so quickly enough to save the broncho from a slight flesh wound. slackening its speed, the angel then made a vicious lunge at the lad's left leg, biting right through the heavy chaps with which his legs were protected. the boy swung his quirt, bringing it down again and again on the stallion's pink and white nose, until the beast, unable to stand the punishment longer, uttered a snort, changing its course more to the southward. "i've turned him! i've turned him!" shouted tad. he had accomplished what the leader of the horse-hunters had been unable to do. bud stevens, far to the rear on the desert, tossed his sombrero in the air, uttering a long, far-reaching yell of approval. chapter xviii roped by rough riders tad replied with an exulting yell. the band of wild horses was headed toward the corral. yet they refused to enter, just when they were upon the point of heading in between the hidden wings. some instinct, it seemed, warned them to beware. the line straightened out, and a few minutes later the animals began racing in a circle four miles wide. "i'm afraid my pony never'll be able to stand this grilling. but we'll keep going as long as we've got a leg left to stand on," laughed the plucky lad. "drop out and let me take a round with them. we've got to tire them out," shouted bud, putting spurs to his pony and dashing up beside tad. the lad regretfully pulled his mount down to a walk, then rode out on the desert some distance, so as to be out of the way when the circle once more came his way. "guess it's just as well," he muttered. "the pony couldn't have stood up much longer. my, those wild animals can travel!" a heavy coating of gray dust covered both boy and horse, except where here and there the gray was furrowed with streaks of perspiration. tad gave his mount the reins, and sat idly watching the cloud of dust rolling over the desert, showing where bud stevens was driving the wild-horse band in an effort to tire them, so that they might be easily headed into the great corral. they soon swept by tad, and on out over white alkali desert once more. on the next round bud motioned to tad to take up his end of the relay. "give it to 'em. drive 'em till they can't stand up!" bellowed bud. but the lad scarcely heard the horse-hunter's voice. already he had been swallowed up in the great yellow cloud and was riding hard by the white stallion. discovering that he had another rider beside him, the angel made a desperate effort to run the lad and his pony down that he might break the line and head off to the northwest. tad beat him over the nose with his quirt again, and the stallion promptly changed its mind, for the pink nose was still tender from the drubbing tad had given it a short time before. "the men are lining up for a drive," warned stevens when the herd thundered by him again. "i'll keep behind you. we're going to try to drive them in this time. they're weakening fast." "you want me to hold the leader?" asked the boy. "yes. keep him up. don't give him a second's leeway. the rest will follow him; don't worry about them." "where are the other fellows?" "over to the east. they're hiding until the herd gets close enough; then they'll appear, raising a big noise. that's the time you and i will have our hands full." "strikes me our hands have been pretty full," answered the lad, his face wrinkling into a forced grin. bud stevens slackened the speed of his pony, dropping back and disappearing in the dust cloud. "after all, i guess the other fellows will have the hardest work," mused the lad. "they've got to stop the rush while all i have to do is to keep on going, following that big, white stallion. i wish i could rope him, but i guess he would have the broncho and myself on our backs in no time." tad turned his attention to the work in hand. he did not know just where the other horse-hunters were secreted, but his eyes were fixed on a low-lying butte some distance to the eastward. he saw no other place from which they could carry out the manoeuvre successfully. tad grew a bit anxious as the wild horses curved more and more to the eastward. in a few moments they would be too far to the left to permit of heading them toward the hidden corral. "i guess they must be going to let us drive them around the circle once more," he decided, "no! there they come!" with a yell, followed by a rattling fire of revolver shots, a dozen ponies shot from behind the low-lying butte. the horse-hunters hurled their bronchos right against the wall of fleeing animals. volley after volley was fired into the ground right under the very feet of the wild horses. here and there a rider was unseated in a sudden collision in the dust cloud with a charging wild horse. "they've turned them!" bellowed bud stevens. the pony rider boy now began to realize the truth of this, for the angel came bounding toward him, crowding right up against the side of tad's pony. tad was using foot and quirt, yelling like a wild indian to frighten the big, white stallion into keeping to the left. so successful were his efforts that the animal did give way a little. "i've headed him!" shouted the lad in wild glee. never had he had such an exciting day as this one was proving itself to be. he gave no thought to the danger of the chase. and now that he heard and recognized the shouts of his companions he was spurred to even greater efforts than before. why this post of honor had been given to him he did not know. but bud stevens was not far behind. bud was ready to stop the stampede that he momentarily expected, but which did not come. "give way a little!" came the command. tad recognized that he had, in his enthusiasm, been crowding the white stallion a bit too much. he drew off a little, not, however, decreasing his speed. already the band of wild horses had entered the wide-spreading wings of the corral, but because of the dust that enveloped him, tad was unaware of this. he continued at his same terrific pace, with the tough little broncho rising and falling under him as he fairly flew over the uneven ground. the horse-hunters had fallen into a triangle formation with the apex to the rear. they were driving the wild horses before them, using their guns in what appeared to be a most reckless fashion, shouting as if the whole band had gone suddenly mad. on down between the brush barriers, that were now apparently rising out of the ground, sped the frightened band of wild horses. the white stallion began to understand that they were trapped. angel whirled suddenly and made a desperate effort to take the back trail. tad and his pony dashing down the slight incline like a projectile, hit the stallion broadside. the collision was so sudden that the lad had a narrow escape from being hurled over the head of his own pony. it was only the convulsive grip of legs to the broncho's side that saved him from a bad spill. with quick instinct he brought his quirt down on the broad back of the angel. smarting under the stinging blow and the surprise of the collision the white stallion whirled about again, heading right into the yawning corral. the lad was now in the very midst of the crowding, fighting animals. he was battling every whit as desperately as were they. bud stevens had fallen back. he knew tad was somewhere ahead in the mix-up, but he was powerless to get to him at that moment, nor could his voice reach the lad. it was then that the boy realized where he was. "i'm in the corral!" he cried, discovering that he was hemmed in by the canvas walls of the main enclosure itself. "and i guess i'm in a mix-up that will be hard to get out of." the wild horses were charging about, screaming with anger and fear, rearing, biting, kicking, bowling each other over in their desperate efforts to escape. on every side, they found themselves met by the canvas walls, which none thus far had had the courage to assail. "there's the black stallion--there's satan," cried tad in surprise. "i didn't know he was here." the black's eyes were gleaming with anger. his lost courage was slowly returning to him. satan was now ready to give battle to man or beast. all at once he dashed straight at the canvas wall, rose to it and cleared it in a long, curving leap, his rear feet ripping the cloth down a short distance as the hoofs caught it. the keen eyes of the white stallion were upon him. in another instant his glistening body had flashed over the enclosing walls. "oh, that's too bad!" groaned tad. at that moment half a dozen horsemen appeared in the enclosure; as if by magic they threw themselves across the opening made by the two stallions, and thus made an impassable barrier. tad had seem them coming, and divined their purpose. a daring plan suddenly flashed into his mind. with a shrill yell, he dug in the rowels of his spurs. the broncho, understanding what was wanted of him, rose to the canvas well, clearing it without so much as touching it with his hoofs. but while this was going on another scene was being enacted just outside the barrier. a few horse-hunters had been sent around there to head off just such an attempt at escape as had been made. with them was stacy brown. he was sitting on his pony, rope in hand when satan cleared the wall. he saw the dark body of the stallion plunge over. instinctively the fat boy rose in his stirrups. his lariat whirled twice over his head, then shot out. it sped true to the mark, catching satan by the left hind foot just as he was finishing his leap. "yeow!" yelled chunky. the black stallion ploughed the ground with his nose, as the boy took a quick hitch of the rope about his saddle pommel. that was where chunky came to grief once more. his pony's feet were jerked out from under it by the mighty lurch of satan when he went down. stacy brown and his broncho were thrown flat on the ground in a twinkling. the lad's right leg was pinned under the pony, but the boy, with great presence of mind, held the rope fast to the pommel. ropes flew from all directions, now that the stallion was down. in a moment more they had satan entangled in a maze of them. the horse-hunters were shouting and yelling in triumph at the fat boy's splendid capture. so busily engaged were they in subduing the black that, for the moment, they lost sight of the fact that the angel, followed by tad butler on his broncho, had cleared the barrier too. nor did tad give heed to them. with rope unslung he was stretching through the foothills at a breakneck pace, on the trail of the angel. "there goes the angel, with the kid after him!" bellowed a cowboy. three men leaped into their saddles and were off like a shot. tad butler slowly, but surely, drew up on the racing stallion. the pursuers saw him unsling his rope, holding the coil easily at his side. "he's going to cast," cried the cowboys in amazement that the slender lad would undertake alone to capture the powerful animal. "he'll be dragged to death!" warned one. "don't try it, kiddie!" shouted another at the top of his voice. a chorus of warning yells were hurled after the intrepid tad, to all of which he gave no heed. his eyes were fixed on the flashing body of the white stallion ahead of him, every nerve tense for the shock that would come a moment later. all at once the pursuers saw tad's right arm describe the familiar circle in the air. then his lariat squirmed out. the angel, running ahead of the boy could not see the rope in time to dodge it. the loop of the lariat dropped neatly over his head and suddenly drew taut. the proud stallion which for years had defied the skill of the wild-horse hunters, went down to an inglorious defeat. but he was up like a flash. then began a battle between the slender pony rider boy and wild stallion that is talked of among the wild-horse hunters of the desert to this day. three times had tad thrown the angel before the others caught up with him, the lad's arms being well-nigh pulled from his body in the terrific lunges of the fighting angel. the ropes of the cowboys reached out for the maddened animal the instant they were within reach. such a shout went up as had probably never been heard on the range before when finally they had the white fighter securely roped down. the pony rider boys had distinguished themselves this day. tricing up one of the stallion's forward legs, so that he hobbled along like a lame dog, the hunters started back to the corral, shouting, singing and firing their revolvers, with tad butler proudly sitting his broncho at the head of the procession. not an animal had escaped from the other hunters. it had been a magnificent round-up. chapter xix winning their reward the horse-hunters had bound the black and left him, while they entered the corral to assist in roping the rest of the herd that were dashing wildly about. every time a rope swung above a broad-brimmed sombrero, and shot out, a wild horse came down. "i fell in, but i got him," greeted chunky brown, triumphantly, as tad butler rode up to him. tad laughed heartily when he saw his companion, stacy brown, proudly sitting on the head of the angry, snorting black stallion. "you did, indeed, chunky. how did you ever do it?" "just like any other experienced man would," replied the fat boy, in an important tone. "we got them both, didn't we, tad!" "yes." "and we'll keep 'em, eh!" "oh, no, chunky. we couldn't do that. these horses belong to the hunters. they spend a great deal of money in preparing to capture them. it would not be right for us to expect to keep these two. we've been well paid for our labor in the fun we have had. don't you think so?" "well, yes," decided stacy a little ruefully. "let's see if we can help them," concluded tad, riding up to the edge of the corral. "orders?" he called, as soon as he could attract bud stevens' attention. "yes; you might ride around to the entrance and come in. you can help us rope and hobble the stock if you want to." tad did as directed. there was no sport of the range that he took a keener enjoyment in than he did in roping, and by this time there were few men who could handle a rope more skillfully than he. ned and walter were assisting in guarding the narrow entrance to the canvas corral when tad finally rode through, entering the enclosure, where the excited animals were charging back and forth and round and round. bud was sitting on his pony in the center of the milling animals, directing the operations. first the hunters would rope and throw an animal; then they would bind up one of the front legs at the elbow, after which the horse was released. when the animals had staggered about the enclosure a few times trying to throw off the leg-binders, they were quite willing to stand still and nurse their anger. "sail in, boy!" called bud. tad picked out a little bay that was kicking and squealing, dodging every lariat that was thrown at it. his first shot missed. the lad coiled his rope deliberately. "i'll see that you don't dodge me this time, mr. bay," tad muttered, and began slowly following the animal about the ring. the instant the bay's head was turned away from him tad let go the rope, and the next second the stubborn animal lay on its side, another cowboy having made a successful cast over its kicking hind legs the moment it struck the ground. tad released his rope, then started for another cast. so he went on from one to another, and with as much coolness as if he had been roping wild horses all his life. after half an hour's work young butler saw bud motioning to him. tad rode up. the boy was bare-headed, having lost his sombrero somewhere in the enclosure, and not having thought to look for it, even if he had realized its loss. "take a rest," directed the horseman. "i'm not tired." "yes, you are, but you don't know it. first thing you know, you'll tumble off your pony with a bad case of heat knock-out. your face is as red as a lobster. too bad the stallions got away," added bud, who had been so thoroughly occupied in the corral that he had given no heed to what had been taking place outside. "lost the stallions?" questioned tad, elevating his eyebrows. "yes, satan and the angel." "why, mr. stevens, we didn't lose them." "i know, we got them in the corral all right, but that isn't getting them. they always manage to give us the slip somehow." tad's eyes danced. "then you've got a surprise coming to you, mr. stevens. both stallions are lying outside the corral at this minute, tied up so tightly that they won't get away again." "what! you're joking." "no, i'm not. i mean it," laughed the lad in high glee. bud bent a steady look upon the boy. he saw that tad was speaking the truth. "how did it happen, kiddie?" "chunky roped the black by one of its hind feet just as the animal was taking the jump. chunky got a bad fall, but he held fast to the black till the others could get their ropes on it." "hurray!" shouted bud, carried away by his enthusiasm. "but what about the angel, eh? get him too, did you say?" "yes." "how?" "i jumped the fence after him, and ran a race with him out into the foothills, where i managed to get my lariat over his head and pulled him down. we had quite a scrimmage, but i should have lost him if i hadn't had help. the boys came to my rescue just in time." "huh!" grunted the cowboy, observing his companion with twinkling eyes. "you've got anything roped and hobbled that i ever saw." that was bud's only comment at the moment, but it carried with it a world of praise, causing tad to blush. all the rest of the afternoon was devoted to securing the animals that they had captured. not a horse had escaped. shortly after sunset the task was completed and the horse-hunters gave utterance to their feelings in a series of triumphant yells. in the meantime three of the men had been sent back to bring over the camp outfit, which, owing to the fact that it had to follow a round-about trail, did not get in until some time after dark. ned and walter had accompanied the men back to camp to assist in packing their own outfit, tad and stacy remaining to keep watch over the prizes that they had captured. dinner that night, though a late one, was an occasion of boisterous good-fellowship, the two happy pony rider boys coming in for much good-natured raillery. "don't want to join us, do you, kiddie?" asked bud quizzically. "i'd like to, of course. but it is not possible," answered tad. "we'll be off in the morning with our stock, you know. better come along. you'll dry up and blow away down on the desert. it's had medicine where you're headed for." "we're used to taking our medicine," laughed tom parry. "you probably have noticed as much in the short time you've known our bunch." "you bet i have," laughed bud. "and you take it in big doses, too." "allopathic doses," interjected the professor. "don't know what they might be," answered bud. "sounds as though it might be something hard to swallow, though." this bit of pleasantry caused a general laugh. the fun continued until late in the evening. next morning the camp was astir at an early hour. the captured horses were found to be considerably subdued after being roped all night. bud's first work in the morning, after breakfast, was to take the two stallions in hand. they were freed of their bonds, and after a battle during which nearly every member of the party had been more or less mauled by the spirited beasts, the horse hunters succeeded in saddling and bridling satan and the angel. bud stevens rode them about in turn, to the delight of the pony rider boys who had never seen such bucking. "let me ride now," begged stacy, after stevens had to some extent subdued satan. the horseman permitted the lad to take to the saddle, but no sooner had chunky done so, than satan hurled him clear over the corral. chunky, nothing daunted, came back smiling and tried it again, this time with entire success. satan did not again succeed in unseating him. tad mastered the angel without being thrown, and amid the cheers of the cowboys, who shouted their approval of his horsemanship. all was now in readiness for the start of the cowboy band and their great herd of horses. stevens had directed his men to take the two stallions outside the corral and stake them down securely. then the men began driving the rest of the captured stock from the canvas prison. at first the animals evinced an inclination to run away. but with one leg in a sling this was not an easy task, and the horsemen rounded up the bunch with little difficulty. "here, here!" cried tad. "you're forgetting the stallions, mr. stevens. you've left them staked down out back of the corral." "have i?" grinned bud. "what did you want me to do with them?" "take them with you, of course," answered tad, as yet failing to understand the horse-hunter's plan. "don't you want them, kiddie?" "want them--want them?" stammered tad. "yes. they're yours, yours and the fat boy's." "oh, no, no, mr. stevens! i couldn't think of such a thing." "master tad is right," approved the professor. "we have not the least claim in the world on those animals. we----" "say, professor, who's running this side show?" demanded bud. "why--why, of course it's your hunt, but----" "all right then, seeing as it's my outfit, i've decided that i don't want the stallions. look here! we'd have lost part of that bunch, at least, if it hadn't been for your kids. master tad alone saved the herd from scattering all over the ralston desert. no, sir, i'm getting off cheaply. the stallions belong to the boys, and that's all there is to be said. s'long everybody. come up to eureka on your way out, and if i don't cut the town wide open for you, my name ain't bud stevens." with a wave of his sombrero, bud put spurs to his mount and galloped away to join his companions, who had started the herd on its way to eureka, where the animals were to be shipped east. tad and stacy were too full of surprise to express their feelings. chapter xx visited by a halo the pony rider boys turned again to the desert maze. a week had elapsed since bud stevens and his party had left them. one evening, after a hard day in the saddle, the guide was sitting thoughtfully in his tent, when professor zepplin entered. "sit down?" asked the guide. "for a moment only," answered the professor. "weather's fine to-night." "yes, even though we have no water to speak of. do you consider our situation at all serious, mr. parry?" "same old story, professor. sage brush and alkali. tanks full one day, dry the next. there's no accounting for the desert. every time i get out of the desert maze, as somebody has called it, i chalk down a mark on the wall." "i am beginning to understand that it does hold perils of its own," answered professor zepplin, thoughtfully. "traveling over the desert is no picnic--that's a fact. got to take it as it comes, though. if we go dry one day, most likely we fill up the next, or the day after that. don't pay to get down in the mouth and fret." "yes, i understand all that. but i don't wish to take any great chances on account of the boys." "the boys?" tom parry laughed. "don't you worry about them. those boys would thrive where a coyote would die at sight of his own eternal starvation shadow." the professor shook his head doubtfully. "turn 'em loose on the desert and they'd swim ashore somehow. especially young butler. he's quiet--he doesn't say much, but when he gets busy there's something doing. for sheer pluck he's got it over anything i ever saw--like a circus tent. well, don't lose any sleep worrying about water. we'll catch a drop or two of dew out of a cactus plant some of these nights. see you in the morning. good night," concluded the guide, rising and knocking the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel. they had been working slowly toward the death valley region, and water was becoming more and more scarce as they proceeded. indeed, the problem of where to find sufficient water for their needs had become a serious one. for the last three days all the water holes that the guide had depended upon to replenish their supply had failed them. what lay before them none knew. when the camp awakened, late the next morning, the guide was nowhere to be seen. his pony likewise had disappeared. but they did not trouble themselves over parry's absence, knowing that he had not left them without good reason and with many a sharp joke at each other's expense proceeded to get the breakfast ready. they had just sat down to the table when tom parry came riding in, covered with dust. "morning, boys. fine day," he greeted, with his usual inscrutable smile, which might indicate either good or bad tidings. "prospecting?" questioned tad. "taking my morning constitutional. going to be hot enough to singe the pin feathers off a bald-headed sage hen to-day," he informed them, slipping from his saddle. after beating a cloud of alkali dust from his clothes he joined the party at the breakfast table. "find any?" asked tad, eyeing him inquiringly, for tad had an idea as to the object of the guide's early morning ride. "nary," was the comprehensive reply. "have to take a dry shampoo to-day, i reckon." "i suppose there is no water in sight yet?" asked the professor, he not having caught the meaning of the brief dialogue between tad and tom parry. "no, sir. not yet. we'll be moving as soon as possible after breakfast. better use sparingly what little water you have left in your canteens. you may need it before we strike another water hole," he advised. as usual, however, the spirits of the pony rider boys were in no way affected by the shortage of water. time enough to worry when their canteens were dry. these days, tad and stacy were occupying all their spare time in working with the two stallions they had captured. the angel, under tad's kind but determined training, was advancing rapidly and already had been taught to do a few simple tricks. stacy, on his part, was not doing quite so well with satan. the latter, like his namesake, was inclined to be vicious, biting and kicking whenever the evil spirit moved. ahead, on all sides of them as the sun rose that morning, lay wide stretches of gray, dusty soil, blotches of alkali alternating with huge patches of scattering sage brush, with no living thing in sight. overhead burned the blue of a cloudless sky; about them the suffocating atmosphere of the alkali desert. it was not a cheerful vista that spread out before the lads. the ponies, suffering for want of water, took up the day's journey with evident reluctance. with heads hanging low they dragged themselves along wearily, half in protest, now and then evincing a sudden desire to turn about and head for the mountains. "what ails these bronchos?" grumbled ned rector. "guess they're afraid of heat prostration," replied chunky. "don't blame them. i'm half baked myself." "glad you know what ails you," laughed ned. "you ought not to feel bad about that, seeing it's your natural condition." as they plodded on the guide's eyes were roaming over the plain in search of telltale marks that would reveal the presence of that of which they were in most urgent need--water. the landscape, by this time, had become a white glare, and the blue flannel shirts of the pony riders had changed to a dirty gray as if they had been sprinkled with a cloud of fine powder. their hair, too, was tinged, below the rims of their sombreros, with the same grayish substance, while their faces were streaked where the perspiration had trickled down, giving them a most grotesque appearance. "how do you like it, chunky?" grinned ned. "oh, i've seen worse in chillicothe," answered the fat boy airily. "the dust in main street is worse because it's dirtier." "judging from the appearance of your face at this minute, i'm obliged to differ with you," interjected the professor, his own grim, dust-stained countenance wrinkling into a half smile. "do we take a rest at midday, guide?" parry shook his head. "think we'd better keep going. only be worse off if we stop now. hungry, any of you?" stacy made a wry face and felt of his stomach, which action brought a laugh from the others. just then stacy stiffened, then uttered a loud sneeze that shook him to his very foundations, causing satan to jump so suddenly that he nearly unseated his rider. "whew! thought my head had blown off. guess we're all getting the grippe," he grinned, as the others began sneezing. "alkali," answered parry. "you'll like that and the sage brush taste in your mouth more and more as you get to know them better." "excuse me," objected ned. "i prefer talcum powder for mine, if i've got to sneeze myself to death on something. what time is it?" "dinner time," answered stacy promptly. "i'll take ice cream." "dry toast will be more in your line, i'm thinking," suggested ned. "or a sandwich," added walter humorously. "hurrah, fellows! walt perkins has cracked a joke at last!" shouted ned. "yes, it was cracked all right," muttered chunky maliciously. "put him out! put 'em both out!" cried ned and tad, while tom parry's stolid face relaxed into a broad smile. "it appears to me that you young gentlemen are very humorous to-day," laughed the professor. "it's dry humor, professor," retorted ned. tad unslung his lariat. "i'll rope the next boy who dares say anything like that again," he threatened. "see, even the burros are ashamed. they're hanging their heads, they're so humiliated." "i don't blame them. mine's swimming from the heat," rejoined the guide. "say, what's that?" demanded chunky, pointing ahead of him, with a half-scared expression on his face. "i don't see anything," answered the other lads. "chunky's 'seeing things,'" suggested ned. the fat boy was pointing to a bright circle of light that hung over the desert some five feet from the ground, directly ahead of him. the peculiar thing about it appeared to be that the circle of light kept continually moving ahead of him, and at times he caught the colors of the rainbow in it. stacy looked intently, but the bright light hurt his eyes and he was forced to lower his eyelids a little. this made the circle seem brighter than before. now professor zepplin had discovered the peculiar thing. "what is that--what does it mean, guide?" asked the scientist. "that--that ring of light?" asked parry. "yes." "that is a halo, sir." "a halo?" chorused the boys. "must be chunky's then," suggested walter. "i agree with you," added ned. "but i don't see what right he has to a halo." "that particular halo is a very common thing in the desert maze," tom parry informed them. "it is caused by heat refraction, or something of the sort----" "yes, yes. oh, yes, i understand," nodded the professor. "i recall having heard of something of the kind in hot countries, and----" "is this a hot country?" asked stacy innocently. "no, you ninny; this is a section of greenland that's been dropped down here by an earthquake or something," laughed walter. "you're mistaken. it was washed down by the flood," corrected ned. all this helped to pass away the hours as well as to make the boys forget their troubles for the time being. perhaps the lads did not fully realize the extent of their predicament. not so the guide, however. he knew that they must find water soon. not many hours would pass before the stock, unable to stand the strain longer, would give out, leaving the party in a serious plight. they would then be without water, and without horses to take them to water. the wild stallions, however, were accustomed to going without drink for long periods at a time, so that they were doing much better than the rest of the stock. tom parry reasoned that they would be able to go through that day and part of the next without fresh supply, and that no serious consequences would result from it. beyond that, he did not attempt to forecast what the result would be. late that afternoon, without having informed his charges, parry varied his course, turning more to the west of south, eventually picking up a copper colored butte that rose out of the desert. reaching it at last, parry dismounted, and, bidding the others wait for him, he climbed up the rocky sides of the miniature mountain, quirt in hand. they watched him until he had disappeared around the opposite side of the butte. when they caught sight of him again tom had descended to the desert, and was approaching them along the base of the mountain. "anything encouraging?" called the professor. parry shook his head. "why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? there must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested ned. "no, i couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly. "why not, please?" asked walter. "because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips. later, upon being pressed by tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. he said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them." camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced. the boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. they then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. after a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper. "our dry spread," ned rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. they had drained their canteens of what little remained in them. "it isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted stacy. "that's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat. chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact. "that is right. not until an hour and a half after meals," agreed the professor. "i imagine we shall have to wait longer than that this time." "never mind; we'll pull through somehow. we always have," encouraged tad cheerfully. "we've gotten out of some pretty tight places, and i am sure we'll manage to weather this gale in one way or another." "gale? huh! i wish we had a gale to weather," murmured walter. "providing it was a wet one," added stacy. "that's so. now wouldn't it be fine to have a rainstorm?" agreed ned, with enthusiasm. "we could cuddle in our tents and listen to the raindrops patter on the roof," suggested stacy. "no; we'd lie down on our backs outside, open our mouths wide----" "like a nest of young robins," laughed tad. "yes. only we'd fill our mouths with water instead of----" "boys, boys!" warned the professor. "i fear you are drifting into questionable dinner topics again." "why, we're talking about water, professor," replied ned in a tone of innocent surprise. "surely you do not object to that?" "not so long as you confine your remarks to the subject of water. that seems to be our principal need at the present time." "speaking of water----" began chunky. "hold on; is this a story or a joke?" interrupted ned. "i heard of a case like ours once," continued the fat boy, without heeding the interruption. "a party of travelers on the desert found themselves without water. in the party was a bookkeeper. he was from the east. well, they were thinking about dying from thirst. but they didn't. the bookkeeper saved them." there was silence in the group for a moment. "i'll be the goat. how did he save them?" asked ned. "he had a fountain pen," replied the fat boy sagely. "y-e-o-w!" howled the pony rider boys. "put him out! put him out!" chapter xxi off on a dry trail "we shall have to divide up our forces to-day, professor. we'll make a desperate effort to find a water hole," announced tom parry. "what do you propose doing? you mean you're going to let us help you?" "yes." "i'm glad." "we'll make a big pull to-day. should we fail to find water there is only one thing left for us to do." "and that?" "leave the burros to shift for themselves. we'll head hack toward the san antonio range as fast as the bronchos will carry us. i don't know whether they'll be equal to the strain or not. if they give out we'll have to walk, that's all." "impossible!" exclaimed the professor aghast. "nothing's impossible when you're up against it. we'll go through with this, see if we don't. just keep your nerve, and----" "but the boys," protested the professor. "look at them," said parry. "they're somewhat the worse for wear, it's true, but they're all right, every single one of them. boys, come over here!" the lads hastened to obey his summons. "what is it, mr. parry?" questioned tad. "we've got to do some real work to-day, boys, and i want you to take a hand." "we are ready for anything, sir," spoke up ned. "yes, i know that," replied parry; then went on: "this is the situation. we are without a drop of water. all the water holes that i have been depending upon are dry and there is no certainty that we shall find any that are not in the same condition if we continue on our journey. we can go along for another day, perhaps, so far as we are concerned." "but the stock won't," interposed tad. "no." "i noticed this morning that some of the ponies were pretty gaunt in the flanks." "regular scarecrows. we've got to make an organized search for a tank, and the sooner we begin the better off we'll be--or the worse," added the guide under his breath. "if we fail, we'll ride all night, taking the back trail. we ought to hold out long enough to reach the last water hole we left. though even that may be dried up by the time we get to it." "then you want us to spread out, as it were, and cover all the territory about here?" questioned tad. "that's it. you've caught the idea." professor zepplin shook his head. "i don't like the idea. the boys will be lost." "they mustn't, that's all," replied the guide, with a firm setting of the lips. "i think we can arrange so they will find their way back to camp all right. listen! this is my plan. master tad will ride west, due west. master ned, on the other hand, will proceed east, and i'll go south. each of us will ride as far as he can until noon. if by then none of us has found any trace of water, we'll all turn about and hurry hack to camp." "yes, but how do you expect the boys to find their way hack?" demanded professor zepplin. "i'm coming to that. to begin with, i'm going to splice the ridge poles of the tents together, making a flagpole of them. on this we'll tie a shirt or something, planting the pole on the top of that ridge there. while the boys will be too far away to see it from where they should be by twelve o'clock, they can get near enough, by using their watches as compasses, so they can pick it up. each one will take a rifle with him, and in the event of finding water he is to remain there, firing off the gun at frequent intervals." "what'll we be doing here all the time?" interrupted walter. "starting at twelve o'clock, you will begin firing a rifle to help guide the boys in. fire a shot every five minutes. no chance to get lost at all. do you think so, professor?" "it would seem not. did i not know from past experiences how easy it is for the boys to get into trouble, i should not hesitate an instant." "anyway, we've got to do it. we are at a point where we shall have to take chances. we are taking some as it is. now, hurry your breakfast. i'll fix up the signal pole while you are doing so, then we'll be off as soon as you have finished." both tad and ned were enthusiastic and anxious to show themselves capable of taking a man's part in the proposed operations. "if chunky only had a fountain pen now all this trouble would be unnecessary," teased ned as they were hurrying through their breakfast. the fat boy's soulful eyes held an expression of mild protest, but he made no reply. the meal finished, tad and ned brought out their rifles, which they loaded, taking with them a box of cartridges each. the guide did the same. the flagpole had been planted and from its top fluttered a pair of pink pajamas belonging to the professor. "that ought to scare all the coyotes off the desert," commented ned as the party surveyed the result of the guide's work. "it will serve still another purpose," grinned the guide. "some traveler may see it. in that event he'll head for it, thinking it's some one in distress. if he does, you may be able to get a few drops of water from his canteen, providing it's not as empty as our own." "oh, how dry i am," whistled ned softly. "there doesn't seem to be much probability of our meeting strangers in this desolate place," commented the professor. "what time do you think we shall see you back? have you any idea?" "somewhere about sunset, in all probability." "i'd like to go along with tad," said stacy. "why--no, i think you'd better not," said the professor. "please. i know i shall be able to help him. you do not need two boys in camp with you, professor." "yes; he might as well go along, if he wants to," decided the guide. "very well, then. but walter must remain here." "use your old ponies. do not take the stallions," advised parry. "if the stallions were to get away from you while you are off on the desert alone it would leave you, and perhaps us as well, in pretty bad shape. and, by the way, professor, when you begin firing your signals, go to the top of the hill yonder and shoot straight up into the air. the sound will carry further than were you to shoot from here. you've no idea how perplexing this desert maze is to those not familiar with it and its tricks." "i'm learning fast," smiled the professor. "furthermore, i am convinced that i shall know all about it if i live long----" "never," answered parry promptly. "no man ever lived who knew all about the desert. i----" "if we rough riders don't get started pretty soon we'll be back before we get started," warned stacy humorously. "you're right. we are wasting time. now, masters tad and ned, you understand what you are to do?" "we do," answered the boys. "follow my directions to the letter. if you do you will keep out of trouble. if you do not, there's no telling what may happen." "we are to find water. that's what we are going out for," added tad. "exactly. but the instant you hear a gun fired, turn about and ride home. that will mean either that the time's up, or that one or the other of us has found what you are looking for. keep your eyes clear for signs and for crusts of alkali that may have a water tank under them." "we'll do our duty, mr. parry," answered tad. "i know it. good-bye and good luck!" the three lads swung their hands in parting salute, as they left the camp at an easy gallop, tad and stacy riding side by side, ned rector moving off alone. ascending the rise of ground where the pajamas were drooping listlessly from the top of the signal pole, tad and stacy slipped down the opposite side of the hill and disappeared from view. the two lads were destined to pass through some exciting experiences before they rejoined their companions. "i hope we don't get lost," said stacy, apprehensively, as they glided across the desert. "we mustn't!" "yes; but what if we do?" insisted the fat boy. "it will be because you disobeyed orders, chunky. you and i have a task to perform, and we're going to do it like men. the lives of our companions may depend upon our own efforts--yours and mine." "i can't see the professor's pajamas," insisted chunky. "i believe we are lost already, tad." "then we'll stay lost," answered tad shortly. chapter xxii in the hermit's cave the conviction that they did not know where they were grew upon stacy as they proceeded. not that stacy cared particularly whether they were lost or not, but it gave him something to talk about. "don't talk so much, chunky," begged tad, after they had gone on some distance. "you should keep your eyes out for signs." "what kind of signs?" "water signs. come, be serious for a little while. you can have all the sport you want when we get back. i think, chunky, that we can both work to better advantage if we separate----" "what, you want to get rid of me so soon?" "no, no! listen! you ride off there to the right, say half a mile. keep within sight of me all the time, and watch carefully for what we are in search of. we shall be able to do twice as effective work in that way." "i see. i guess that would be a good idea. got anything to eat in your pocket?" "some dry bread. i'll divide with you. you should have brought something." the fat boy, well satisfied now, rode away to the north, munching the dry food that tad had given him. so long as chunky had plenty to eat, nothing else mattered. tad soon espied what appeared to him to be a cloud on the horizon ahead. after a time he discovered that it was a range of irregular buttes. on some of them he eventually made out what looked like scattering trees. tad increased the speed of his pony as much as he thought the animal would stand. if there were trees, there surely should be water as well, he reasoned. after a time he succeeded in attracting the attention of stacy, whom he motioned to him. the fat boy put spurs to his mount, racing along one side of the triangle, heading for the range, for which he observed that tad was riding. it was now a test of speed to see which one should get there first. tad having the shorter distance to travel, made the mark ahead of his companion, though with little to spare. "you started before i knew what you were up to," laughed stacy. "i can beat you on an even start." "haven't any doubt of it, chunky. but let's see what's to be found here. it looks promising. you hold the horses while i climb up among the rocks." "there's a man up there!" exclaimed stacy. "what's he doing? i wonder if he's a hermit? looks as if he might be." "i'll find out. if some one is living here, there's water," cried tad triumphantly, leaping from his saddle and tossing the bridle reins to his companion. the lad ran lightly up the rocks toward the point where he saw the stranger standing, observing them suspiciously. as he drew nearer to the figure, tad felt some apprehension. the man was thin and gaunt, a heavy growth of beard covering his face so completely as to hide everything except the nose and eyes. "i believe he's crazy," muttered the lad, when he got near enough to note the strange expression in the fellow's eyes. as yet, the man had not spoken a word. "how do you do, sir!" greeted the boy. the hermit, for such he proved to be, grunted an unintelligible reply. "we are looking for water. my friends are camped off yonder, a dozen miles or more, and our water is all gone. please tell me where i can find some?" "got money?" "yes, yes, i've got money. i will pay you for your trouble if that is what you want. let me have a drink first and take some to my companion; then i will do whatever you wish in the way of paying," begged the lad. the hermit eyed him with a steady, disconcerting gaze that gave tad a creepy feeling up and down his spine. "you want water?" "yes, yes." a moment's hesitation, then the hermit grasped tad by the arm and strode rapidly back among the rocks. pushing aside a growth of tangled vines he stooped to enable him to enter the opening that was revealed, dragging tad in after him. [illustration: the hermit grasped tad by the arm.] "see here, where are you taking me?" demanded the lad, pulling back instinctively from the dark opening. the hermit made no reply, but tightening his grip, which was of vise-like firmness, jerked the boy into the center of the chamber. tad observed by the single ray of light that penetrated the place through the mat of vines at the entrance that they were in a cave. "you want water?" snapped the hermit. "yes, i do want water more than anything else in the world at this minute, but there is no necessity for dragging me to it. i can walk." "water in there," answered the hermit, thrusting tad into a dark recess. no sooner had he done so than the lad heard a heavy wooden door slammed shut and a bar thrown across it from the outside. tad, instantly realizing that he was being shut in, threw himself against the barrier with all his strength. but he might as well have tried to break through the rocks which walled him in on the other three sides. he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that chunky might, perchance, hear him and come to his rescue. chunky could use the rifle that hung in the holster on tad's saddle and intimidate the hermit if he understood tad's predicament. at that instant the lad's ears caught the faint trickle of water. the sound stirred him to sudden action. "where was it?" he asked himself, his hands groping over the rocks about him. "here it is!" he cried exultingly. what he had found was a tiny stream that was creeping down the side of the rocks. tad pressed his lips against the cool stones, enabling him to lick a few drops of the precious fluid into his parched mouth. never had anything tasted so refreshing to him. "a-h-h-h-h!" gasped the boy, taking a fresh breath preparatory to another draught. "it's almost worth being made a prisoner for this. i'll bet chunky would wish to be in here if he knew. and i almost wish he were." as if in answer to his expressed wish, the door was suddenly pushed inward, a heavy body was hurled in, landing in a heap on the rocky floor. the door slammed shut and the bar once more fell into place. for the moment tad could not determine what had happened. "i--i fell in," moaned a voice from the heap. "chunky!" cried tad. "how did you get in here?" "i--just dropped in," wailed the fat boy. "get up! don't be a baby! come here and have a drink of water----" "water? water?" fairly shouted stacy, leaping to his feet, bumping against a rock in his haste. "where? where?" "here. put your lips against the rock right here. there, you have it. does it taste good?" "u-m-m-m." "now, you've had enough for the moment. tell me how you got here? how did you happen to come up?" questioned tad. "the--the wild man--say, tad, he looks like a monkey, doesn't he?" "i hadn't thought of it in that light. i guess you're right, though, chunky." "well, he went out on the rocks and motioned to me. i told him i couldn't leave the ponies. he said you wanted me right away, and he came down to help me stake the ponies. he was awful kind," mused stacy, as if talking to himself. "go on," urged tad. "we've got to think about what's going to become of us." "that's all. he just led me up here. said you were inside getting water. then--then he threw me in. think i hurt the floor when i hit it, tad?" "i guess not quite so bad as that," laughed the lad. "i want you to strike a match while i look around the place." stacy did so, taking his time about it. by the dim light thus made, they discovered a little pool of water in a far corner of the chamber, where the trickling stream had found it's way. with their drinking cups, which, with their canteens, the boys always carried, they dipped the pool almost dry, filling their canteens with the cool, refreshing water, after having first fully satisfied their thirst. "got anything to eat?" questioned stacy, his thoughts turning to food. "yes, and i'm going to keep it," answered tad promptly. "that's mean." "see here, chunky. we are prisoners. we don't know when or how we are going to get out. i have a few crusts of bread left and i propose to keep them, because we may find ourselves starving later on. you'll be glad then that i saved the bread. what do you think the hermit intends to do? did he say anything that gave you any clue?" "nope." "we'll wait a while and if he does not let us out, we'll have to find a way for ourselves." for a time they made the best of their situation, stacy grumbling now and then, tad bright and cheery, though in his heart he felt far from cheerful. "i'm going to try to break the door down," announced tad finally, after listening intently. "i can't hear anything. i believe the hermit has gone away and left us. get up here beside me. take hold of my hand and we'll rush it together." they did so, throwing their combined weight against the door. "ouch!" yelled stacy. "never mind, try it again," encouraged tad, laughing in spite of himself. once more they hurled themselves on the obstruction. it resisted all their efforts. tad lighted a match, examining the door carefully. the light revealed a heap of blankets in a corner of the chamber, where the old hermit slept. "must be his bedroom," decided chunky. "we've got to try something else," announced tad. "got your knife!" "yes." "out with it. we're going to whittle. lucky for us that our knives are big and sharp. hold a match while i mark out the spot we're going to try to cut out." tad had sounded the door with his fist until he found the place where the bar on the other side held it. he also discovered sockets for an inner bar, by which the hermit probably locked himself in at night. then he began cutting. "you start in here and keep to your side so you don't cut my hands," the lad directed. the crunching sound of their knives began immediately, the work going on more slowly in the darkness than would have been the case had they had light. now and then the lads would pause to listen. not a sound penetrated to their prison. tad thought this very strange, unless perhaps the hermit might be lying in wait to fall upon them in case they did succeed in freeing themselves. "say, tad." "well?" "i've got an idea." chunky's knife had been silent for a few moments. "what is it?" "let's burn down the old door." "how!" "i'll show you." stacy scraped industriously for a time, then lighting a match applied it to the spot on which he had been working. the splinters caught fire burned up briskly then went out. stacy repeated the process with a similar result. "i guess that will help a little," decided tad, running his fingers over the spot. "just like singeing the pin feathers off an old hen--the feathers burn, but the hen doesn't," grumbled stacy. "whew! the smoke's getting thick in here. we've got to stop the burning or we'll suffocate," warned tad. "wish i had an ax. i'd make short work of the old door." they then began working with a grim determination, stacy ceasing his joking. at last a tiny ray of light showed through the heavy door. "hurrah!" shouted tad. "i see daylight." "then give me some bread. i'm hungry." "not yet. we're not out of our prison," laughed tad. "keep cutting. it will take all of an hour to make an opening large enough for me to get my hand through----" "i got my finger through," cried stacy triumphantly. "ouch!" he yelled as a club of some sort was brought against the door on the outside with terrific force, bruising the end of the lad's finger. "the hermit is out there waiting for us!" gasped tad, with sinking heart. chapter xxiii lost in the desert maze a rifle shot sounded from the camp of the pony rider boys. at regular intervals shot followed shot. it was the warning signal agreed upon to notify the others that water had been found. ned rector had ridden into camp with the joyful tidings that he had discovered a water tank about three miles to the eastward. immediately walter sprang for his rifle, and running to the top of the little hill began shooting into the air. ned, in the meantime, not waiting for the return of the others, had fetched the water-bags from the burros, and started off at a rapid pace to bring back water for the stock. his canteen he left for professor zepplin and walter. "it's horrible stuff, but it is water," breathed the professor as he swallowed the brown alkali fluid. "if ever i get a drink of real water again, i know i shall be able to appreciate it." in the meantime walter's rifle was booming its warning over the desert maze. two hours later, tom parry, hot, dusty and well-nigh spent, rode into camp with the steam rising from his pony in a thin, vaporous cloud. "have you found it?" he called hoarsely. "yes; ned's found a water hole," the professor informed him. "give me a drink, quick. the alkali's cutting furrows in my throat," he begged. "never got such a hold of me before." the professor pressed his canteen to the guide's lips, and parry drank eagerly. a few moments later he pulled himself together sharply. "i'm going to take the stock out to the water hole," he announced, starting the burros off across the desert. "i'll water the stallions when i return." "you had better let me attend to that," protested the professor. "you're in no shape to go out in the sun again." "that's all right, professor. but tell me how i am going to get out of the sun?" begged parry, with a grim smile. "the tent----" "hotter than the sun. no, i guess i can stand it if those boys are able to. by the way, have you seen anything of the other two?" "i'll ascertain if walter has discovered them yet." walter's straining eyes had failed to make out tad and stacy, however, so the professor bade him continue firing his rifle. this was a pleasant occupation for walter, for, like his companions, next to a pony he loved a gun. ned had returned with the water-bags, and parry had finished watering the stock. it was now near sunset. "no signs yet?" questioned the guide, joining walter on the knoll. "not a thing." "that doesn't seem right. stop your firing and come get some supper. we must eat and put ourselves in shape or we'll be good for nothing. did those boys take any food with them?" "i think i saw tad stowing something in his pockets before he started. i'm sure i did," spoke up ned rector. "there's a lad who knows his business," approved parry, moving toward the camp with walter. "why have you discontinued the shooting?" demanded the professor in surprise. "to eat. half an hour's intermission will make little difference. if the lads are on their way, we'll be able to call them in before it gets dark. if not, then i shall go out to look for them. they're all right. i think you need feel no concern over them." "must have gone a long way," spoke up ned. "yes, they undoubtedly followed orders." "and perhaps exceeded them," added the professor. it was a real supper that they sat down to that evening, with hot coffee, fried bacon and other good things, and the party would have been a jolly one had tad and stacy been on hand to participate in it. walter hurried through his meal, then took his position on the hill once more, where he renewed his signaling with the rifle. all at once he uttered a shout, following it with a quick volley of six shots, thus emptying his magazine. "do you see them!" called parry, hastening over to the knoll, and joining walter. "i think i see a cloud of dust approaching over the desert," he made reply. "where?" walter pointed with his rifle. "yes, that's the boys, i guess. nothing but a broncho could kick up the alkali like that. i'll go back and have their supper ready. you keep on shooting. the light is growing fainter and they won't be able to find their way in otherwise." "is it the boys?" called the professor, as they saw parry hastening toward them. "i think so. put the coffee on, master ned. they'll want to boil the alkali out of their systems as soon as they get here." "that's the time tad butler got left," chuckled ned rector. "he's always been around when there was any glory coming. but when it comes to finding water where there isn't any, i guess they can't beat ned rector." "what's that boy shooting so rapidly for?" asked parry. "he's excited about something," answered ned. "he's dancing around as if he's suddenly gone crazy. what's that? he's calling and motioning to us. guess he wants you, mr. parry." "what is it!" called the guide, making a megaphone of his hands. unable to make out what it was that walter was shouting to him, tom parry deserted the camp-fire, where he was assisting to get the second supper, and hastened to the knoll. "what's the trouble, my lad?" "come and see. i want you to take a look at that pony. he's tearing across the desert as if something were chasing him. but i can't make out anyone on his back." "the light is weak and he's throwing a lot of dust. of course there's some one his back, and there must be two horses." the guide shaded his hands, gazing off across the plain. "what--what----" he stammered. "wasn't i right, mr. parry?" "that's very strange. i don't understand it at all." "that's what i thought." "there's only one pony and he's riderless," exclaimed tom parry. "i'm afraid something has happened. it may not be one of our ponies, however. we'll know in a few minutes." the running animal was drawing steadily nearer the camp. those over by the camp-fire were busy getting the meal ready for the two missing lads. the pony reached the foot of the knoll. observing parry and walter there, the little animal shied, making a wide detour, and finally galloping up to the camp. walter and the guide hurried down. "hello!" cried the professor, as he saw the horse dash in. "what does this mean!" "why, it's tad's pony!" exclaimed ned in amazement. "is that master tad's mount?" called the guide as he approached them on the run. "yes. do you think there's anything wrong?" questioned ned. "looks that way. don't let him get away. i want to look the critter over. perhaps we may learn something." ned caught the pony without difficulty, and led it to the guide. parry went all over the animal, even going through the saddlebags. "the rifle and the rope are missing. everything else seems to be in order," he announced. "then i'll guarantee that tad's all right," spoke up ned. "that's what i think," agreed walter. "he's taken his gun and rope up into some mountain or other and while he was away the pony got away and started for home." "is that your opinion, mr. parry?" questioned the professor. "what's the use in offering any opinions? i don't know. but i'm going to find out. let's see. we have a new moon to-night. i've got about two hours before it goes down. i want you all to remain right here in camp until i return. even if it's until to-morrow. i'm going out to look for the boys." with that parry hastily filled his canteen, slung one of the bags of water over the back of his pony, and springing into the saddle dashed away, following the trail that the returning broncho had left. chapter xxiv conclusion "no use trying to go any further to-night, chunky." "where'll we stay, then?" "right here, i guess," answered tad. "it's as good a place as we'll find." but to understand this, we must take up the fortunes of tad and stacy, whom we left imprisoned in the hermit's cave. after waiting for a full hour in the cave, following the hermit's blow on the door, the lads not having heard anything further of him, had renewed their whittling. after long and arduous effort they had succeeded in making an opening in the wood sufficiently large to enable tad to push his hand through. before doing so, however, he made reasonably sure that the hermit was not standing there with a club ready to bring it down with crushing force. being satisfied on this point, tad thrust a hand through. his upturned hand had grasped the bar that held the door in place. pushing upward with all his strength he felt the bar give. stacy, with ready resourcefulness, began forcing up on tad's elbow. in a moment more they had the satisfaction of hearing the bar clatter to the rocks. yet one end of it had stuck in its socket, still holding the barrier in place. they tried their former tactics. backing off, both lads rushed at the heavy door. it gave way with a suddenness that they had not expected. the boys tumbled out, each landing on his head and shoulders, then toppling over to his back. there was a lively scramble. they were up in a twinkling, fully expecting to find the hermit standing over them. to their surprise, they found themselves entirely alone. to their further surprise, neither of their ponies was in sight when they stepped out on the rocks. upon examining the hoof prints a few minutes later they discovered that one animal had set off on the back trail, while the other had apparently gone in the opposite direction. after a brief consultation they decided that they must start back on foot. without a moment's hesitation, the lads, laying their course by tad's watch, started pluckily toward camp, many miles away. after a few hours night overtook them. they still had the moon, however, and by its light they trudged along for two more weary hours. then the moon's light left them and tad decided that it were worse than useless to continue. absolute darkness had settled over the desert maze as the boys dropped down, footsore and weary after their long tramp in the stifling heat. "got anything to eat?" asked stacy. "that i have, and a canteen of water besides. we have a lot to be thankful for yet, chunky. haven't we?" "i'll tell you after i try the bread," answered the fat boy. tad laughed merrily. "always a humorist, aren't you?" "except when i fall in somewhere," replied stacy. "how does the bread go?" "fine!" "aren't you glad you didn't eat it up back there in the hermit's cave?" "oh, i dunno. if i'd eaten it then, i wouldn't have to eat it now." "oh, chunky, you're hopeless. i shall have to give you up----" "what do you think has become of those ponies?" interrupted the fat boy. "guess they must have gotten away and gone home--at least one of them," answered tad. "wrong." "why?" "one went one way and the other another, didn't he?" "yes. what of that?" "if they'd gotten away they'd both traveled together. one of them was ridden away and i'm thinking the hermit was on his back. i'll bet he carried my broncho off." "you mean you think your broncho carried him off?" laughed tad. "i didn't give you credit for so much sense, chunky. i guess you are right at that. the ponies surely would have left together. seems to be our luck to lose horses. guess my gun has gone, too, but i picked up the rope back by the mountain." "glad i didn't bring my rifle along," chuckled stacy. "i'll bet i'd be throwing good-bye kisses after it now if i had." "i don't understand what that old man meant by making us prisoners unless it was that he wanted a horse to get out of the desert maze. if that was his reason, i don't blame him," laughed tad. "mr. parry did us a real service when he advised us to leave our stallions back in camp. they surely would have been gone by this time, and we never could have caught them again." "yes; i can see satan legging it for the hills," replied stacy. "legging it is his strong point." they had finished their slender meal by this time and drunk their fill of water from the canteens. as a result, they felt better than they had felt at any time during the past three days. "we have a long, hot walk ahead of us to-morrow, unless they come out to look for us, chunky," averred tad. "yes. and i love to walk," replied stacy, with droll humor. "especially when the sun is one hundred and fifty in the shade, or where the shade ought to be. if ever i come down in this baked country again, i'm going to bring that sweet apple tree out of uncle's orchard, even if i have to drag it all over the desert with me." "think we'd better make our beds and turn in?" suggested tad. "i guess. i'll take a drink of water first; then i'm ready." in a few moments the plucky lads had stretched out on the still hot ground, without feeling the least fear. they were too self-reliant to feel any fear, and they had passed so many nights in the open that the mysterious darkness of the outside world held no terrors for them. they knew there was nothing to harm them. tad was beginning to doze off when stacy nudged him in the ribs. "what is it?" asked tad sharply. "i think the girl forgot to put a fresh pillow case on my pillow to-day. the pillow feels awful rough." "oh, go to sleep. dream all the funny things you wish to, but don't bother me till daylight." from that moment until long past midnight the boys slept soundly, neither having moved since he lay down for his night's rest. even when the coyotes began to howl, off on the desert, the lads merely stirred, only half conscious of what the sound meant. but when the howls gradually drew nearer, chunky cautiously opened one eye. the night was so dark that he could not see anything about him. the beasts drew nearer. tad was awake now. "keep still, don't scare them until i give the word," he said in answer to stacy's poke. emboldened by the quietness, the coyotes kept creeping closer and closer, their mournful howls increasing in volume every minute. all at once tad reached down for his rope. he lay still for a few minutes until satisfied that the animals had not observed his movement. suddenly the great loop shot from his hand. a quick, violent tug at the other end, a wild, frightened howl from the cowardly beasts, and all but one, with tails between their legs, fled over the desert. "i've got one, chunky," yelled tad. "quick! help me here, or he'll get away!" it required all the strength of the two boys to hold the animal that tad had roped in the dark. gradually they shortened up on the rope, tad standing in front of his companion until he felt the animal dangerously near. then he let out a swift kick. by good luck, it laid the coyote flat. tad was upon the beast before, in its half-dazed condition, it could rise. together they tied the animal's feet, its jaws snapping at them viciously before their task was completed. there was no more sleep for the lads that night. they feared the coyote would gnaw the rope in two, if left alone. all during the night the boys were obliged continually to jerk on the line about its neck to keep the beast from doing this very thing. morning came at last. making a harness from a piece of the rope, they bound up one of the animal's forefeet, just as bud stevens had done with wild horses. then they released the hind feet. mr. coyote hopped about like a rabbit for a time, snarling and snapping, to their keen delight. they felt no fear of him, though mr. coyote had several times expressed a willingness to fight his captors. after eating their remaining crumbs of bread, the boys decided to move on. tad, believing that he knew the direction to follow, did not wait for the sun to rise. yet, although they were not aware of the fact, they already had strayed far from the trail. "i'm afraid the coyote is going to be a drag on us, much as i should like to take him along," said tad. stacy begged to keep the animal, and tad decided to try it. the next question was, how to move it. it was finally decided that one boy should lead the coyote while the other prodded it from the rear when the animal lagged. at noon they halted to rest, draining the last drop from their canteens. then they started on again, suffering more and more from the heat as they proceeded. about the middle of the afternoon tad halted, gazing helplessly about him. "chunky, we're lost in the desert maze. i don't know where i am any more than if i were in the middle of an ocean. i'm pretty nearly exhausted, too." "so's the coyote," comforted stacy. "but we've got to keep on going. my watch is missing. i must have lost it where we slept last night. i can only guess at the direction we ought to take. have you any idea where we are?" stacy gazed at the sky meditatively. "on a rough guess, i should say we were on the nevada desert." "oh, come on! come on!" still clinging to the angry coyote, the lads took up their weary tramp. the baking alkali burned their feet almost to the blistering point; the burning, withering heat made their heads whirl; the desert began to perform strange antics, while the halo that they had seen a few days before again appeared before them, first whirling like a giant pin wheel, then oscillating in a way that made them giddy. "chunky, i can't stand this any longer," cried tad, suddenly sinking to the ground. "i'm ashamed of myself to give way like this." stacy moved around to the sunny side of his companion, placing his own body where it would shade tad's head from the sun. the fat boy took off his sombrero, unheeding the burning rays that were beating down on his own head, and began to fan tad with the hat. "i don't believe i can go any further, chunky. you are still in fairly good shape and you'll be able to make the camp if you go on. leave me and make a try for it." "you--you want me to go on without you? want me to leave you here to--say, tad, do you think i'm that kind of a coyote? i'd thrash you for that if you weren't already properly done up. you'll feel better when night comes and your head gets cooled off. in the morning we'll make another attempt to get out of the desert maze. you lie still, now." thus admonished, tad closed his eyes. at last the sun went down, and with its passing, came a breath of refreshing air. they inhaled long and deeply of it. after a little, stacy got up. "where you going?" demanded tad, opening his bloodshot eyes. "going to tie up my dog, then go to bed." five minutes later both were sleeping the sleep that comes from utter exhaustion of mind and body. stacy awakened first, his eyes opening on the burning blue above him. after a few moments he rolled over on his stomach to gaze at the coyote. instantly something else attracted his attention. what he saw was a crossed stick on a standard. the whole resembled a cross, standing barely six inches above the ground. the lad eyed the strange object inquiringly, then wriggled over toward it. "maybe there's water here. i'll see," he muttered. stacy began digging industriously with knife and hands. after a time the knife struck some hard substance. this, upon further digging, proved to be a bottle. the boy pulled his find out quickly. "there's a piece of paper in it," he exclaimed in surprise. "guess somebody must have thrown it off a sinking desert schooner." stacy drew the paper from the bottle. "'to the lost on the desert maze,'" he read "that's me and the coyote. 'water ten paces to the east. grass peak fifteen miles to the east. belted range about eighteen miles west. cross piece on stick, points due east and west. a traveler.'" with a sharp glance at his sleeping companion, stacy tramped off ten paces. there being no sign of water, the lad began stamping about with his heels. suddenly the alkali crust gave way beneath him. one leg went through. he felt it plunge into water. "y-e-o-w!" howled stacy. tad butler scrambled to his feet, rubbing his eyes. "water! water! water! i fell in!" shrieked the fat boy, dancing about joyously. "i've found a key to the desert maze, and i've unlocked one blind desert alley with my foot." the lads drank and drank of the villainous, brown fluid. then, after having laved their faces and filled the canteens, they set out on their journey. grass peak was the hill from which the professor's pajamas had been unfurled to the idle desert breeze. twilight was descending when two gaunt-eyed, hollow-cheeked lads, each with an arm thrown about the other's waist for support, were described, staggering across the desert maze. behind then, at the end of a lariat, slouched a disconsolate, cowardly coyote. a great shout went up from the camp of the pony riders. they dashed out to meet their exhausted companions. hoisting the two boys to their shoulders, they carried them triumphantly to camp. tom parry, the guide, had been thrown by his pony stepping through a crust on the alkali, and had lain all night on the desert. next day he had staggered back to camp, where he found his pony, and after a few hours' rest had taken up his fruitless search again. stacy's pony in the meantime had come in. the boys never knew how the animals got away, though from the fact that tad's rifle was missing, it was believed that the hermit had ridden the pony off, turning it adrift later. but the brave lads had found their way through the desert maze to camp, having passed through hardships and perils that would have daunted stronger and more experienced desert travelers. next morning the pony rider boys struck their tents and broke camp. a few days later they crossed the line into california, where, after loading their stock and equipment into a large stock car, they started for the east. yet, though their summer vacation was rapidly drawing to a close, the pony rider boys had not seen the end of their thrilling adventures. another exciting trip lay before them; one which was destined to linger in memory for many years to come. the story of this, the end of the silver trail, will be related in a following volume entitled, "the pony rider boys in new mexico." the end dave darrin series no. 3 by _h. irving hancock_ 1 dave darrin at vera cruz 2 dave darrin on mediterranean service 3 dave darrin's south american cruise 4 dave darrin on the asiatic station 5 dave darrin and the german submarines 6 dave darrin after the mine layers aviator series no. 3 by _captain frank cobb_ 1 battling the clouds 2 an aviator's luck 3 dangerous deeds boy scout series no. 3 by _george durston_ 1 the boy scouts in camp 2 the boy scouts on the trail 3 the boy scouts to the rescue 4 the boy scout aviators 5 the boy scouts afloat 6 the boy scouts' victory idle hour series no. 3 1 hilda's mascot--_ireland_ 2 betty the scribe--_turner_ 3 peggy-alone--_byrne_ ivy hall series no. 3 by _ruth alberta brown_ 1 tabitha at ivy hall 2 tabitha's glory 3 tabitha's vacation peace greenfield series no. 3 by _ruth alberta brown_ 1 at the little brown house 2 the lilac lady 3 heart of gold pony rider boys series no. 3 by _frank gee patchin_ 1 the pony rider boys in the rockies 2 the pony rider boys in texas 3 the pony rider boys in montana 4 the pony rider boys in the ozarks 5 the pony rider boys in the alkali 6 the pony rider boys in new mexico 7 the pony rider boys in the grand canyon 8 the pony rider boys with the texas rangers 9 the pony rider boys on the blue ridge 10 the pony rider boys in new england 11 the pony rider boys in louisiana 12 the pony rider boys in alaska circus boys series no. 3 by _edgar b. p. darlington_ 1 the circus boys on the flying rings 2 the circus boys across the continent 3 the circus boys in dixie land 4 the circus boys on the mississippi 5 the circus boys on the plains the battleship boys series no. 3 by _frank gee patchin_ 1 the battleship boys at sea 2 the battleship boys' first step upward 3 the battleship boys in foreign service 4 the battleship boys in the tropics 5 the battleship boys under fire 6 the battleship boys in the wardroom the submarine boys series no. 3 by _victor g. durham_ 1 the submarine boys on duty 2 the submarine boys' trial trip 3 the submarine boys and the middies 4 the submarine boys and the spies 5 the submarine boys' lightning cruise 6 the submarine boys for the flag young engineers series no. 3 by _h. irving hancock_ 1 the young engineers in colorado 2 the young engineers in arizona 3 the young engineers in nevada 4 the young engineers in mexico 5 the young engineers on the gulf lightnin' by frank bacon after the play of the same name by winchell smith and frank bacon with illustrations from photographs of the play grosset & dunlap publishers new york copyright 1920, by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america published february, 1920 [illustration: you looked into lightnin's shrewdly humorous eyes, and you smiled--smiled with him ] illustrations you looked into lightnin's shrewdly humorous eyes, and you smiled--smiled with him "promise me you won't sign the deed" ... bill hesitated lightnin', in his faded g. a. r. uniform ... listened attentively ...he took it from his pocket, saying, "millie, i want to show you something" lightnin' chapter i "him?" the local postmaster of calivada would say, in reply to your question about the quaint little old man who had just ambled away from the desk with a bundle of letters stuffed in his pocket. "why, that's lightnin' bill jones! we call him lightnin' because he ain't. nature didn't give no speed to bill. no, sir, far as i know, lightnin' 'ain't never done a day's work in his life--but there ain't none of us ever thinks any the less of him for that! bill's got a way with him, an' he kin tell some mighty good yarns. lightnin's all right!" and when you met bill jones you agreed with the postmaster. you looked into lightnin's twinkling, shrewdly humorous eyes and you smiled--smiled with him. you thought of the reply he made to a stranger who protested against his indolence. "well," bill said, with that shrewd glance of his, "i ain't keepin' _you_ from makin' a million dollars, am i?" old bill was full of remarks like that, and sometimes those about him were not so sure as to his lack of speed, in spite of his aimless, easy-going habits. you never can tell from the feet alone. those closest to him were not sure at all; he "had them guessing." there was no doubt that his wife, simple, earnest, hard-working woman that she was, loved him. she mothered him and did not seem to worry much about his shiftless ways. he was her husband, and that was enough for her. what mrs. jones thought of her husband's mental acumen would be another question, perhaps, but up to the present she had always consulted bill's wishes and sought his advice. their adopted daughter, millie, a pretty, wholesome, brown-haired girl of nineteen, worshiped bill. any one who said a word against "daddy" had millie to deal with. the third person bill had guessing was john marvin, a young man who owned a tract of land and a cabin a few miles down the trail. marvin had a lot on his mind, and was studying law all alone in the cabin at nights into the bargain, but he liked to have bill drop in, liked to hear him talk. bill could tell some pretty tall yarns, but he told them so well you had to swallow them. there was an odd, friendly, understanding bond between the ambitious young fellow and the easy-going, humorous old man. they confided in each other a great deal, and--well, like mrs. jones and millie, marvin frequently found himself crediting bill with a semblance of mental speed. but then his mind would picture the ambling, aimless figure of bill jones with its shock of disordered gray hair and half-shut eyes, and marvin would smile to himself and turn his thoughts to something else. but he wondered, nevertheless. at the present moment, the afternoon of a late summer's day, bill jones was doing a little wondering himself, though no one would have suspected it as he ambled lazily up the trail, bound for home. things were not going well with the jones family. mrs. jones and millie were worrying, and bill knew it. characteristically, he had evaded the issue for several years, content to let each day take care of itself as best it could, but now matters were reaching a crisis and circumstances were forcing bill to consider it. they had been selling the timber on the land, but that did not help much; and now they were taking summer boarders--when they could get them, for boarders were scarce. again, this only made more hard work for millie and mrs. jones. it was of this bill was thinking as he went along. he had been sent to get the mail and to meet the morning train from san francisco for the purpose of enticing a few boarders to the jones establishment if possible. he should have been home hours ago with the mail, and there were some odd jobs awaiting him, but he had dallied in the little local town. this was his usual habit, for, like a good many lonely souls, bill was also a social one. people liked to buy bill drinks and cigars in the tavern and listen to his yarns. but to-day bill was lingering intentionally; he knew that his wife and millie expected to take him into consultation this afternoon in regard to the critical state of the family affairs. naturally bill dreaded such a proceeding, but there was something more than that to it to-day. his old heart, usually full of happy-go-lucky sunshine, was harboring shadows, for he knew that he ought to help and wanted to. but how? as he had turned slowly homeward, lightnin' hadn't the faintest idea. then suddenly, when about a mile from the house, bill paused in the middle of the trail, chuckled, and then sat down on a fallen tree. he pushed back his battered old hat, drew a bag of tobacco and a manila paper from his pocket, and rolled himself a cigarette. all signs and manifestations indicated that bill jones was overwhelmed by an idea. he sat puffing the cigarette and grinning to himself for a few minutes; then he arose slowly and ambled on; but now the amble was not so aimless. it had a suggestion of the walk of a man with a purpose, and there was a gleam of satisfaction and humorous self-importance in his half-shut eyes. nearing the house, he observed his wife sitting on the broad veranda, rocking to and fro, obviously on the watch for him. from force of habit, bill tried to make a detour with the intent of entering unseen through the back door; but, knowing his ways, mrs. jones was too quick for him. she called to him, and, with the air of one who had no intention whatever of entering by the back door, he came up on the porch and dropped into a chair beside her. "well, mother," he said, amiably, "you look all tuckered out. glad to see you restin'." "where you been all day?" she asked, ignoring his remark. her tone was none too tender, but there was a gentle gleam in her motherly, tired eyes as they sought her husband's, sheepishly hiding behind half-closed lids. "just takin' a look at town," bill drawled. "just takin' a look." he settled himself comfortably in his chair and rolled a cigarette. "don't you know there's some new boarders come?" "sure," said bill, easily. "i sent 'em, didn't i? told 'em you was the best cook in two states, mother. guess i ought to know." millie, an apron over her neat and simple house dress, came out and drew a chair between her foster-parents. she glanced quickly from one to the other, and then her gentle brown eyes came to rest lovingly on old bill. he returned her smile. "what a long time you were, daddy!" she said. "i bet you stayed away just because you knew mother and i wanted to talk to you to-day--own up, daddy!" bill grinned delightedly, despite his knowledge of the rather grave situation the girl's smiling comment covered. "well, millie," he answered, "i'm here now, ain't i? guess we can have a little talk before them boarders begin to yell for their supper. i kinder wish as you didn't have to cook for 'em, mother--an' millie waitin' on 'em. 'tain't fair." mrs. jones's lips twitched; the weight of a hard day was on her. "it ain't no use puttin' it off, bill," she said, wearily. "we got to do somethin'. mr. townsend was here this afternoon." "what o' that?" asked bill. "well, he's pretty shrewd, you know, an' he's thinkin' about us, bill. he seen how much of the timber's gone. he knows we sold another strip o' land last month for next to nothin'--" "what's that to him?" bill queried, rolling another cigarette and apparently completely absorbed in the operation. "he--he's just worried about us, an' it's nice of him, bill, him knowin' us all these years. he--he thinks as we might move into--into one o' them little cabins down the trail an'--" "lem townsend's all right," bill cut in, lazily, "but we ain't goin' to move, mother. an' it ain't nobody's business, neither--not even lem townsend's. i hope you told him that." "why, bill!" mrs. jones exclaimed, sharply. "i told him no such thing! an' i ain't so sure but what i ain't goin' to take his advice!" bill looked at her, a hidden smile in his eyes. "it's your property, mother," he said, quietly. tears sprang into the woman's eyes and she made an impulsive gesture. "you mustn't think that way, bill!" she cried. "i know you deeded the whole place over to me when we were married--and it was all you had! i wasn't thinkin' o' that--'ceptin' as i always think. you must say _our_ place, bill. it's yours an' mine an' millie's. we'll stick together. but we got to do _somethin'_." bill glanced slyly at the girl, whose brown head was bowed thoughtfully. "what you think, millie?" he asked. "i don't know what to say," she replied, slowly. "i could go back to san francisco and work as i did last year. but maybe we could pull through this winter--if only we could get boarders. i don't mind the work, and--and i'd rather stay home here." bill's eyes suddenly twinkled. "what's the matter?" he chuckled. "john marvin come back from the city to stay at his cabin?" millie blushed. "daddy!" she pouted. mrs. jones did not seem any too pleased at her husband's remark. "john marvin 'ain't got nothin' to do with it!" she exclaimed. "i don't see what he comes foolin' around here for, anyway--millie 'ain't got _him_ on her mind!" "i should say not!" millie echoed, though it occurred to bill that the softness of her brown eyes belied the petulant toss of her head. "perhaps, after all, it would be best for me to go back to mr. thomas's office!" bill turned his half-shut eyes on her quickly, but millie did not note the expression of genuine concern in them. he sat lost in thought. the last winter had been the most difficult of all for them. millie, feeling that it was time for her being some help, had studied typewriting and stenography and had obtained a position in the office of raymond thomas, a san francisco lawyer. presumably on a vacation, thomas had chanced to spend a week at the jones place the previous summer. millie had told him of her design to help the family, and thomas had suggested that she take the position open in his office. but that had been a dreary and lonely winter for bill and his wife. millie's pretty face and youthful ways had been missed sorely; the girl had come to be all in all to the old couple, and they could not bear to see her go away again for another long winter. then, too, bill had his own reasons for feeling grave and down in the mouth when millie suggested her returning to work in the office of raymond thomas. bill jones was not one to analyze, or to voice or explain his thoughts--even to himself--unless he took a notion to, or considered that the right moment had arrived; it was all too much trouble, anyway. certain thoughts were running through his mind now, however; running a little at random, to be sure, but they were there. his young friend, john marvin, had worked in thomas's office for a time--was working there when millie entered the office. indeed, that was how marvin had met millie and found, to his delight, that they were neighbors up in nevada--that she was the pretty daughter his friend bill jones was always mentioning. but bill was thinking now especially of the fact that marvin had left raymond thomas's office suddenly, and had told bill precisely why he had left. "don't _you_ think it would be best for me to go back, daddy?" millie questioned, interrupting his random musings. "maybe mother could manage here, with one or two boarders and the money i shall send her. and there will be your army pension. mr. thomas is coming to pay us a visit to-morrow, you know, and i'll ask him at once for my old position. i know it will be all right, for he's always been perfectly splendid! he told me the position would always be open to me. you have no idea how kind and considerate he is, daddy! then maybe next summer--" "next summer we're all goin' to be rich!" said her odd foster-father, unexpectedly. "yes, sir, meanin' you an' mother, millie girl, next summer we're goin' to be awful rich. leastways, you an' mother is. bein' rich wouldn't mean nothin' to me--i'm above it!" "why, daddy!" millie exclaimed, staring at him. "how--what do you mean, daddy?" slumped away down in his chair, bill's eyes were now all but closed tight and he was grinning. "nothin' particular," he answered, softly. "'cept that maybe bill jones ain't called lightnin' for nothin'." "bill," said his wife, "this ain't no time for to be smart! if you have anything to say, i wish to goodness you'd say it!" bill half opened his eyes and glanced at her. "millie ain't goin' back to that tailor-made lawyer's office," he said. "daddy, please!" said millie, flushing. "you mustn't make fun of mr. thomas when--" "all right, millie," he stopped her, resting his thin hand on her brown hair for an instant. "i wouldn't say nothin' as would hurt you. but you won't have to go back, my dear--not unless you really want to leave us. i got an idea, mother--that's why i was late gettin' home. ideas take time, 'specially when they're good ones! i got a good one what'll fix this whole business!" bill stuck his thumbs in his faded old shirt comically. even slumped down in his chair as he was, the suggestion of a harmless swagger was in his manner--the easy swagger of one who, hitherto unconsidered, has astonished the skeptics by giving birth to an idea and solving a problem. there was something about bill that suppressed the gentle but none the less amused smile that was dimpling millie's cheeks. "out with it, daddy!" she demanded, restraining a desire to pull his ear. "if lem townsend is so anxious to help us," he stated, "he can arrange all the details for you, mother. i 'ain't got time for details--that's what i told grant once, when we was havin' supper before petersburg. got enough to do with the idea. lem can put the ads. in them reno papers, an' hire the maids for you, an' things like that." then bill suddenly stopped, hugely enjoying the mystification of his two listeners. his wife sat up. "bill jones," she said, "you been drinking again down to town, that's what i think!" "go on, daddy!" millie encouraged, putting her hand on his arm. "i feel that you've thought of something! tell us!" ignoring his wife's accusation, bill gave millie a grateful glance and resumed, in his slow drawl: "i got an idea--sure enough, mother an' millie! it didn't hit me until i was half-way home to-day, but i got it lookin' at the mornin' train what goes on through to reno. i've looked at a pile o' trains in my time, but i never got no idea from 'em before. look here, don't the state line run plumb through the middle o' this house, so's half of it is in california an' the other half in nevada? well, what's the matter with makin' this house a hotel temporary for busted hearts what takes six months to cure? lots o' them rich folks from the east who goes on down to reno to git divorced would like to live on the lake, but they can't because they got to live in nevada for six months. they can live on one side o' this house an' be in nevada. an' at the same time they gits all the good o' livin' in california! they'd be tickled to death an' they'd be comin' in shoals all year, winter an' summer. an' what they pays ain't nothin' to them--the reno hotels is so rich off them they don't want to take in no one what 'ain't a busted heart! you better start right away gettin' ready, mother!" mrs. jones and millie gasped. bill, however, having spoken at considerable length for him, merely reached for his eternal bag of tobacco and paper and idly rolled himself a cigarette. millie clapped her hands. "why, mother!" she cried, "daddy's right--it is an idea! and so simple!" "all big things is simple," bill remarked, with the air of one who ought to know. mrs. jones stared from her husband to millie. "oh, bill," she said, finally, "i really think we can do it! and now i'll tell you somethin'. i--i was goin' to suggest this very thing some time ago, but--but i thought you wouldn't approve of it on account o' millie. lem townsend put the notion in my head when he was talkin' about our sellin' the timber." bill looked up. "lem thought of it, eh? didn't think lem had that much sense. anyways, i bet i thought of it first--i must 'a' been thinkin' of it for a long time without knowin' it. why shouldn't i approve--on account o' millie, mother?" "i--i don't know," said his wife, uncertainly. "i hear some of them divorcers is--is--" "shucks, mother," bill stopped her. "they're human beings, ain't they? an' them as ain't we needn't take. but they're all right. i seen a lot o' them on the trains. right smart lookers, most o' them! they can't help it if their hearts gets busted, can they? human beings is human beings. besides, we gotter look at it from a business point o' view--as lincoln said to me about the civil war. i was a business man once an'--" millie laughed, and bill, remembering that he was in the bosom of his family and that there were certain things he couldn't "get away with" there, subsided. evidently mrs. jones had been thinking hard during the past few minutes, and now she spoke. "we'll do it, millie!" she said. "some o' them reno hotels got started overnight, just like this, an' we can do the same. it'll be kinder queer at first, turning our home into a hotel, but maybe we can soon make enough to--to make it a home again. shall we try it, millie?" "of course!" millie exclaimed. "i think it will be great fun! you're awful clever, daddy, to think of it!" bill, who had rolled and lighted another cigarette, arose and stuck his hands carelessly in the pockets of his worn, baggy old trousers. "'tain't nothin'," he remarked, swaying on his heels and toes. "nothin' at all! i think o' lots o' things like that, but i don't tell 'em--too busy! well, mother, as lem townsend's comin' over to-night, you better have him fix them details. i got to go an' think some more about the idea!" he moved away with elaborate unconcern and started to amble down the veranda steps. his wife suddenly remembered several odd jobs he should be attending to, but she did not stop him. her mind was full of plans--and one is naturally timid about asking a man with a big idea to perform menial tasks. chapter ii after supper the following evening bill slipped from the house and ambled through the woods to the lake border, where a young moon, cradled above the western ridge, sent its shafts of silver light across the darkened waters. it was evident that bill jones wanted to be alone. he settled down on the trunk of a fallen tree and absently rolled himself a cigarette. when it was satisfactorily lighted he glanced down the shore. it was deserted, but a little way back, on the woodland path, he observed two people strolling in the dim shadows of the pines and cedars. he knew that the girl in the white dress was millie, and he guessed that the man with her was john marvin. bill was not especially romantic, but there was no doubt that the sight of those two together pleased him. he knew that the pair had not seen much of each other of late, and he wondered why. he himself had not seen john marvin for nearly two weeks. though he did not indulge in romance personally, he understood much, and he sighed deeply as he watched the dim figure of the girl strolling along the path. his mind wandered off through a vista of past years to the time when millie had first come to the tahoe region and to the jones family, a bit of a girl of three. sinking into a reverie, bill failed to note that the pair had finally parted, marvin striding off up the trail in the direction of his cabin. a pull at his ear brought him back to earth. "why, daddy! what are you doing out here all alone?" millie sat down beside him, putting an arm around his neck. "hello!" said bill, reaching for his bag of tobacco and papers. "where's john?" he asked, a humorous gleam in his eyes, as he met hers. millie seemed to hesitate before answering: "he's gone back to his place. i told him mr. thomas was here and he wouldn't even come in to see him! he says he does not like it. i don't think it is any of his business," she added, giving bill a hug. "why ain't it?" bill asked. again millie hesitated, then said, "mr. thomas is just as nice as he can be daddy, and--" "his yaller gloves is nice. so's his cane. must take him an awful long time to dress." millie took her arm away and looked at him. she caught the lift of his eyebrows and the peculiar expression of his half-open mouth and half-shut eyes, an expression which always decorated bill's face when he gave vent to sentiments which millie had come to regard as "daddy's intuitions." bill always used trivial words at such moments, but that did not minimize the effect. "but, daddy, it seems so hard to make you understand how good mr. thomas has been to me! mother understands. he took such pains with me. i was a perfect greenhorn and didn't know the first thing about office work. no matter what mistakes i made, he was just as patient as he could be. and he says he loves this beautiful country up here! he liked to hear me tell about our wonderful waterfall." bill puffed his cigarette, an odd gleam in his eyes, perhaps of amusement, perhaps of wisdom. millie glanced back toward the house; then her eyes swept the shore and finally came to rest on something barely visible far up on the mountain--john marvin's cabin. she sighed and continued to gaze in the same direction. bill stole a look at her. "liked to hear about our waterfall, eh?" he remarked. "i thought so." millie started. "thought what, daddy?" she asked, her brown eyes trying to read his face. "nothin'. nothin'," he replied, with a note of finality that she had long learned to know as indicating the futility of further questioning. "well," she said, rising, "i think you'd better come up to the house, daddy. i suppose you left mr. thomas all alone there on the veranda, didn't you? you might have stayed and entertained him until i got back." "guess he entertains himself pretty well," said bill. "besides, mother's with him." "but you ought to be there, too, daddy; you're the head of the house, you know!" he gave her an amused glance as she cuddled his arm in hers and walked him off. "all right, millie, but i kinder keep fergettin' that part of it." coming up the veranda steps, they found mrs. jones sitting there with a handsome, perfectly groomed young man of possibly twenty-seven. raymond thomas looked actually too good to be true in that backwoods region. he arose quickly, placed a chair for millie, and then drew one beside his own, urging bill to occupy it. "please sit right here, mr. jones!" he insisted, with an easy, flattering smile. "where did you disappear to after supper? i've been looking all over for you. i want to hear some more of those famous stories of yours! tell me how to get him started, miss buckley," he added, with mock appeal and turning his dazzling smile on millie. "oh, daddy just starts himself!" she answered, laughing. bill dropped into the chair and crossed his legs. gingerly he took the cigar thomas offered him. "i want to hear about some of your experiences in the civil war," thomas urged. "why, i have heard that you were in most of the big battles!" bill glanced at his smiling questioner with an odd look. with great deliberation he bit off the end of the cigar. "i was in all them battles but two," he said, finally, holding up the cigar and subjecting it to a minute inspection. "yes?" thomas encouraged. "allow me to light the cigar, mr. jones!" bill gave him a quizzical glance at this unusual attention, a glance that apparently was quite lost on thomas. "sure. all but two," said bill, taking a long pull at the cigar. "i was in washington on private business when them two was goin' on. i was greatly disappointed." "i can imagine so!" exclaimed thomas. "you can imagine a lot o' things, can't you?" said bill, unexpectedly. "i often imagine i never saw some people. it makes you feel better. but about them battles. ye know grant 'd never won the battle of lookout mountain if it hadn't been for me--" "indeed!" cried thomas, in a tone of pleasant surprise. "nope. i was the only man he would let look out." thomas laughed effusively and gently tapped bill on the back. "capital!" he exclaimed. "you must tell me some more later on. and you've got to come to town with me some time, mr. jones. but"--and for a moment he turned his brilliant smile on millie and mrs. jones--"i've been thinking ever since supper of that great idea of yours about turning this place into a hotel for the broken-hearted. really, i've given much serious thought to it, as i was telling your wife just before you and miss buckley joined us. i am so interested in you all that i hate to act like a damper, but i have very grave doubts about it being a paying proposition. and then i fear none of you have taken into consideration the vast amount of work, preparation, and alteration the scheme will entail. now, as you are doing this to--er--well, to improve the financial yield of the establishment--you have flattered me by deeming me worthy of your confidence, mrs. jones, so perhaps i need not hesitate over words--it seems to me that we might find some other and easier way of accomplishing the desired object--" "hello, lem! come an' set down," called bill, calmly interrupting the above flow of words and addressing a tall, rather impressive and distinguished-looking man of about forty who had come up the veranda steps. "how's it goin' lem?" bill asked. he turned his eyes on thomas. "lem's runnin' fer superior judge o' washoe county at the fall election." mrs. jones and millie greeted townsend cordially and the girl placed a chair for him while he turned to shake hands with thomas, who had recovered his slightly shattered poise and risen gracefully. townsend shook hands genially, but there was a lurking frown in raymond thomas's eyes--more than a suggestion that he was annoyed at the interruption, and, for reasons of his own, resented the presence of another person on the veranda. his dazzling smile was at work, however. "it is a pleasure to meet the future legal light of washoe county!" he said. "that's right--better make yourself solid with him now," said bill, throwing away the remains of the cigar and bringing out his tobacco and papers. there was something in his voice that somehow did not bring a laugh. "why, daddy!" cried millie. "i don't think that's funny at all!" bill merely glanced at her and went on rolling his cigarette. thomas had given bill a keen, puzzled look; but no one could ever tell from lightnin's expression whether or not any special meaning lay back of his words. mrs. jones created a diversion. eagerly she imparted bill's great idea to townsend and their intention of carrying it out at once. millie joined in and asked him if he would help. he declared himself at their immediate disposal. "i'm very glad you are going to do it, mother!" he said. "in my judgment, it is an excellent solution of your problem. you will recall that i suggested this--" "but i beat you to it, lem!" bill cut in quickly. "forethought and execution is the whole carnage!" raymond thomas had been listening closely. if there was disapproval and annoyance at the turn things were taking, it did not show in his face. "but are you sure this venture will pay these good friends of ours, mr. townsend?" he asked, in a tone of grave doubt. "those divorce people--they are mostly women, you know--are generally on short rations, though they have been used to having a lot of money to spend. i'm afraid they'll demand comforts and luxuries that will run expenses into big figures, and they won't want to pay enough to make a reasonable margin of profit." "i am certain it will pay splendidly!" replied townsend. "look at the reno hotels! oh yes, i strongly advise our friends to tackle it!" thomas frowned slightly. "perhaps you are right, mr. townsend. i presume you have investigated the matter. but there is another point to consider. i don't think--well, personally, i do not think it is altogether a good plan to--to bring women of that sort into contact with women like mrs. jones and miss mildred." he turned to millie, his expression one of delicate concern and appeal. "it's fine of you to speak like that, mr. thomas," she said, flushing slightly, "but mother and i have talked over all that. we do not mind. and, besides, i don't think it right for us to feel that way about it. i'm sure most of those women are nice--and maybe they need just the sympathy and care we can give them." lemuel townsend, on hearing thomas's statement, had sat bolt upright. "sir," he said, in tones of personal injury, adjusting his glasses and eying thomas from head to foot, "i think that a rather broad and sweeping statement for you to make. miss mildred is perfectly correct in her surmise. i must remind you that i am a nevada attorney. i have known, in my life, many of these young women, and i have found them most estimable!" "ye like 'em, don't you, lem?" remarked bill, chuckling. townsend flushed; he looked appealingly at mrs. jones and millie, his judicial manner gone. it must be confessed that millie suppressed something resembling a giggle. "you old fogies up here in the mountains have the wrong idea!" townsend said, turning to bill. "why should two people be hitched together when they are pulling in different directions? that doesn't get them any place." he rose and reached for his hat on the veranda rail. "well, i must be off. i'll get to work at once, mrs. jones. the reno papers shall have your ad. to-morrow, and i'll get busy on some other things at once." the two women rose, profuse in their thanks, which he smilingly waved aside. with a nod to bill, and a rather formal bow to thomas, he went down the steps. thomas resumed his seat and his dazzling smile; there was nothing in his manner to show that he had been thinking quickly. he crossed his legs easily and drew out another cigar. "have you ever thought of selling the place, mrs. jones?" he asked, suddenly. "why--why, no! can't say as we have!" she answered, evidently surprised. "an' i don't know as we could if we wanted to. ain't much call for a place like this, mr. thomas!" "but you can't always tell about these things, my dear lady," said thomas, addressing himself exclusively to mrs. jones. "it might not be so hard to find a purchaser, and at a good price, too." "i--i don't think bill would like to sell," she replied, doubtfully. "would you, bill?" her husband made no reply. he sat gazing straight ahead, his eyes half shut as usual. "perhaps mr. jones is indifferent on the subject," thomas resumed. "now i am sure that if he felt that you and miss mildred were well provided--" "say, you're kinder full of ideas yourself, ain't you?" bill interrupted, unexpectedly turning and bringing his thin, unshaven face close to the other man's, quite unwonted force and anger in his manner. "daddy!" millie cried, while his wife stared at him. the anger left his face and the old, shrewd, humorous light crept back into his eyes. "i don't believe in more 'n one idea at a time," he said, grinning. "no--i guess mother an' me an' millie 'll try out that little busted-heart notion o' mine first, afore we tackles any other notions. guess i'll turn in, mother--had a kinder tall day. look sorter all in yourself. better come along. tirin' business, havin' ideas. if mr. thomas 'ain't been entertained ernough, maybe millie 'll stay down an' keep the show goin'." and he got up slowly, stuck his hands in his pockets, and ambled into the house. "i think we'd better go in, too, mother," said millie, rising. "i know you're just fagged out, and it's late, anyway. you won't mind if we leave you to finish your cigar, mr. thomas, will you?" "not at all! not at all!" thomas exclaimed, with his smile. "a thousand pardons for keeping you up so late--it was thoughtless of me!" he sprang to the screen door, held it open for them, and called a cheery "good-night!" as they disappeared up the stairs. then he sat down again and thoughtfully finished his cigar. he appeared to have a lot to think about, to figure out. when finally he went up to his own room a light burned there for an hour longer. in the morning bill jones was up and about unwontedly early. he got himself some breakfast, then went to the little desk where the few boarders habitually left the letters they had written the night before for the outgoing mail, which he took to the post-office. he found some half-dozen letters on the desk this morning, and he examined the addresses deliberately. one in particular seemed to interest him immensely. it was in a handwriting he had seen before and recognized as that of raymond thomas. he put a finger to his cheek and gazed up at the ceiling--which is the same as saying that bill jones was making a careful mental note of the name and address on that letter. it was addressed to one everett hammone, the golden gate land company, san francisco. it was quite obvious that bill jones had a strong desire to know the contents of that letter; but he dropped it carelessly among the rest, bundled them up with a string and stuffed them in his pocket as he strolled out of the house on his daily journey. out on the trail a bit, his ambling feet came to a pause. he took out his tobacco and papers and rolled a cigarette. lighting it, he turned around and gazed up the mountain, his eyes blinking in the morning sunlight as they rested on the dot that was john marvin's cabin. for a moment it seemed as if bill had it in mind to change his direction and go up the mountain. "i sure would like to have er talk with john," he mused. "sure would. 'ain't had a talk with him for some time. but i guess as john is pretty put to it with that there timber proposition--things must be gittin' some excited up there! maybe i'll go up to-morrer." and having characteristically decided to do it to-morrow, bill continued his morning stroll toward the post-office. chapter iii for reasons obvious and otherwise, bill jones did not carry out his intention of visiting john marvin's cabin "to-morrow." in spite of himself, bill naturally was drawn into the vortex of work and preparation necessary to turning his home into the calivada hotel. the period of change was a nightmare to bill, the only leaven in his misery being the astonishing fact that he actually evolved quite a number of ideas--ideas which mrs. jones, millie, and lem townsend not only o.k.'d, but put into instant execution--and found exceedingly workable. he made many attempts to disappear from the premises, but his wife, or millie, or lem always had an eye on him and managed to frustrate his hasty sorties or more subtle schemes to take french leave. this went on day after day, and now bill had endured nearly six weeks of more or less pleasantly enforced captivity. in the mean time the mysterious "excitement" up the mountain about which bill had mused that morning on the trail had come to a head, and john marvin's little cabin seemed to be the center of it. it was shortly after sundown one evening that a big, red-headed lumberjack, obviously a swede, put his head in the door of the cabin and glanced quickly around the one room. seeing that there was no one inside, he entered, closing the door behind him. going to the window, he looked out through the thick grove of pines and cedars, but evidently could see no one. he was breathing hard, as if from running, and he sank into a chair. his rest was short-lived. there was a rap at the door, which was instantly pushed open, and a lanky, sinewy man in sombrero and riding-breeches, with two revolvers at the belt, strode in. the swede, on his feet in an instant, recognized the intruder as nevin blodgett, sheriff of washoe county. "what you want?" the lumberjack asked, in his heavy voice. the sheriff did not answer at once, but took a quick survey of the cabin's contents, his eyes lighting up as they rested upon the unwashed dishes on the table, telling of a recent meal. there was a self-satisfied swagger about the sheriff as he walked up to the swede. "you're john marvin, ain't you?" he demanded. "no, sir," replied the swede, with a heavy frown. the sheriff looked puzzled for a moment; then it seemed to dawn on him that it was just possible that a big, red-headed swede was not likely to be john marvin. "well!" he snapped. "then i guess you're working for him, ain't you?" the lumberjack shook his head and went close to blodgett, emphasizing his words, "who i work for bane my business!" there was no fear in his manner as he stood looking into his interrogator's face with a grin that boded ill for any one looking for trouble. blodgett backed away, his eyes following the breadth of the swede's husky shoulders and the line of his powerful arms. "none of that!" he said. "you're with the gang that's been chopping down that timber out there. you know well enough that marvin's stealing that timber, don't you?" "stealing?" "yes! he's stealing it from the pacific railroad company, and i'm here to arrest him for it!" "humph!" the swede shrugged his shoulders and wheeled around, gazing anxiously out of the window, where the path through the forest was visible. "you know where he is, don't you?" blodgett asked. "he gone away." "where?" blodgett stamped his spurred boot. "i doan' know." "when did he go?" "maybe--yesterday." "when's he coming back?" "i doan' think he coomin' back." the swede deliberately put a kettle on the stove and whistled indifferently. blodgett was evidently torn between a desire to maintain his dignity and authority as sheriff and a rather healthy reluctance to have any trouble with the great, hulking swede. "it's going to be hard for you if you're lying--" he got no farther. the swede stepped up to him with blazing eyes. "you call me liar?" he yelled. "i throw you out the door!" blodgett backed quickly away--very quickly. his hand sought the latch behind him. "if you threaten me, the next thing you know you'll find yourself in jail!" he cried, shaking his fist. the swede's only answer was an ugly grin. blodgett opened the door, slamming it after him as he went away. the big lumberjack stood quiet for several minutes, listening to the sounds of retreat beaten by the hoofs of blodgett's horse. assured that the sheriff was safely out of the way, he crept to the window, thrust his head over the sill, and gave a low whistle. there was a stir in the soap-plant outside and marvin emerged, hurried around to the door, and entered the cabin. "good work!" he exclaimed, laughing and clapping the grinning swede on the back. "you got rid of him very well, oscar! now i'll go on with my supper!" he took off his coat and went over to the stove, where he began to shake the damper to let out the ashes. oscar came and stood beside him. "he tell me--" "i know what he told you," marvin interrupted, continuing to shake the ashes. "do that land belong to the railroad?" there was a slight note of alarm in the swede's voice. "it does now, oscar," marvin replied, throwing some paper and wood into the stove and lighting it; "but i sold the timber a long time before the railroad got the property, and i'm trying to save the timber for the man who bought it from me." "oh!" the swede turned toward the door, as if to go. "bane they arrest you for that?" "not unless they find me!" marvin chuckled. "an' me an' the boys--can they arrest oos?" "no, oscar," marvin laughingly reassured him. "you fellows are working for me and you are not supposed to know anything about my affairs." "oh!" the swede gave a satisfied nod of his head. "i see--you know that from--from your books." he jerked his thumb toward a table in the corner on which some law-books stood. "yes," said marvin, looking into the coffee-pot. "anyhow, you'll be gone in the morning. the job's done, thanks to you and the boys." the lumberjack stood for a moment, nodding his red head; then he turned slowly and went out. marvin put the coffee-pot on the stove, watched it a minute, and then sank thoughtfully into the shabby but comfortable arm-chair at the end of his reading-table--which also served as a dining-table. he sat there for several minutes--until the coffee, boiling over on the stove, brought him out of his reverie and to his feet. at the same moment he caught the sound of remote but high words coming from that part of his land where the recently cut timber was stacked. "i tell you he bane gone away!" he heard, in oscar's heavy, threatening voice. hurriedly pushing the coffee-pot on to the back of the stove, he sprang to the door, but before he could reach it it was thrust in against him and he was thrown back into the middle of the room, where he stood, perforce, facing a tall, athletic-looking man in motor togs. the man's strong, intellectual face, undoubtedly pleasant and agreeable ordinarily, was now clouded with anger, his jaw set and grim. at sight of him, however, marvin's fists unclenched and he smiled amiably, despite the other's attitude. "why, hello, mr. harper!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "you're just the man i've been looking for! but you seem a bit upset. what's the trouble?" ignoring the outstretched hand, harper threw off his duster and tossed it, with his gloves, on the table. "just a minute, young man," he said, with a grim tightening of his jaw and his keen eyes boring into marvin's. "just a minute. i came here to have a look for myself and to see precisely where i stand." he turned and carefully closed the door. marvin went to the stove and calmly poured himself a cup of coffee. "well," he remarked, with a laugh, "won't you have a chair and some coffee first--you can shoot just as easily sitting down." harper, his hand at his belt, glared at him. "you don't think i mean business, do you?" he said, grimly. "or perhaps you think you have beaten me to it, eh? now what sort of man are you and what nice little game is this you are playing? here i buy a grove of timber from you, and while my back is turned you sell the property, timber and all, to the railroad! i want an explanation and i want it now!" "you have the facts a bit mixed up," marvin replied, still smiling and nodding toward the chair, at the same time placing the coffee on the table. "sit down and we'll talk it over--and i think you'll decide not to shoot!" harper, however, was adamant. "all right," said marvin. "in the first place, when i sold you the timber you said you were going to cut it at once--" "correct--correct! but something came up and i could not attend to it--and i don't see how that exculpates you in the least!" "it doesn't," replied marvin, adding, as he took up his coffee, "if you won't join me, i'll have to go it alone, as this is the first i've had since morning. well, when i sold you that timber i never thought i would sell any of this property. my mother loved every inch of it. it was our dream that when i received my diploma and established a practice we would make a home here; but she was taken sick--" "yes, i remember your telling me about her being in the hospital." harper's voice softened a bit. marvin was silent a moment. "i took her to san francisco. she died there." harper fumbled with the buckle of his belt. his heart went out to the younger man; yet he felt that right was on his side. he picked up a picture of mrs. marvin that stood in a small frame on the table. "i'm deeply sorry," he said, softly. "i did not know." "there is no need to apologize," marvin answered, quietly. "you have a perfect right to demand an explanation about that timber." with a last swallow of coffee, he put down his cup and stood squarely facing harper, and his own expression was grim as he continued: "when we got to san francisco--mother and i--a lawyer in whose office i had been a student came to the hospital and got into her good graces. he had taken a great interest in me and i would have taken an oath as to his integrity. but when i came up here to sell you the timber--and mother and i needed the money desperately at the time--this man took advantage of my absence to persuade mother to deed him fifty acres, nearly the whole of the property! it was to be a pleasant surprise for me when i returned! instead of cash, he gave her a batch of stock in the golden gate land company, stock of which i have been unable to dispose. and the next day he resold the property to the pacific railroad company for three or four times the price represented by the stock he gave mother. i found that out later, of course. well, after mother's death i hurried up here, only to discover that you had not cut the timber i sold you _before_ the property was sold. i got busy at once and have been staying on here until the gang out there finished cutting it and piling it on what is left to me of the property. your timber is ready for you, mr. harper, any time you are ready to haul it away." it was harper's turn to put out his hand. "i'm mighty sorry i misunderstood you, marvin!" he exclaimed, as the latter returned the clasp. "but look here! can't you do anything about this fellow, this lawyer? what's the rascal's name?" "raymond thomas. he's up in these parts quite frequently of late. made himself solid with some dear friends of mine, i'm sorry to say, and i'm worried about it. i can't help believing that he's up to some new game, though i can't just see what it is. he's a remarkably smooth customer. it's very hard to pin anything on him. i'm going to make him disgorge my property if i can, but i shall have a difficult legal fight on my hands." harper nodded understandingly. "i see, i see--covered himself cleverly. i don't know the gentleman, but i'll be only too glad to do anything to help you, marvin." he took a turn about the room, while marvin leaned against the table. "i'll have the timber hauled away at once. i didn't have it cut, myself, because--well, i've had a lot of trouble myself. had a strike at the mill, and--oh, hang it all! it's my wife, marvin! she's packed up in a hurry and left me!" he flung himself into the chair and stared ruefully, comically, at the younger man, who, not knowing what to say, said nothing. "i didn't mind the strike so much, nor this timber mix-up!" harper rushed on, with the air of a man who must tell some one or explode. "it was my wife, young man! it's her being so unreasonable that makes me sore. i bought her a present when i was east and had it shipped to the office. it happened to arrive about the time mrs. harper was to come to the office in the machine to take me home, and she walked in just as i was showing it to my stenographer. of course my wife thought i bought it for miss robbins, and--well, what's the use of talking about it?" with a gesture of dismissal for the subject, he stood up and took out a wallet. "how much do i owe you?" he asked. "i figured it would cost about eight hundred dollars to do that job out there--" marvin put up a deprecatory hand. "i can't take it now, mr. harper," he interrupted. "you haven't got that timber yet, and--" "the railroad will have some job on its hands to get it away from me!" said harper. "and unless they do i owe you eight hundred dollars--do you understand?" a faint noise outside broke into their conversation. with a warning gesture, marvin tiptoed to the door and put his ear against it. harper, thinking that it might be a railroad employee who had come to eavesdrop in order to report their plans, stood with his jaw set, his hand on the revolver at his belt. with a quick movement marvin jerked open the door. instead of a railroad employee, or the sheriff, it was only lightnin' bill jones who stood there, leaning idly against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. he ambled silently into the middle of the room, his half-shut eyes blinking in the sudden light. "i guess i must 'a' been out there some time, come to think of it," he remarked, meditatively, and addressing himself to the ceiling, quite as if he were alone. then he turned carelessly to marvin. "i knocked, too--but i guess maybe you wasn't expectin' me." chapter iv with a laugh, marvin shut the door. "it's all right," he said, winking at harper. smiling, he went up to bill and swung him around to face him. "hello, lightnin'!" he exclaimed. "i'm mighty glad to see you. what do you mean by staying away from me all this time? and you were so quiet and mysterious outside there that we thought some one was spying on us!" "i was a spy once--with buffalo bill," said lightnin', conversationally. he stared interestedly at harper. "friend of yours, john?" "this is lightnin' bill jones, mr. harper. this is the gentleman i sold that timber to, bill." the two men acknowledged the introduction. "have you had any supper, bill?" marvin asked, resuming operations at the stove. "if not, you'd better stop and have it with me." bill shook his head with an air of importance. "no; can't stop. got to be home at the hotel at supper-time to see that everythin's goin' right. what time is it now?" "seven o'clock." bill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, meditated, and announced: "well, maybe they can get along without me. i got everythin' sys-sys-matized." marvin glanced at him quickly. "bill, i'm afraid you've been having a drink or two?" "nope. nope!" bill repeated, with the debonair innocence of a mischievous and prevaricating school-boy. "i was just sayin' good-by to the boys out there." he signified with a jerk of his head that the lumberjacks were responsible if he seemed in any way elated. "you see, they're breakin' up camp--an' i didn't want to hurt their feelin's, as they're all friends o' mine." harper, who had resumed his seat in the chair, glanced at marvin. "does our friend bill know--what we were talking about?" "everything!" said marvin, readily. "rest easy, mr. harper--you'll never find a better friend, nor a more trustworthy one, than lightnin'. but, surely, you have heard of his hotel, haven't you?" "i'm afraid not." "then i guess you're the only man what 'ain't!" said bill, emphatically, and gazing at the ceiling and thoroughly enjoying the fact that he was the subject of the conversation. rapidly marvin sketched the conception and success of the calivada hotel. "it was a real idea--" "it was my idea," put in bill, conversationally. "it certainly was, bill!" marvin went on. "and the new hotel is a big success! you see, the state line runs right through the middle of the house--through the center of the lobby, in fact! there are two separate desks, one on the california side and one on the nevada side. women began to arrive, and they all wanted rooms on the nevada side--and they wanted them for six months!" harper roared with laughter. "the reno divorce brigade!" he exclaimed. bill fairly beamed at the attention his affairs were drawing. he sat down on the corner of the table and grinned at harper, while marvin went on: "exactly! everybody knows what a woman goes to reno for, but at bill's hotel she can get a room on the nevada side and still make her friends believe that she is at a california resort!" again harper laughed. "a corking good business idea!" he said. "and so it was your idea, mr. jones? i congratulate you! i suppose you have been out west here a long time?" "sure--came out in the gold excitement," replied bill, calmly. harper stole an amused glance at marvin. "why, the gold excitement was away back in forty-nine!" "well, they was still excited when i got here!" bill gazed up at the ceiling, his half-shut eyes hiding their twinkle. "it's too bad you didn't happen to be one of the lucky ones," harper consoled him, arising from his chair. "lucky?" bill scratched his head under his ragged slouch-hat. "say, i located more claims than any man what ever came out here! i been a civil engineer." the table was not a sufficient throne for bill, so he slipped down from it and went close to harper, peering up at him. "you ought to be a rich man, mr. jones!" "always cheated out of my share." bill shook his head sadly. "crooked partners was the reason." "couldn't you do anything to them?" "i shot some, put all the others in the penitentiary--all but one." "what happened to him?" "he died before i got him." "died of fright, perhaps?" "i guess so." harper took his hat from the table, clapped bill on the back, and said, laughingly, "i think i'll get out before you tell me any more!" marvin urged him to have a bite of supper, but harper declined, explaining, as he went to the door, that he had to be in truckee in two hours, and that it would take him fully that time to make it in his car. bill, anxious to retain his audience, added his entreaty to marvin's. that failing, he followed harper to the door, searching for an excuse to hinder his leaving. harper paused at the door. "well, marvin," he said, "i'm going to send the trucks down here to-morrow and start hauling. and you might as well disappear from here for a while; then, if there's any kick, no one here will know anything about it. i'll keep you posted. are you sure you don't want that eight hundred now?" he took out his wallet and again tried to make marvin take the money, but again marvin refused. bill had been listening to every word. now he seemed to have hit on a way to detain harper and at the same time prove his own personal importance. as harper shook hands with marvin, bill took an envelop from his pocket. drawing a paper from it, he offered it to harper. "if you want to get rid of some of that money," he remarked, easily, "maybe you'd cash that check for me." harper, examining it, saw that it was a government check. "oh, a pension check! so you were in the war?" "first man to enlist!" smiling, harper handed him the check to "indorse"--which happened to be a new word on bill. "write your name on the back of it," said harper. "i always do that," said bill, as he complied. then he held the check up to the light, pointing to the signatures on its face. "see all them names," he asked, "secretary of the treasury, and all of 'em?" harper nodded wonderingly. "well, they ain't no good at all--not unless i sign it!" said bill, triumphantly. harper laughed; handed bill the money for the check, and, with a final "good-night!" hurried out of the door. bill poked his head out, watching him crank his machine and drive away in the moonlight. when the car was out of sight bill turned back into the middle of the room and stood watching marvin, who had sat down and was eating his delayed supper. "better join me, bill," marvin again invited, and at the same time noting a change in the old man's manner, now that they were alone. "no," bill said; "i had mine with the boys outside, as i told you--but i'll have a drink with you, john," he added, hesitatingly, knowing marvin's disapproval of his drinking. "i haven't anything in the house, bill," said marvin, as he went on eating. "you know that." bill edged slowly toward the table, his hand in the back pocket of his baggy, slouchy trousers. "yes, you have," he remarked, producing a half-filled flask. "you mean you have," marvin replied, trying not to smile. "and you've had enough for to-night. put it away, bill, and promise me not to drink any more to-night." "all right, john," said bill, unconcernedly, and putting the flask back in his pocket. "i promise--an' i 'ain't never broke a promise yet! i'll keep this for--for emergencies. say, oscar told me the railroad had the sheriff after you. you remember the last promise what i give you?" "what was that, lightnin'?" "that if they goes to court, i'll come an' be a witness. i can swear them trees was cut when you sold the property, an' i'll--" "no, bill!" said marvin, putting down his knife and fork and staring at the old man, whose half-shut eyes had the suggestion of a flash in them. "no; i couldn't let you swear to anything like that." "you can't help yourself--i got a right to swear to anythin' i want!" there was an unexpected finality in bill's usually drawling voice. "but i haven't got to prove when those trees were cut," said marvin. "i know it," bill responded; then, catching the smiling doubt in the other's eyes, he added, "i was a lawyer once." "then why don't you practise?" asked marvin, inwardly chuckling. "don't need no practice." and bill resorted to his bag of tobacco and papers, rolling himself a cigarette. by this time marvin had finished his meal. "look here, lightnin'," he said, as he cleared the table, "you seem to have something on your mind. how are things going up at your place? anybody at home know that you are here?" "not unless they're mind-readers." "i thought so. well?" "it's a wonder you 'ain't come up to take a look yourself," bill countered. "you 'ain't even been up to--to see millie," he added, thoughtfully. marvin flushed. "that's true, bill," he said, slowly. "but i've been mighty busy with this timber here, as you know; and, besides--well, millie seems to be a bit interested elsewhere." "that's just the trouble, i guess," said bill, settling himself on the corner of the table. marvin looked at him quickly. "what do you mean, bill?" he demanded. lightnin' crossed his legs, took a final puff of his cigarette, and let it drop from his fingers. "oh, there ain't nothin' much to that, john!" he replied. "nothin' to worry about. but it's what lays back o' that." "for the lord's sake stop talking in riddles, lightnin'!" marvin exclaimed. "what lies back of what?" "well," said bill, looking up shrewdly, "this here thomas has shown his hand--an' we gotter admit, john, that he plays a mighty smooth an' slick game! he wants to buy our place, waterfall an' all." "so that's it!" marvin knew that thomas had been buying up property in the section, and he knew from experience what sort of treatment the sellers were likely to get. that old bill and his family should now be involved filled him with concern and anger. "but surely you're not going to sell, bill!" lightnin' looked up, then down. "the property belongs to mother, john; an' this here thomas person sure knows how to go after what he wants! he made himself solid with mother an' millie some time ago, as you know. they think he's santa claus, or somethin'. why, he's got mother an' millie all het up so's they don't know whether they're standin' on their head or feet! mother's kinder simple about some things, john--but millie oughter have more sense! he's been tellin' them that this here hotel idea won't pay for long, an' that he's willin' to buy the place at once for a good price. he tells 'em as how they can enjoy themselves an' live comfortable on the proceeds--an' i can have a nice, easy old age! he 'ain't said much to me, o' course--i don't give him a chance to find me around, much. but he's got the womenfolk all fed up, eatin' out o' his yaller gloves, an' crazy to sell. an'--an' mother an' millie is kinder sore at me 'cause i ain't takin' much interest in the proposition. say, what was the name o' that feller what acted as agent for the railroad an' bought your property from thomas when he done you out of it?" "hammond, everett hammond," said marvin. "go on, bill--i'm listening!" "hammond, eh? to--be--sure. well, mister everett hammond is up at the hotel now, john, with thomas--hammond come up in a hurry, an' they got a deed to the property all ready fer mother an' me to sign. mother's crazy to sign, but i ain't--not yet. an' it seems they gotter have my name on it, to make sure." "what--you mean to say it has gone that far!" exclaimed marvin. "sure thing," said bill, rolling another cigarette. "an' say, i happen to think them two--hammond an' thomas--has been in cahoots fer some time--got an idea they is actually partners." "what makes you think that?" "i was a detective once," said bill, with a sudden return to his usual manner, as he lighted the cigarette. marvin made an impatient gesture. "hang it! this is really too bad, bill! look here, i'll see if i can do anything! i'm going to come up to the hotel to-morrow as soon as i can get away from here! you're not going to sign that deed, are you, lightnin'?" "no," replied bill, slowly, a little nervously; "no--but mother an' millie is kinder hot on my trail fer to make me do it. them two fellers has sure got 'em goin', john! well, i guess as they'll all be in bed by the time i gets back now, so i'll be gettin' along. you'll be up to-morrow, john?" "i'll come--don't worry, lightnin'," said marvin. "better go now, bill; you've got a long walk ahead of you, you know." he dropped into his chair and reached thoughtfully for one of his law-books. bill opened the door; then turned back for a moment. "studyin' them books?" he inquired. "trying to," marvin remarked, turning a page. "that's right--that's how i got _my_ start!" said bill, as he went out. chapter v the following morning, rising at dawn, mrs. jones again tried to awaken her husband to a full sense of his shortcomings anent his foolish reluctance to sign the deed to the property. bill, however, merely turned on the pillow, gave her a brief smile, and dropped quickly into a gentle snore. after several more attempts to awaken him and impress on him the fact that his absence the day before had kept thomas and hammond on a day longer when they had important business calling them to the city, she gave up in despair and went below to look after breakfast, taking with her the packet of letters that should have been in the hands of the guests the afternoon previous. the morning was a busy one for mrs. jones and millie. bill, coming down unexpectedly, escaped them, calling through the door, on his way out, that he was going for the mail. when noon came and bill did not turn up, mrs. jones's anxiety reached fever pitch, and she sought millie in the hope that she could offer some solution of the problem of forcing the deed through bill's unwilling hands. at breakfast, thomas and hammond again had painted to her and millie golden pictures of the ease and even luxury that would be theirs as a result of the sale of the property. trembling with anticipation, mrs. jones had then and there put her name to the deed which disposed of her last bit of land; and she was determined that, no matter what it cost her in seeming coldness and harshness toward him, bill should be made to place his name directly under hers. she made up her mind that he should be brought to terms as soon as he got back; hence her extreme annoyance as the morning went by without his showing up. as she went about the house, looking for millie, her determination took on a hard and bitter aspect which was only softened when she caught the sound of raymond thomas's voice. he was speaking softly to millie in the lobby. mrs. jones belonged to a generation not so long past when eavesdropping was not considered a wholly unworthy occupation if it tended to place the culprit in a position to know the inner secrets of those bound by the tie of relationship. for some time, so cleverly did he manage her, mrs. jones had felt a motherly tenderness for thomas springing up within her, and she hoped and dreamed that her affection would have a chance to express itself. that thomas was in love with millie she had fully decided on. it was for this reason that the very sight of john marvin, whom she knew to be a poor young man with no particular prospects, filled her with displeasure. then, too, she did not approve of her husband's friendship with marvin, having a strong suspicion that marvin was influencing bill against thomas, and an intuition that bill, in his unworldliness, would stand back of marvin's love for millie. and so it was that the sight of millie smiling up at thomas as he looked earnestly down into the girl's brown eyes set mrs. jones's heart beating hopefully--and sent her behind a curtain to listen to what was being said. thomas had just come in from the veranda, where he had begged to be excused from accompanying two prospective widows on a walk to see the waterfall at the edge of the place. he was smiling with affected indifference when he met mildred, who had just come down one of the stairways, of which there were two, one leading to the nevada side of the house and the other to the california side. "it's a shame to miss a stroll with them!" belying his words with a sneering toss of the head and shrug of the shoulders. millie's brow was drawn thoughtfully into wrinkles and there was a wistful pucker to her mouth. at once he was all attention. "what is the matter, millie?" he asked, a note bordering on tenderness in his voice. "it's daddy again. he did not get back until midnight, and he was off again this morning before mother or i could prevent him. i just heard the boarders complaining about the mail service. it's all so hard on mother, and yet"--she hesitated, her mind reverting to her foster-father's kindness to her through all the years of her babyhood and girlhood--"and yet," she went on, "he's really so good and kind at heart, he really would feel dreadfully if he understood what he puts us through." she stood by the newel-post, her eyes pleading for advice. thomas took her hand and looked at it thoughtfully. for a moment millie let it lie in his; then her lids dropped and she blushed, withdrawing her hand and walking slowly toward one of the desks, of which there were also two, one on each side of the hall. thomas followed her, bending down and looking into her face. "i would not let his absence bother you. i'm going up-stairs to pack my grips. as soon as i finish i'll go after him," he said, soothingly, as, one hand in pocket, he let the other flip a pack of cards on the table. "oh, you've been too kind already," millie protested, again meeting his eyes and turning away, her lips quivering. "oh, i'm not so kind as you think!" he laughed, an honest humor rising to infrequent expression. "i've got to see lightnin' myself before i go. he hasn't signed the deed yet, and--" "i really can't see what he's got to do with it!" millie interrupted. "the place is mother's. oh, well"--she sighed and shook her head in despair--"i suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. i do hope he'll turn up before you leave. it's too bad--" "well, if he doesn't, maybe you and mrs. jones can make him see the light. i'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can send for me and i'll be up and--" "you don't know how much i appreciate all you've done for us. now don't say it's nothing." millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes resting intently on his. he bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight movement in the portiã¨re, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. he smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed away from the girl. millie's color mounted her forehead. shyly she withdrew her hand from his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. after an awkward silence she continued: "you've been so good to us. when mother and i've been in such distress that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. for years, you know, mother and i have worried about her and daddy's old age. piece by piece we've sold the land and the timber. even if this place does pay it will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. and then the nevada divorce laws might change. oh! you've been so kind," she breathed, in deep sincerity. "now don't make me ashamed," thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing slowly toward the stairs on the california side. "what i've done is just the simplest thing in the world. i grew to be very fond of you when you were in my office, millie, and i'm glad to be of what service i can." as he was half-way up the stairs, mrs. jones emerged from behind the portiã¨re. he stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye. "why, good morning, mrs. jones!" he called down. "oh, excuse me!" mrs. jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when she stopped to listen. but millie followed her, and, with arm around her waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table. "you're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "you've been out there working like a slave for three mortal hours." mrs. jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she glanced up at thomas, who had come back from above-stairs. "i don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair. "come now, you mustn't mind me," said thomas, millie adding her word to his: "please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. you look ready to drop." "she's always tellin' me that." mrs. jones showed her pleasure in millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act which sent millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the register. thomas smiled. "millie's right," he responded. "you do work a great deal too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard work for the rest of your life." "oh, mr. thomas!" mrs. jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked apron, and hastened to thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half of gratitude, half of pleading. "i can scarcely realize that all this is going to come true and we owe it all to you. i only wish i could tell you how grateful i am." thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on millie's or on mrs. jones's part. his game nearly played, he wished to withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency which had not quite been swept away. thwarting mrs. jones's attempt to wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs, stopping to laugh back: "well, i'm going to get out for fear you'll spoil me with a thankfulness i don't deserve. hang on to her, millie." he directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother. "make her take a rest." "oh dear! do you think i've driven him away?" there was genuine concern in mrs. jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed anxiously after thomas. "no, you haven't." millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "he is going up-stairs to pack. he's arranged everything about selling the place, and there's nothing more for him to stay--" "you're here, ain't you?" mrs. jones folded her arms stiffly across her chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned millie with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she thinks her brood has been disturbed. "oh, mother!" the girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on mrs. jones's shoulder. "please get that foolish idea out of your head. you know--" "know nothin'." mrs. jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted: "every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office showed that he cared for you." "i never wrote anything of the sort!" millie drew a surprised breath as her mouth was drawn into a tiny o of expostulation. "never!" she reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the california desk and became absorbed in the register. "oh, i could read between the lines! i ain't that stupid. if he isn't in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in san francisco? oh, won't it be grand!" mrs. jones, carried away by the recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "i want to live in the city real bad, but i'm just skeered to death i won't know how to dress. i want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the women i saw when i was at the palace. do ye think bill 'll think i'm getting crazy?" an indulgent smile from millie met her uneasy but smiling gaze, and she went on: "i know i've talked about the city ever since i can remember, but now that it's in sight i'm awful afraid i'll be out o' place." "well, you'll not," answered millie, going behind the counter to look at the letter-rack, almost empty. "i'm going to see that you have just as nice things as any of the women stopping here." there was a silence as both of the women smiled in contented anticipation. mrs. jones was the first to speak, a sudden doubt expressing itself in an anxious frown and a narrowing of the eyes. "but there's bill," she said, with a start. "i'm so afraid of the way he'll act!" "daddy 'll be all right, i'm sure." mrs. jones composed herself and began planning. "when his pension comes, you must take him to town and buy him some new clothes. them others we got before didn't fit a bit good." millie turned quickly at the mention of her father's pension, remembering that it was time for it to arrive. she reminded her mother of this fact. mrs. jones's gaiety had brief life after millie's remark. "he ain't back with the mail! i'll bet--" "oh, mother!" millie, deeply concerned, came from behind the desk and went up to the older woman, questioning, "you don't suppose his pension has come?" "i think it's gone!" mrs. jones bowed emphatically in a rising voice and hurried to the desk on the nevada side, where she took a cursory but none the less exhaustive look at the mail indexes. "i found him hanging around this desk this morning, and when i come in he beat it, sayin', before i could stop him, that he was goin' after the mail. i wonder--" she stopped and gave a deep groan of acquiescence. "huh! huh!" she had opened up the top of the desk to find a half-filled flask. "there!" she exclaimed, holding it to the light. "he was waiting for a chance to get this when i shooed him away!" millie put her arm around her and drew her into the middle of the room, trying to soothe her. "anyway, don't let's blame him for anything until we're sure. he may come home perfectly all right. you know he loves the woods and the lake and the autumn coloring which is so wonderful now. he always lingers like this. please go up-stairs and have a good rest." millie tried to lead her mother toward the stairs, but mrs. jones gently shook the girl's arm from about her waist and went toward the kitchen. "where are you going?" millie asked, standing still, a puzzled frown giving place to an understanding laugh as mrs. jones hesitated and looked at the floor, answering in a manner half ashamed: "why--well--i thought--" she stammered, "he might come home soon, an' he's used to findin' somethin' good kept warm--though he don't deserve it!" she hesitated, her kindly, better nature shining in her eyes, battling for expression. "yes--please set a place for him, millie!" and mrs. jones hastily disappeared into the kitchen to avoid the girl's rippling laugh of gentle amusement. smiling to herself, millie crossed the lobby and went into the dining-room. the moment she had left the lobby the street door of the hotel was pushed open cautiously and an inquiring head thrust itself in. the head was that of bill jones. evidently satisfied that the coast was clear, bill came slowly into the lobby. looking warily up at the stairs on either side, and toward the dining-room and kitchen doors, he eased himself softly over to the nevada desk, raised the top and fumbled expectantly inside. chapter vi as bill reached the desk and lifted the top, another gray-haired old man, possibly the same age as lightnin', though larger and huskier in build, stole in through the street door and stood there doubtfully, puffing a cigar. he looked about fearfully, evidently ready to decamp at an instant's notice; but his glance, traveling back to the figure at the desk, bespoke a childlike trustfulness in bill jones. this gentleman's clothes were as disreputable as might be, as was his battered slouch-hat. his face was very red and very unshaven, and his expression was a comical mixture of uncertainty as to his welcome on the premises and maudlin kindliness toward the world at large. he rejoiced in the name of "zeb," and was a down-and-out prospector, a relic of the past. his only reason for existence these days seemed to be that he was a crony and devout satellite of bill's--to the great aggravation of mrs. jones. there was a legend in the district that zeb and bill had spent many years together in the old days, up and down the trails. there seemed to be considerable truth in the story. anyway, no efforts of mrs. jones's or of anybody else's could make bill forget his pal. zeb was always sure of a meal, or a drink and a cigar, provided lightnin' could find a way of producing those necessities of a broken-down prospector's life. bill felt around in the desk for a minute, while zeb watched, fearfully, hopefully; then lightnin' turned around, disappointment in his face. but before he could break the sad news regarding the strange disappearance of a half-filled flask, zeb held up a warning finger and began to back through the door. his ear, ever keen for the swish of mrs. jones's skirts, reported danger. "what's the matter, zeb?" bill asked. "aw, come back. what ye 'fraid of?" with a disgusted motion he beckoned zeb into the room again. but zeb, answering the warning that had never failed him, stayed close to the door, whispering back to bill, "where's your old woman?" "that's all right. come on in. she ain't here now." bill, determined in his search, lifted the lid a second time and began to take out the contents of the drawer. zeb, taking heart, tiptoed up to him and, looking over his shoulder, murmured, contemptuously, "i don't believe you've got a drop." "i'll show ye!" looking intently under the lid, bill's voice was half smothered. it stopped short when the kitchen door flew open and mrs. jones burst with emphatic and quick tread into the room. she did not pay heed to bill at once. zeb received the full force of her mood. "clear out now!" she called, in no gentle tone, as she swept up to him--an unnecessary action, as zeb, catching one glance of the irate woman, made double-quick time in getting out of the door and down the steps of the veranda. zeb disposed of, mrs. jones turned her attention to her errant husband. both arms akimbo, she stood still in the middle of the floor and concentrated her glare upon him. "bill jones," she asked, in a loud, rasping tone, "where have you been?" bill had put down the lid at the first hint of her entrance. while she was addressing zeb he had quietly slipped behind the desk and busied himself with the mail which he had drawn from the back pocket of his trousers. whistling softly to himself, he sorted the letters, placing them in their proper pigeonholes. he did not answer mrs. jones at once, but went on whistling. after a second in which he decided that a soft answer might draw the sting from her wrath, he stood still and, without looking around, said, gently, "hello, mother." without waiting for a reply, he went on sorting the mail. the fire in mrs. jones's eye flamed brighter. nothing exasperated her as did bill's refusal to take her tempers seriously. it was not easy to do all of the fighting--one reason why bill usually succeeded in carrying his idleness with a high hand. but this time she was not going to be ignored. the conference with hammond and thomas, the knowledge that he had been looking for his flask--that he was looking for it more for zeb's sake than his own, this time, made no difference--as well as complaints by the guests because of bill's tardiness with the mail, had exhausted her patience and whetted her into bringing bill to quick order. "do you know what time it is?" she took a step closer to bill, her voice retaining its hard ring. bill paid no attention to the question, but went on whistling and sorting the mail. "it's after two o'clock!" she stamped her foot and glared at him. her glare fell on unseeing eyes, her tones on unheeding ears, for the uneven tenor of bill's whistle kept up and the spasmodic sorting of the mail went on. "let's see," he said, softly, to himself, "mrs. taft's letter--she's in number four, ain't she?" he addressed his wife. receiving no answer himself this time, he kept on with his soliloquy, changing the letter to its proper place. "there! that's right. this one," he said, holding the envelop to the light and studying it, "is for mr. thomas." he hesitated and looked at it more closely. placing the other letters on the desk, he came from behind it and went toward mrs. jones. noting that mrs. jones was interested in the letter and that she had made a quick move toward him, he changed his mind and sauntered to the other side of the room, still scrutinizing the letter in his hand. as he paused, he placed the envelop close to his eyes and read, "raymond thomas es-_q._" mrs. jones, her arms folded across her adamant breast, narrowed her eyes into a quizzical stare. satisfied that her estimate of bill's condition was correct, she hastened to verify it. going close to him, she demanded, "bill, have you been drinkin'?" for once in his life bill could prove his innocence. he was quick to avail himself of the opportunity, and, much to her surprise, he turned and blew his blameless breath at her. mrs. jones relaxed, exclaiming, in tones of relief, "thank the lord!" "what's he got to do with it?" bill asked, quickly. mrs. jones smiled. for the time being her manner was mollified. she followed him to the desk behind which he had returned to the mail-rack. "you know," she explained, "it's 'way past dinner-time, and if you won't work, the least you can do is to be on time for your meals." "i been workin'," bill chirped, as he placed the last letter in its box and went toward the dining-room door. mrs. jones placed herself in the middle of the room and in such a way that bill could not reach his goal without passing her. "what work have you been doin'?" the sarcasm in the glance which pierced bill's shifting gaze did not pierce his good humor. he continued to chirp. "i got the mail." "the mail?" there was contempt in his wife's question and in the answer she gave to it. "the mail came at ten o'clock." "i got it, didn't i?" bill registered another cheerful quip. suddenly mrs. jones's mind recurred to the day of the month. her contempt gave place to anxiety and she stepped close to her husband and looked into his face again. "bill, was there a letter for you?" she asked. bill did not answer her with words. instead he looked away from her and shook his head slowly. "bill jones," his wife persisted, her tones reverting to their former clear coldness, "didn't your pension come to-day?" "to-day?" bill smiled a self-congratulatory smile for the word which gave him the loophole of escape. had his wife omitted that one word he would have, for his honor's sake, been forced to admit that he had it. for it was a part of his peculiar code that under no circumstances was "mother" ever to be lied to. prevarications, yes, but downright, indisputable lies, no. and that with vigorous emphasis. but now she had mentioned the day. the pension had not come to-day. it had reposed in his pocket since yesterday, where, true to his promise to john marvin, it should remain until he had made up his mind to hand it over to his family. so he felt the coins in his pocket and looked up at her with a half-guilty grin, drawing out his words one by one, in halting tones. "not--to--day." "well, when it does come," she said, pleasantly, "millie's going to go to truckee with you and buy you some clothes. you gotta have some new ones for when we goes to the city." it was on the tip of bill's tongue to reaffirm, as he had countless times, that he was never going to the city as long as he lived; but he had begun to realize in the last few days that tact must enter into his negotiations with his dissatisfied spouse. so he responded, mildly, "i got clothes enough." mrs. jones made an impatient gesture and tossed her head in dismay. "i don't know what's got into you, bill jones. when you came courtin' me you had good clothes." "this is the same suit." bill's jest might have brought further nagging upon his shoulders, but millie's entrance from the dining-room turned mrs. jones's attention to her. "oh, daddy, you're back!" millie went quickly to her foster-father and attempted to put her arms about his neck. he drew away from her, asking, quickly, "what of it?" "are you all right?" her tones were anxious and her gaze not less so. whereupon bill proved his sobriety just as he had proved it to her mother. "now are you satisfied?" he asked, as she smiled at him. kissing him, millie reminded him gently that it was past dinner-time and that he had better go into the dining-room, where something hot awaited him. "please come now, daddy," she added. "the girls want to get their work done." bill hesitated. he glanced surreptitiously over at the nevada desk, where, to the best of his knowledge, he had deposited a half-filled flask the night previous. his wife's eye, however, was on him. suddenly she stepped up to him and took him firmly by the arm. "bill jones," she said, "you're comin' right inside now an' eat! whatever else is on your mind can wait--an' it might be a waste o' time, anyway!" finding himself propelled toward the dining-room, lightnin' cast an appealing, whimsical glance at millie, but she covertly shook her head to indicate that even she could not gainsay mrs. jones just then. left alone, millie busied herself at the desk with some accounts which she wanted to finish before the arrival of a fresh contingent of guests, due that afternoon. she put down her pencil after a few minutes of work, however, and leaned her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands thoughtfully. she had a well-defined suspicion as to where lightnin' had been the night previous, and--well, millie was curious about it. her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of lemuel townsend. there was an air of importance about him. he was frock-coated and altogether spick and span. "hello, millie!" he said, walking up to the desk and shaking hands with her. "i've been trying to get around here all week, but i'm mighty pressed for time these days, you know! how is everything? you're all filled up, i suppose?" "nevada is full," millie answered, smiling; "it always is, but the california side is often empty. oh, it's great fun--i call it the hotel lopside! sometimes i'm sorry that we're giving it up." "oh! then you've really decided to put through the idea of selling the place!" "yes. mother made up her mind this morning, and i more than approve it, all things considered. daddy hasn't--hasn't quite agreed, though, but it's for his own good. i don't quite understand daddy's objections. i wanted to talk to him this morning about it, but i didn't get a chance. there's been something mysterious in his manner lately." "something mysterious--about lightnin'?" "yes," said millie, thoughtfully. "mother hasn't noticed it, of course, being so busy and worried--and outwardly daddy is his usual easy-going, amiable self. but i have a feeling that he has--or thinks he has--something up his sleeve. daddy can't hide things from me, you know! another thing, he doesn't seem to like mr. thomas at all--is downright rude to him at times. i can't understand it, for it isn't like daddy!" townsend frowned in a puzzled way. "perhaps you're taking some of dear old lightnin's notions too seriously, millie," he remarked. "though i must say that i have a great deal of faith in bill. i've been a little out of touch with the situation lately," he went on, judicially, "but from what you and mother have told me about the proposed sale, and from the one or two talks i have had with mr. thomas, i am inclined to agree with you and mother that this sale is an excellent idea. so far as i can judge, it is a sound investment and all for the best." "of course it is!" said millie. "but now--how about yourself? how is the campaign going, mr. townsend?" "splendidly! but it's rather trying, as i have to do most of the campaigning myself--even the odd jobs!" he looked down at a bundle of large, printed placards which he carried under his arm. withdrawing one, he held it up for her inspection. millie read, "vote for lemuel townsend for superior judge of the second judicial district." "would you mind if i tacked up some of these in the lobby?" he asked, joining in her laugh. "not at all!" millie exclaimed. "i've a hammer and tacks right here in the desk. let me help you--and i do so hope you'll win!" chatting, they proceeded to embellish the lobby with lem townsend's name and ambition. their operations were brought to a pause by the arrival of the expected new guests. chapter vii as the motor-stage drew up to the door, millie ran out on the veranda to deliver a few commissions to the driver to execute when he got back to town. she noted that sheriff blodgett was a passenger, and that he jumped down and preceded the guests into the lobby. the first of the new arrivals to step out of the stage and enter the hotel was a chic little woman of about twenty-four, with big brown eyes and auburn hair, dressed in a bright blue outing-flannel coat and skirt and a tiny red hat from which hung a heavy veil. it was obvious that she was suffering from great embarrassment, as she walked quickly about the lobby, going from one register to the other, while a maid followed her with an armful of bundles. the woman looked helplessly from wall to wall and desk to desk. the presence of blodgett and townsend seemed to add to her embarrassment, a condition still further aggravated by the appearance of a third man, everett hammond, who chanced to come strolling down from up-stairs at the moment. she fluttered up to millie as the girl came in from the veranda. "would you like to register?" millie asked. "how do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "i am mrs. harper. i understand--" her head turned from side to side as she hesitated. she clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at millie. "i've been told--" again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. she noticed blodgett and hammond gazing at her. in desperation, her blushes showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "could i speak to you privately?" "certainly," said millie, hiding her amusement. "just step into this room," and she led the little woman away. as they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest entered, an attractive woman of thirty. she was highly colored as to hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered about the reno hotels. in type she was not unlike mrs. harper, except that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. on the contrary, she seemed perfectly at home. but she came in with the aid of a crutch and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. her eyes took a calm inventory of the lobby--including townsend, on whom she smiled coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair. townsend was leaning against the california desk, and he had been watching blodgett and hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had strolled out to the veranda. he was surprised to note that the pair had met before and seemed to know each other quite well. his attention, however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. her smile was not without effect. she turned to the driver. "i'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft and pleasant. "just drop my bag here." fumbling in her purse for change that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward townsend and smiled again. "will you change five dollars for me?" she asked. townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back again disappointedly. "i'm afraid i can't," he said, with obvious regret. "well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver, please." townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment. then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a chuckle. without a word, he handed some change to the driver. "charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about the ankle and clad in a soft slipper. townsend, still smiling, began: "well--er--" "i'm mrs. davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "mrs. margaret davis." she turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her face. townsend left the desk and came toward her. "i'm very glad to meet you." he extended an affable hand. "i'm lemuel townsend, and i--" mrs. davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an inquisitive glance. "will you show me to my room?" she asked. "i don't know where it is," he said, laughing. by this time his ruffled dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in mrs. davis's eye and the deep dimple in her chin. "why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as yet refusing to grasp the situation. "no, i wasn't." he was bending over her, a courtly flattery in his gaze. "but i wrote you!" she turned clear about on her chair, forgetting for the moment the pain in her foot, her eyes and mouth wide open with surprise at the thought that she could be thus forgotten. "no, you didn't write me. you see, i'm only a guest, just as you are." here they both laughed, while townsend placed a chair close to hers and sat down beside her. mrs. davis prolonged her giggle and bent her head, her eyes seeking his under her heavily beaded lashes. "and i said--oh!" she put her two hands to her mouth and sidled, "i took you for the clerk." he nodded indulgently. "oh, and i made you pay the driver! i couldn't allow that. just as soon as somebody comes i'll return it. i hope you'll forgive me." by this time her manner was as friendly as townsend's feminine-loving soul could wish. she sidled her chair a little closer to his, still holding him with her eyes, wide as the innocent stare of a baby. "i'm glad it happened," said townsend. "will you allow me to introduce myself properly?" she nodded, and he got up and went to the desk, returning with one of his campaign cards and handing it to her. "permit me," he said, "my card." as she took it from him he explained, "i'm candidate for judge at the next election." immediately mrs. davis's interest was aroused to fever pitch. with a knowing look she leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm, while she slowly and attentively dwelt upon the words on the card. "oh, really?" she drawled. "where will you be judge?" "if i'm elected--in reno." "will you try divorce cases?" the question was snapped out. he nodded. "oh, i'm awfully glad to meet you!" she gushed, shaking his arm. "the pleasure is mutual, believe me," he responded, placing his hand on top of hers. as she withdrew hers with a giggle, he went on, unabashed, "do you intend remaining here long?" "i'm in for six months." she sighed like a hurt baby. he was all sympathy as he leaned toward her and apologized: "oh, i'm very sorry for you, mrs. davis--if--" "oh, my case doesn't call for sympathy. congratulations! congratulations!" she emphasized with a long-drawn-out inflection. "oh!!!" he shook his head wisely, adding, laughingly, "it's that way?" a twinge from the invalid ankle concentrated mrs. davis's full attention as she lifted her foot, adjusting it against the crutch, thinking to stop the pain. when it had subsided she smiled up at townsend again, pointed to it and said, with an ingã©nue turn of the head, "i'd probably never have been able to get a divorce if it had not been for this." "you don't mean that your husband was brute enough to--" townsend was shocked at the thought, but was not allowed to deliver himself of his full sympathy. mrs. davis was just getting into the lines of her part and she was quick to catch her cues. "oh, heavens, no!" she broke in upon his condolences. "this was an accident. it's a sprain, and it is quite serious, as i'm a dancer." she beamed up at him and wriggled in the chair, continuing her explanation. "it's probably all for the best. of course it'll break into my engagements. i'm in vaudeville, you know. i've wanted a divorce for years, but i'm always booked solid and i never stay in one place long enough to get one. when this happened i saw my chance to get a good long rest, and my freedom in the bargain." her eyes begged his for understanding and received it. while she had been talking townsend had been drinking in every word she said. her variety of attractiveness was a new one to him. it appealed to his small-town idea of being a gay blade. he had often cast longing eyes at the eastern wives sojourning in reno for the six months necessary to establish a residence and therefore their right to a quick freedom which brought with it no restrictions in the matter of remarrying. the majority of these prospective divorcã©es were of a larger world and reckoned in figures of which lemuel townsend did not know the simplest rules. the only notice he had received for his ambitions being a smile to his face and a snicker at his back. but here was some one who not only was taking notice of him, but was actually meeting his advances half-way. besides, she was pretty, and he could never withstand a pretty woman. as she finished the first lap of her story he exclaimed, "that certainly is a scheme!" "it's nice of you to listen to it all," she murmured, apologetically, moving her idle crutch up and down as if writing her mood in invisible letters on the floor. "i'm glad you told it to me. do you know--" and he sidled in his chair, while a sugar-laden approval beamed at her in a steady flow from over the top of his glasses, "from the minute i saw you enter the door i was worried about you--i was afraid--well, it was a great relief to find that you had two good--" he halted in hopeless confusion, as his eyes sought her ankle. he took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose furiously, hoping to hide the real reason for a blush that seemed to have come to stay, having settled in a deep crimson even from the nape of his neck to the top of a head whose sparse hair refused to hide his embarrassment. but margaret davis, seeing no reason for shyness, just smiled graciously upon him and hastened to standardize her reputation. "any one who has seen me dance can inform you about--well--about--_them_," she said seriously, adding by way of flavor to her remark another languishing droop of her eyelids. there was a moment of coy silence for the two of them. then mrs. davis asked, "are you stopping here for pleasure or are you doing time?" "i'm a bachelor." "how nice!" she replied, in honeyed accents, as she leaned toward him and put a soft hand on his arm. undoubtedly in lem townsend she saw the possibility of an easy divorce trial. besides, townsend was by no means without personal attractions. mrs. davis gazed at him, her languishing smile concealing the feminine appraisal in her eyes. she decided to cultivate the possibility, and was about to say something in furtherance of her object when she was startled by a gentle voice coming from directly behind her and inquiring, pleasantly, "rheumatism?" bill jones had entered the lobby unobserved by the pair and was leaning over the desk idly, looking at his new guest with kindly interest. townsend introduced bill, and mrs. davis, with lem's assistance, rose and took up a pen. "no," she said; "i have not acquired rheumatism as yet, mr. jones. i'll register--you're reserving a room for me." "how long you here for?" bill asked. "the usual," she sighed, and rolled her eyes toward townsend. "eh?" bill grinned and walked slowly from behind the desk. "six months," she drawled, wearily. politely staying her hand and taking the pen from her, bill pointed to the other desk. "this is the six months' side--over here," he said, sauntering to the back of the nevada desk. when the lady was at last settled in her room, and townsend had left--having made an arrangement to dine with mrs. davis that evening--bill found himself strangely alone for the moment. instantly he seized on the opportunity to make a thorough investigation into the mysterious disappearance of a half-filled flask. after turning the nevada desk inside out, at last he was convinced that the disappearance was a fact and not a matter of imagination. "guess mother has seequesterated it," he remarked, to himself. "not that i'm hankerin' after it so much myself, but i told zeb i had it, an' when he finds that i 'ain't, the moral effect on zeb will sure be bad." as bill, rolling a cigarette, meditated on this, mrs. harper, followed by her maid and still casting about like a frightened bird in search of cover, tiptoed into the lobby, went uncertainly to the california desk and took up a pen. wisdom twitching at the corners of his mouth, bill was beside her at once. "is either o' you ladies gettin' a divorce?" he inquired, in a helpful tone, his question including the indignant maid. "'cause, if you are," he explained, "i just wanted to let you know that you are flockin' round the wrong desk." mrs. harper fluttered some more. "oh, i--er--but--where--" "this way, my dears," bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led them to the nevada desk. mrs. harper signed her name. as bill read it he looked up at her with sudden interest. he put a detaining hand on her arm before she could flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her to have a chair for a moment--at the other side of the lobby, out of earshot. when the maid had complied bill looked down at the register. "mrs. harper, truckee," he repeated. then, glancing up at the surprised and startled little woman, he asked, "does your husband happen to drive a green automobile, ma'am?" mrs. harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child. "why--er--yes. but--why do you ask?" "i met him last night," said bill. "he's a fast driver, ain't he? gets to truckee in two hours!" the color rose to the little woman's face. "i don't see--" "he's a mighty fine feller!" bill went on, calmly. "got a pile o' money, too, an' i bet he's some generous with it--specially to them what he loves. people is always makin' fool mistakes. say, you ain't really goin' to git a divorce, are you?" now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "oh!" she gasped. "oh! how dare you speak to me like this! it's none of your business!" "sure it is," said lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "i know all about it. he didn't git that present for his stenographer." "how do you know?" she snapped. "i heard him tellin' all about it to marvin, the boy what sold him that timber up yonder. i knocked," bill explained, whimsically, "but they didn't seem to hear, an' i was kinder forced to listen in from the outside. your husband was all het up an' near committin' suicide 'cause you thought he done what he didn't. he told marvin he bought that present for you when he was in noo york. he was just a-showin' it to his office lady when you walked in." "nonsense!" "no, it ain't. it's truth. there's some things i don't go wrong on, an' this is one, mrs. harper. your husband's a mighty fine feller an'--" with a stamp of her foot, the little woman flung away from the desk and, followed by the faithful maid, hurried up-stairs, where--and perhaps bill suspected this--she buried her head in a pillow and cried and cried. bill stood at the desk with his head cocked on one side, idly tapping his ear with a pen. he heard the door of mrs. harper's room slam and he grinned amiably. "eatin' her heart out for him," he mused. "just eatin' her heart out, but too spunky to back down!" he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes; then slowly he reached into the drawer and took out a telegram blank. his eyes twinkled as he wrote a brief message. he folded up the blank, stuffed it into his pocket, and was turning away from the desk with the intention of seeking the telegraph-office, when hammond and sheriff blodgett came strolling back into the lobby. "oh, so you're actually here, are you?" exclaimed hammond, glaring at bill. "have you signed that deed yet?" hammond, direct, bulldozing, totally lacking in thomas's smooth diplomacy, had lost all patience with bill jones. that morning he had decided that the only way to handle bill was to ride over him rough-shod. "have you signed that deed?" he repeated, loudly. "deed?" remarked lightnin', carelessly. "oh, i'd kinder forgot about that little matter. nope. 'ain't had time, old top--nope!" ignoring the glares of the two men, he started to amble toward the door. "look here," hammond called after him, "is mr. thomas in?" "i guess so," replied bill, pausing directly in front of hammond and gazing up at him with a calm, shrewd light in his half-shut eyes. "he seems to stick around pretty close." "well," said hammond, with a heavy frown, "just be good enough to step up and tell him that sheriff blodgett and i would like to see him!" "step up yourself," said old bill, quietly, without shifting either his gaze or his position. "you ain't crippled, be you? an' i don't think as your friend thomas'll fall off'n his chair with surprise if you drop in on him unexpected." without waiting for a reply, bill turned away and ambled out of the lobby. hammond swore; then strode angrily up-stairs, followed by blodgett. chapter viii a few minutes after lightnin' disappeared down the trail, headed for the local telegraph-office, john marvin approached the hotel from the opposite direction. he paused when some distance away and viewed the place. it was his first visit in many weeks, and naturally his first since the great transformation. it could be surmised, however, that this visit was not one of idle curiosity; neither was his pause due to a mere desire to observe the various changes recently made. he watched the establishment closely for a minute; then came on slowly, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. as he reached the steps millie came out on the veranda. she was engaged in what, these days, had become one of the chief occupations of nearly every one in the hotel calivada--searching for lightnin' bill jones, whose persistent faculty of being absent when most wanted was fast assuming the dimensions of a public aggravation. "why, hello, stranger!" millie exclaimed, with a welcoming smile. "i thought you had forgotten all about us! you haven't been here for ever so long!" marvin came up the steps and seized both her hands, which she let him hold for a moment. "i haven't forgotten _you_, millie," he said, gently, smiling down into her brown eyes. "but--well, you know i went away last time with an idea that you didn't care to see me." "silly boy!" her tone was gaily impersonal, but her red lips puckered into a pretty pout as she walked to a chair in the corner of the veranda and sat down. "i thought that maybe you had returned to mr. thomas's office," he remarked, following her and standing beside her chair. "no; i'm not going back, not now," said millie, thoughtfully. she did not look up at him, but fixed her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. "what a tremendous student you were in his office! i never saw any one work so hard as you did." "except when you were in the room--then i was looking at you, most of the time!" marvin bent over her, but she gave no sign that she read his attitude. "if you'd been looking at me, i'd have seen you." she smiled and raised her eyes. "you've not given up the study of law, have you?" there was concern in the lift of her brow. "oh no! but i'm not going back into mr. thomas's office. why did you leave him, millie? was there any trouble?" "trouble? of course not! how could any one have trouble with mr. thomas?" surprise and annoyance stood in her eyes. marvin did not reply at once, but drew up another chair and sat down facing her. he leaned forward, his eyes searching hers as he questioned, "you like mr. thomas--like him very much, don't you, millie?" "i more than like him!" an angry color suffused her cheeks as she looked marvin up and down. "i adore him!" she added. "you've no idea how fine he is!" marvin started at this--naturally. the situation was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. could it be that millie was really in love with raymond thomas? or had he merely convinced her that his business motives were all that they should be? perhaps it was both! anyway, it was obvious that the girl had thomas up on some sort of pedestal; she was in a spunky mood, and marvin saw that he was going to have his hands full trying to convince her that the feet on the pedestal were made of clay. marvin flushed himself; he did not relish his position; he shrank from seemingly disparaging another man behind his back, especially to a girl. if there had been only himself to consider, he would not have spoken at all. neither was it altogether for millie's sake. she was young, capable, quick-witted; she would see through thomas of her own accord, soon enough--if she were not actually in love with him! but marvin was thinking of the old people, of hard-working, simple mrs. jones, and of amiable, careless bill. millie was the young, strong member of the jones household, and it was millie who must be convinced and won over, if possible. thus ran marvin's thoughts--but quite honestly he admitted to himself that his love for the girl might be coloring his logic and his motives just a little. "i'd like to tell you something i know about thomas--" "oh, i know!" millie interrupted, quickly. "he sold some property for your mother, isn't that it?" "yes; he sold it to the railroad--for a big price." "i know--he told me all about it. he's a splendid business man! why, that's exactly what he is doing for us! hasn't daddy told you about it?" she glanced at him quickly, but he gave no sign of having heard this wonderful news. "i should think you'd like to see mr. thomas. he's up-stairs packing, now. he's leaving this evening. he came all the way from san francisco just to help me--to help us all!" "to help you?" marvin asked. millie clasped her hands over her knees and went on, enthusiastically: "why, this hotel idea has turned out splendidly, you know. but a week or two ago, mr. thomas wrote to mother, saying that he had heard that the railroad company had got wind of our success and contemplated putting up a rival hotel just back of us. mother was nearly crazy at the news, and i wrote to mr. thomas, asking him his advice. he telegraphed that he would be right out to see us! wasn't that just like him?" "exactly," said marvin, dryly. "and i presume that when mr. thomas arrived he suggested that you let him persuade the railroad to buy this place and erect the new hotel here, instead of next door!" "why, john--aren't you clever!" millie exclaimed. "how did you guess it? that is exactly what he suggested, and now it's all arranged! and they're going to pay enough to make mother and daddy comfortable for the rest of their lives!" with a hopeless gesture, marvin got to his feet and took a pace or two up and down the veranda. the girl watched him, puzzled. "are they going to pay cash?" marvin asked, pausing in front of her. "it's much better than cash! it's shares of stock that pay ten per cent. a year! it seems almost too good to be true." "it does--it certainly does!" came from marvin. the girl had risen, glowing with enthusiasm. quite naturally she put her hand on his arm and looked up at him happily, intimately, naã¯vely seeking his approval. in the midst of his perplexity marvin's heart gave a bound. that naã¯ve touch on his arm and the intimate light in the brown eyes told him that, in one respect at least, all was not lost--not yet! he was about to take her hands and break into a rush of words when the girl suddenly turned her attention from him, remarking, eagerly: "here comes daddy. we were afraid he'd deserted again!" marvin swung around. much as he wanted to see lightnin' to-day, he wished, just then, that bill could have seen fit to delay his appearance a few minutes longer. bill jones, however, came serenely up the steps and stood with his hands in his pockets, shrewdly and humorously inspecting the pair. "sorry to interrupt the billin' an' cooin'," he remarked. "but say, john, ain't you takin' some chances round here? did you know that blodgett's here? i seen him go up-stairs when i went out." millie had flushed and turned away at her foster-father's first words, but now she looked curiously from one to the other. "what on earth do you mean, daddy?" she questioned. "he's just _helping me_, millie," said marvin, grinning at bill. "thanks for the tip, lightnin', but i wanted to see you particularly to-day, so i--" he stopped abruptly, for bill had raised a warning hand. marvin recognized a familiar voice talking in the lobby. glancing in, he saw raymond thomas standing in the center of the room, holding mrs. jones in conversation. hammond and blodgett had just come down the stairs and were joining the other two. "better beat it, john!" lightnin' whispered. but marvin stood there. he was thinking quickly. he had caught a word or two of what thomas was saying, and he gathered that matters were coming to a climax. suddenly his expression cleared and he grinned. "never mind about that, lightnin'," he said, mechanically opening the door for millie, who, seeing that they were ignoring her, tripped in with a petulant toss of her head. "i think i have a little scheme that will fool our friend blodgett. but first--bill, promise me that you won't sign that deed without consulting me!" "all right," said lightnin', slowly. "i promise. but you better be careful, john, an'--" "come on!" marvin interrupted, leading the way himself. "i've a great desire to be in on these proceedings!" seeing that the young man was not to be stopped, bill said no more as he slid through the door and ambled after him into the lobby. chapter ix "i think it is only fair to tell you, mrs. jones," thomas was saying, a delicate, apologetic note creeping into his voice as he caught sight of millie, "that this marvin is not a proper person for your daughter to see. i fully believed that he was a fine young man myself once, and you cannot imagine my surprise when i discovered that he is the head of a gang of thieves who are going all over this part of the country, stealing timber." "mercy me!" cried mrs. jones. "a thief, no less!" then, seeing marvin unexpectedly present in person, she glared at him. "somethin' always warned me against you, john marvin! oh, millie, millie! how many times have i told you you was makin' a terrible mistake lettin' him annoy you!" millie was evidently too astonished and puzzled to say anything. meanwhile, thomas had flushed deeply on finding himself confronted by the man he was in the act of damning. instinctively he took a step back. blodgett made a quick move toward marvin, but hammond seized his arm and stopped him. "hold on a minute, blodgett," he whispered. "you can nab him later--he can't very well get away from us now. i want to have a word, first--i'm going to show this young cub just where he stands!" meanwhile, though the sheriff's move did not escape him, marvin, a grim smile on his face, was gazing steadily at thomas. "go on, thomas," he said, quietly. "i'm interested! what else were you going to say to mrs. jones?" indifferently he strolled over beside lightnin', who was in front of the california desk, his hands in his pockets, his half-shut eyes roving from one to another of the group. to look at him, one would not imagine that bill jones had any special interest in the proceedings. he drew out his bag of tobacco and papers and idly rolled a cigarette. thomas, having regained his poise again, turned to mrs. jones with his dazzling smile. "i'm really very glad that the young man chanced to present himself at this moment, mrs. jones, because--" "that's all right, thomas!" hammond interrupted, suddenly thrusting himself forward and waving the other aside. "but we have something much more important on hand. let's get to it! i can't monkey around here any longer. "mrs. jones," he went on, "i've been trying to get you all together before i left, but you seem such busy people that it is as if i wouldn't have this opportunity. i wanted to tell you that the company for which i am acting has just wired me to close the transaction, and so i am ready to take over the property at once!" mrs. jones, bewildered by his briskness and the swift sequence of events, stared at him, then transferred a gaze no less confounded to thomas. "you mean," she questioned, "that--that you want us to leave at once?" "oh no! that's not necessary. but now that you have put your signature to the deed, the transfer will be made at once and we'll take over the management, allowing you to remain on until you have made your arrangements for the future." with a sharp nod to her and an insolent sneer directed at bill, hammond swung on his heel and busied himself with a portfolio of papers he had dropped on the nevada desk. "i'm sure you can have no objections to these arrangements, mrs. jones," said thomas, his voice as smooth as glass, though there was a slight quiver of his eyelids as he avoided marvin's steady gaze and caught a strange gleam that emanated from bill's puckered-up eyes. mrs. jones had forgotten all about bill and his part in the signing of the deed. but a multitude of thoughts were running through her mind, confused as it was. all that she could think of now was the simplest answer to thomas's question. she stepped up to him and put a hand of confidence on his arm. "certainly i do not mind," she said. "i'm delighted and relieved that it is all settled!" turning to hammond, she added: "i want to leave the whole matter in mr. thomas's hands. i'll do just as he advises." "all right, hammond," said thomas, deliberately turning his back on old bill. "we shall deliver the deed to you at once, and you can take charge of the place immediately. i presume you will want to have--" "hold on there, young feller!" lightnin's usual lackadaisical monotone was raised to a degree which bespoke a greater interest than his careless attitude indicated. he stepped forward and stood in front of thomas, looking up at him with his shrewd gaze. when he felt that the man was ready to give him sufficient attention, bill returned to his customary drawl. "we ain't goin' to sell this place, my boy," he said. "not until i consult my lawyer!" his words brought his wife to his side instantly, her eyes blazing. "bill jones," she cried, "you just be quiet! what in the world's the matter with you--tryin' to throw away a chance to be nice and comfortable the rest o' your life! are you crazy?" "nope. i'm the only one that ain't--'cept john, here." bill's steady, quiet grin exasperated hammond and thomas to white heat, but they were too near their goal to miss it by a step. they knew that under ordinary conditions bill, in spite of his many shortcomings, held first place in mrs. jones's affections, and that any show of harshness toward him on their part might rally her unexpectedly to his support. so they smothered their rage. hammond leaned an elbow on the desk and nonchalantly twirled his watch-chain, his mouth drawn into an ugly sneer. thomas continued his air of deference toward mrs. jones, leaning over her with an appealing smile. reacting to it, she took bill by the arm and shook it roughly. "you just got to listen to reason, bill!" she said, transfixing him with angry eyes. "i set my heart on sellin' the place an' goin' to the city, as you oughter know by now. an', besides, it's 'most all fixed up, anyways--all but you signin' that deed. you got to do it, bill!" "you're all het up, mother," replied bill, gazing at her with kindly eyes. "ease up a bit! nope. i ain't goin' to sign no deed for them two scamps--leastways not until i consult my lawyer!" and bill pushed back his battered slouch-hat and stuck his thumbs in his faded vest. "scamps--!" but before mrs. jones could complete her sentence marvin stepped forward and put a friendly arm over bill's shoulder. "bill's right, mrs. jones," he said, gently, though there was a fighting light in his eyes as he met those of thomas. "lightnin' has no need to apologize for anything he may say about these two men. this sale is a nice little scheme of theirs. they are trying to rob you." millie, who had been listening to it all, amazed and abashed, now stared at marvin defiantly. "how dare you say that?" she blazed. "what right have you to interfere?" she rallied to mrs. jones's side and placed an affectionate arm around her waist. mrs. jones was crying by this time. she wiped her eyes on her apron and looked at marvin. "so it's you who's been puttin' bill up to this!" she exclaimed. "i might have known--it's right in line with what we just heard about you! well, he don't need none o' your advice--you just leave bill alone!" marvin held out a deprecating hand. "but, mrs. jones, you don't understand--" blodgett, at a sign from hammond, strode up to marvin and put a hand on his shoulder. marvin shook him off. "don't interrupt me now!" he said. "i've something more important to--" "i'll show you how important it is!" said blodgett, jingling a pair of handcuffs in front of marvin. "i got a warrant for your arrest for stealin' timber! put out your hands!" mrs. jones and millie stood by, bewildered, while thomas, with supercilious satisfaction in his smile, sank into a chair and crossed his legs with an air. hammond laughed coarsely. bill, his arm drawn through marvin's, looked on, his enigmatic grin between his half-closed eyes and half-open mouth betokening an unswerving confidence in the ultimate. "i can't be bothered with you now," said marvin, addressing blodgett. "bill needs--" "none o' your lip!" blodgett grabbed him roughly and attempted to place a handcuff on one of his wrists, but marvin flung him off and the sheriff went sprawling. marvin stepped back a pace or two as blodgett got up and came at him again, bawling, "now you're worse off than ever--resisting an officer of the law!" marvin, however, did not seem to be worried. he faced blodgett with an amused smile and pointed to the floor, where an uncovered space left between two rugs indicated the now famous state line. "law?" marvin echoed. "why, blodgett, old boy, don't you know any more about law than to try to serve me with a nevada warrant when i'm in the state of california?" "by jiminy, he's right!" cried lightnin', clapping marvin on the back. "you got 'em where--where the rugs is short, john. guess i didn't build this house on the state line for nothin'!" blodgett started back with a howl of disgust, while thomas and hammond looked at each other, making no effort to hide their chagrin. millie had given an exclamation--an exclamation that sounded very much like one of relief, when she saw the sudden turn of the tables; but if it was an expression of her inner and secret feelings, she quickly smothered it. mrs. jones glared at marvin with keen disgust and disappointment. lightnin', grinning, evidently was enjoying the scene hugely. cocking his old hat over one ear, he struck a pose of comic nonchalance against the california desk and looked across the lobby at the furious hammond. "hello, hammond, old top!" he called, airily. "how's everythin' in nevada? come on over to california, an'--an' have a glass o' water!" chapter x the unexpected dã©nouement between marvin and sheriff blodgett brought consternation to those who had contrived toward his apprehension. everett hammond, in consultation with thomas, would have taken the young man by force--for hammond was a strapping six feet two or thereabouts, and marvin was but a stripling in strength. but thomas, cool and controlled, and always an advocate of keeping within the letter of the law, counseled him against any such hot-headed procedure, explaining that it might militate against them in a court where outside operators in land or mining stocks were not looked upon with any too friendly a spirit. mrs. jones and millie, astounded and uncomfortable in a situation far afield from their uneventful lives, were too perplexed to speak, contenting themselves with staring at marvin in unbridled disgust. millie felt something of compassion for his predicament, but the thought that any one she knew should be accused of theft filled her with horror. besides, it was he who was preventing her foster-father from signing the deed which would place them all in easy circumstances as against the difficulties of the present. whatever of pity she had quickly disappeared. with one long look of disdain toward marvin, she led mrs. jones up-stairs. blodgett, after his first surprise, was overcome with rage at the knowledge that a whippersnapper such as he considered marvin should have placed him in such a ludicrous position. he, too, like hammond, would have liked to have tried force, but he knew that marvin stood well among the lumbermen in washoe county and his attempt at re-election was too close at hand to permit of his taking any chances when those to gain by them were strangers without a voice in the politics of the section. with a covert eye he watched marvin, who stood a few feet from the line and smiled down at bill, the latter grinning up at him, warming to the affectionate arm placed about his shoulder. as the two women went up the stairs, marvin watched them, a half-shadow in his eyes as he caught millie's disdainful glance. giving bill a good-by pat, marvin, hat in hand, made a sweeping bow which took in hammond, thomas, and blodgett. "good evening, gentlemen," he laughed ironically. sidling with his back to the california desk, he reached the door, where he waved his hand at his astonished persecutors and slid out upon the veranda and down the steps, where he wandered off in the twilight. blodgett walked to the door and looked after him. "guess i'll stick 'round a bit," he grumbled to thomas, who had followed him to the door and was gazing after marvin. hammond remained where he was, leaning up against the desk, watching thomas and blodgett with surly eyes. "you two are a nice pair of mollycoddles," he sneered, "letting him make a get-away like that. if either of you had any gumption you'd have knocked him over the line." "yes?" drawled the sheriff. "'n' be arrested for assault. my jurisdiction stops on this side of the line." he was silent, while he took a piece of tobacco from his pocket and cut off a bite. after a minute he grunted: "humph! he'ain't gone yet. i'm goin' to stay here 'til to-morrow mornin'. by that time he'll be home, for he 'ain't got no place else to go. then i'll nab him good 'n' quick." all this time bill had stood in the middle of the floor, listening to all that was said, saying never a word himself. now he went slowly to one side of the room, took a chair that stood against the california wall and placed it in front of the table, close to the dividing line. blodgett, thinking there was reason for his act, so deliberate was it, took a chair from its place near the nevada wall and placed it parallel with bill's, seating himself in it. the two men contemplated each other in silence. thomas and hammond stood in short consultation, and then the latter went to his room on the california side of the hotel, thomas sauntering to a rocking-chair on the veranda. he lighted a cigar and sat looking out over the lake, where the moon was rising over the rim of the bordering sierras. there was scrutiny in the eye with which blodgett viewed bill. there was distrust in the steady look which thrust itself between bill's half-open lids and struck straight in the center of blodgett's pupil. the latter opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, as steps were heard on the veranda and rodney harper entered the lobby. "do you know where i can find john marvin?" he asked of the two men whose backs he faced. both immediately turned in their chairs, the sheriff alert for any news he might obtain of the habits and customs of the man he was pursuing. bill, when he saw who it was, arose and slowly went toward him, holding out his hand. "oh! hello, old chap! i got your telegram, also one from marvin. where is he?" harper grasped bill's hand and gave it a hearty shake, glancing anxiously about the lobby. bill ignored the last question, keeping a slanting eye on blodgett. "your wife's up-stairs," he whispered, with a nod toward the nevada up-stairs hallway. "where?" harper turned in the direction of bill's nod. "in nevada," bill drawled, with a slow grin. harper shrugged his shoulders and smiled at bill, continuing with his subject, "what's the number of her room?" "you'd better go slow." bill thrust his hands in his pockets, assuming an air of counselor. "i told her i thought you'd be here." "what did she say?" harper was at the register and going quickly down the list. he came to his wife's name, letting his finger run across the page until he came to the number of her room; then he swept past bill and had his foot on the first step when bill stopped him. "ye'll spoil it all, if ye ain't careful." the old man drew the younger one's head close to his mouth, speaking in low tones. "what makes you say that? in your telegram you made me believe everything was all right," harper said, as he leaned against the newel-post. "so 'twill be if you listen to some one that knows summat 'bout women. if you chase chickens they run like wild-fire 'n' ye can't catch 'em unless you get 'em in a corner. but if you holds out your hand with a little feed, by 'n' by they eat right out of it." harper laughed. "that's what you think, is it?" "i know," bill chuckled. "you oughter heard what she said to me." bill loved to think that he knew something the other fellow would like to know. even his sympathy with harper and his desire to see all well between him and his wife could not contain him when it came to holding out in a matter of mere curiosity. "i was goin' to tell you, but i'd better not," he added, with a wise look. "'twan't very encouragin'," he added. harper walked away from the stairway, his arm through bill's. "don't you think you'd better tell me?" there was real concern in harper's voice and bill knew it was the expression of the anxiety in his heart. too, bill knew that it required tact to approach mrs. harper in her present hysterical mood. so he answered, with a brusk shake of his head, "nope." "well, of all the damned-fool things!" harper stood still, letting go of bill's arm. "i wouldn't call her that," bill remonstrated, moving away from harper with a quick look of astonishment. "who's calling her that?" harper paced up and down, a scowl on his face. "i mean the whole situation. it's such a silly mistake. and yet she won't believe it." "same here." there was a warm sense of comradeship in the same sad cause in the air with which bill made his last remark. it brought harper to a standstill. with a smile he listened to the old man's explanation. "folks don't believe nothin' i tell 'em. women never do believe you when you tell 'em the truth, but tell 'em a lie 'n' they swallows it hook 'n' bait. why don't you write her a letter? ef she knows yer here 'n' ain't too anxious ye got a good chance." "i believe i'll do that. it sounds like a good scheme. give her a chance to think things over instead of running in on her all of a sudden. have you got a room?" harper went to the nevada desk and took up the pen to register, but bill interrupted him. "come on over here," bill nodded to the california desk, following his own gesture to a place back of the counter. "we always got plenty of room on this side." "where's the bar?" at this question put by harper, bill's head struck an interesting and inquisitive attitude. "down to the saloon," he said. but he was doomed to disappointment. "never mind, then," was harper's disheartening reply. bill's interest slackened, but was quickly revived as harper, in the middle of scribbling a note to his wife, looked up long enough to add, "i've got a flask in my bag." it did not take bill long to get from behind the desk. that bag was a friend. he had promised marvin that he would not spend his pension, and mrs. jones had carefully removed the flask from its corner in the nevada desk. "i'll show you right up," he exclaimed, making an undue and unaccustomed haste toward the stairs, bag in hand. at the top of the stairs he stood, waiting for harper to seal the envelop. harper came up the stairs, two at a time, and handed the letter to bill, offering to take the bag from bill as he did so. but bill shook his hand loose. "i'd better take the bag to the room for you first. ye must be pretty tired." there was a hidden implication in the monotone in which the last speech was delivered. rodney harper was too possessed of his own affairs to feel it, and with an impatient gesture he stooped to take his bag from bill, pleading, "please, old man, won't you deliver the letter?" but bill, attuned to a rare occasion, had quickly evaded harper's outstretched hand and was down the hallway with the bag. he opened the door of harper's room and went in first, depositing the bag on the floor. then he went up to the frowning guest, caught hold of his arm, and whispered: "marvin's here, but i didn't want them folks down-stairs to know it. they come to git him fer cuttin' down your timber, but he jumped over the california line. he'll be back by 'n' by, i'm thinkin'." harper was interested in the news and asked bill to let him know when marvin was about again, but he was not interested enough to make him forget what was his present paramount concern. he gave a desperate glance toward the letter in bill's hand. but bill had no intention of leaving until his own possessive intention was fulfilled. he backed away from the bed where he had placed the bag, slowly retreating until he came to the door, which harper had left open for bill's exit. when he reached the sill he grasped the knob with one hand, half closing it, while he stood in front of it on the inside. the anxiety in harper's contracted brow met the slow grin that wrinkled about bill's eyes and mouth. a question started from harper's tongue. bill forestalled it. "i'm sorry," he said, slowly and gently, but with a wise twinkle in his blue eyes, "thet there ain't no bar. mother she doesn't like drink." he paused a moment to see what effect his words were having. as he saw his intention was slowly penetrating through harper's absorption in his own affairs, bill made his final coup. "she lifted my flask from the desk, or i could be askin' you to have a swig." harper threw back his head and laughed. "so that's it!" he exclaimed, hurriedly opening his bag and extracting the flask. "well, i tell you what i'll do. if you'll beat it in quick time with that note i'll treat you to the whole darned flask." bill needed no second bidding. with flask secure in his back pocket he lost no time in descending the california stairs and mounting the flight to the nevada half of the hotel and leaving the letter with mrs. harper. on the way back to the lobby he slightly diminished the contents of the flask. he entered the lobby with a smile whose target was the whole world and threw himself whole-heartedly into the pleasure of tormenting blodgett. he knew that blodgett was furious at the manner of marvin's escape as much as at the fact itself. so he dropped into the chair next to the sheriff, drawling, "you goin' over to truckee to get a california warrant?" blodgett gave bill a mean look, sneering, as he sniffed at the air, "say, you're collecting something, ain't you?" "i didn't get nothin' from you," bill answered, shortly. which answer was not without its point, blodgett's reputation as one of the closest men in washoe county not being unknown to bill. "don't get sore. i wished i was in your place," said blodgett, as he fidgeted about in his chair and looked through the doorway. thomas, who had been on the veranda all this time, came indoors just as blodgett finished his remark. bill caught it quickly, his smile flashing into a gleam of humor toward thomas. "in my place?" asked bill, with a twinkle. with a nod toward thomas, he added, "you're like that other fellow." thomas flushed, but ignored the innuendo. taking a paper from his pocket, he looked through it. at the california desk he stopped to sign his name at the end of it. then he called to bill, "did you tell your wife we were waiting for her?" "no, i didn't. i've been up visiting my friend harper. he's a big millionaire. havin' trouble with his wife. patched it up. told him to write her a note 'n' i brought it to her. he gimme this fer the idea." bill produced the flask from his pocket and extended it toward blodgett, but when it was half-way on its journey he jerked it back, just as mrs. harper emerged from between the portiã¨res of the nevada upper hallway. clad in a fluffy, silken nã©gligã©e, she tiptoed half-way down the stairs before she saw thomas, who had left the desk and was standing in the doorway with his face toward the moonlit lake. she gave a smothered cry and was about to turn back. bill held up a warning finger toward blodgett, who quickly obeyed the injunction to look straight ahead. arising from his seat, the old man made a friendly motion toward the frightened little creature on the stairs and she came down to where he stood in the middle of the floor, casting bewildered glances to right and left and trembling as he whispered in her ear: "he's in number four. hurry now, before any one catches on." "do they all know he's my husband?" she flittered as she sped lightly up the california stairs. "i won't say nothin' about it." bill could not resist a wink, which met with a toss of mrs. harper's pretty head as she glided between the portiã¨res toward her husband's room. bill went back to his chair again. everett hammond came into the room from the porch outside. laying his hat on the california desk, he went around behind the counter and turned the pages of the register. bill did not sit down, but wandered over to the desk where hammond stood and gazed at him through half-open eyes. "oh, you runnin' the place now?" he questioned. hammond did not answer him at once, but kept on running over the names on the list. but there was a compelling force in the mild gaze of the old man which made hammond stop to reckon with him. "yes," he said, bruskly, while he frowned at bill. "i've just settled everything with your wife. all that's needed now is for you to sign that deed." there was no answer forthcoming from bill. instead, he slowly took the flask from his pocket and held it in front of him. "i'll take a drink with you," he said, with a slow smile. hammond did not glance up, but answered, with a half-smile, "i'm sorry, but i, haven't got anything." "i have," said bill, shuffling toward him with the flask. blodgett twisted about in his chair and called, "you look and act as if you'd had enough." bill left the desk and seated himself beside blodgett again. "i don't want it for myself," he said, putting the spurned flask back in his pocket; "it's just for social--ability. i don't drink." "don't tell me that," scoffed the sheriff. "you're a booze-fighter." "no, i ain't," bill answered, quickly. then seeing a chance for romance, he added, "i'm an indian-fighter." "is that so?" blodgett drew out his answer in an accent that spoke of disbelief. "you bet it's so. did you ever know buffalo bill?" bill leaned forward so he could see what impression he was making upon the sheriff. out of the corner of his eyes blodgett was watching bill. "yes, i knew him well," said the sheriff, gruffly. bill leaned closer to blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which showed the same doubt as his own. "i learned him all he knew about killing indians. did he ever tell you about the duel i fought with settin' bull?" "settin' bull?" the sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel the length of bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which were not quivering a lash. "he was standin' when i shot him," grinned bill. "i never took advantage of nobody, not even an indian." the sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "you've got a bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?" "what do you know 'bout bees?" bill started to roll a cigarette. "not much. do you?" was blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead. bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end of it. then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes slanting toward blodgett to gather the effect of his words: "i know all about 'em. i used to be in the bee business. drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. and never lost a bee. got stung twice." the sheriff jumped to his feet and directed a scornful glance bill's way as he straightened his coat about his shoulders, twisted his belt, and started for the door, taking his chair and putting it in its place against the wall on his way. "i got enough. i'm going outside." hammond, who had been busy going over the register all this while, now came from behind the desk and walked toward bill. "now look here, mr. jones--" "won't do no good fer you to talk," bill interrupted him, but did not even glance up, remaining seated in the middle of the lobby. "i ain't goin' to sign nothin'--understand that," he said, not ungently. hammond planted himself squarely in front of bill, setting his doubled fists on his hips. "well, if you don't," he snarled in a loud voice, "you'll find yourself without a home. you understand that--if you're not too drunk." he delivered the last remark with a sneer that was almost a bark. "do you think i'm drunk?" bill went close to hammond, his head thrown back the better to look into his opponent's shifting eyes. but hammond made him no answer, for just then mrs. jones, dressed in an evening gown of the latest cut, appeared on the stairs leading from the california side and walked self-consciously down on the arm of thomas. at first bill did not recognize her. he thought it was some one of the boarders, who often wore evening dress for dinner. he hurried toward the nevada desk, asking, as his eyes began at mrs. jones's feet incased in shining silver slippers and wandered slowly up the folds of handsome yellow brocade to the wide expanse of bare neck and shoulder, "do you want your key?" mrs. jones blushed, and the tears sprang to her eyes, as she wrapped the lace scarf flung over her shoulders closer across her bosom. turning toward bill, she did not answer him, but took up the pen and pointed to the paper which hammond had placed on the desk, ready for them both to sign. by this time bill's glance had reached her face. for a moment he stared in astonishment. then he gave a gasp and stood back, his arms limp at his sides. "mother, 'tain't you?" he gasped. "yes, it's me," mrs. jones replied, angrily, as she gulped to keep back the tears which were forcing themselves to the surface, part in timidity and part in rage at her spouse, who she thought was making fun of her. bill straightened himself and, with a droll nod of his head, replied to hammond, "you're right, i'm drunk." thomas stifled the smile that rose to his lips in spite of himself. he was standing on the other side of mrs. jones. now he came around and stood in front of bill. "don't you approve, lightnin'?" he asked, pleasantly. "she's dressed in the height of fashion." "looks higher 'n that to me," bill drawled, as his eyes twinkled at the eight inches of bare ankle between mrs. jones's skirt edge and her silver pumps. mrs. jones, with an insulted toss of her head, dropped the pen with which she had signed the paper and hurried across the lobby to the dining-room door. she was crying, but bill did not see her tears. his eyes were still fastened upon her ankles. "the mosquitoes 'll give you hell in that this summer," he called out as she slammed the door behind her. thomas shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently. he had made up his mind to leave matters entirely in hammond's hands now; so he went up the california stairs, calling out to bill, "you'll get yourself disliked around here, if you don't look out." "so'll you," bill called back as he shambled to the same stairway. but he got no farther than the first step. hammond laid a detaining hand on his arm, pulling him around in front of him. "see here, jones," he said, harshly, "i've taken over the management of this place and i don't propose to stand any more nonsense from you, and unless you do as your wife tells you to, sign this deed, i'll kick you out." bill pulled himself loose from hammond and stood facing him, a defiant grin antagonizing hammond to greater fury. "no, you won't!" bill laughed, never flinching in the half-open eyes with which he held hammond's eyes. "what's the reason i won't?" hammond asked, making a threatening move. still bill remained unmoved. "'cause you talk too much about it." hammond stood and looked in fury at bill. but he knew that any harsh treatment on his part might spoil the whole game, which he now felt to be near an end, which meant victory for his plans, so he smothered his desire to lay hands on the old man, and with sudden impulse, born of a desire to end the discussion, he hurried up-stairs to his room, calling back, "you'll see whether i will or not." chapter xi when bill was once more alone he meandered slowly to the nevada desk and leaned against it, looking abstractedly toward the veranda. outside, the moon was shining in long shafts of silver light through the branches of the tall cedars. beyond the lake lay, itself a moon of silver on the floor of the valley. he could hear the hoot of a hundred billy owls. unthinkingly he went to the door and stood there, sniffing at the fragrance of the pines. then he went back to the desk again. as mrs. jones had closed the dining-room door behind her, he had seen that she was crying. her tears had acted like a knife on his obstinacy. if there was one method of bringing bill to a realization of his shortcomings, it was the knowledge that he had brought his wife to tears. no matter what the occasion, through the years of his many omissions, he had never failed to awaken to a sense of duty at the slightest hint of a sob on her part. and now remorse was gnawing heavily at his heart. he knew that she was sorely tried by his laziness. he knew that ever since she had come from the city she had longed for some of the luxuries which she had tasted for the first and only time in those few brief days when thomas had given her a bit of every woman's paradise. and as he looked out he wondered in his slow, but none the less logical, way what it mattered, after all, if the place did go, just so long as mother was happy. to be sure, the place was worth much more than hammond was willing to pay them. but it was enough for their humble needs. from the door beyond he could hear the sound of her sobs. he went half-way across the room. "yes," he reasoned with himself, "after all, the property is hers. i gave her my part of it to do as she pleased with." and a sudden resolve to do her will possessed him. but as he reached the middle of the lobby he heard some one on tiptoe behind him. he turned to see marvin, crouched down by the desk, so that any one coming from up-stairs could not see him. "'sh!" bill put up a warning hand. "blodgett's outside there some place." "he's snoring in his buggy," marvin whispered back, with a half-smile. "bill," he added, quickly, "i've been outside and i've heard every word they've been saying to you. i haven't time to tell you all i want to just now. promise me again that you won't sign that deed until you've talked further with me about it." [illustration: "promise me you won't sign the deed." ... bill hesitated] bill hesitated. "well, mother wants to awful bad," he answered, slowly. from the dining-room voices could be heard. "ye'd better get out," said bill. "not until you promise," persisted marvin. bill wavered an instant. he wanted mother to be happy, and yet, another day did not make so much difference--especially when marvin was in danger. the door in back of him swung open. leaning quickly down to marvin, as the latter crept toward the outer door, he whispered: "all right. i promise." mrs. jones walked into the room with a swagger, half of indignation, half of sorrow. she was still wiping the tears from her eyes. the deed and the pen were in her hand. bill went to her, placing an affectionate hand on her bare arm. "mother, ain't you cold?" he could not resist another tilt at her unusual costume. "no." she stamped her foot at him, withdrawing her arm from his hand. "i'm hot all over at you, insulting me before those gentlemen." hurrying to the california desk, she buried her head on her crossed arms and began to cry. "makin' fun of me," she sobbed, "because i try to look presentable for once in my life." following her to the desk, bill patted her gently on the back. "it's gettin' late, mother," he coaxed. "you're tired and you've been working hard. you're all tuckered out. now you go up-stairs and put on some clothes and go to bed." mrs. jones shook him from her and went to the other desk, where she stood facing him, her face red and swollen from her tears. "oh!" she wrung her hands as she looked at him with blazing eyes. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself with the gentlemen here to buy the place and you around the office drinking liquor." "no, i ain't." bill answered her outburst mildly, backing away from her lest she should discover the flask in his back pocket. he was too late. her eye, accustomed to just such investigations, had detected the lines of the flask as it protruded from his back pocket. taking hold of him, she put her hand in his pocket and produced the flask, holding it, half empty, to the light. "that belongs to mr. harper," was bill's ready excuse, given in the monotone which invariably masked a world of guilt. seeing the doubt in his wife's eye, he added, "you can go up-stairs and ask him, if you don't believe it." mrs. jones did not reply to his last remark. instead of which she went back to the california desk, where she set down the flask, taking up the deed and holding it out to him. "now, bill," she said, in a coaxing voice, "i want you to put your name to this paper." she smiled kindly upon him for the first time in many hours. bill wavered before her smile. it was difficult for him to withstand it, especially as he knew how sorely he had tried her. but a promise was a promise with bill, and his one pride was that he had kept intact through all the years of his digressions this one principle--he never broke his word. he had told marvin he would not sign the deed without consulting him further, so he turned his eyes from his wife's face and answered, in a low voice, "i can't, mother." "what's the reason you can't?" mrs. jones planted herself in front of him, determined that he should not evade her this time. "because i promised my lawyer i wouldn't," he answered, his head turned away from her. mrs. jones took him by the arm and swung him into line with her gaze. "now see here, bill," she snapped, "i've been working my fingers to the bone and i'm entitled to a rest and you sha'n't stop my having it. mr. thomas is going to take millie and me to the city to live. if you sign that you can come with us. if you don't you've got to look out for yourself for a while." bill had not paid much heed to hammond's threat delivered a few minutes back. but now something in his wife's tone brought it, recurrent, to his mind. he wondered if, after all, there was some truth behind it. pausing to gather his points together, bill nodded toward the stairs. "mother, that fellow, hammond, said he'd throw me out. do you want me to get out? is that what you mean?" it was not what mrs. jones had meant at all. but the events of the day had strained her nerves to breaking-point. since daylight thomas and hammond had been after her to force bill to do as she wished him to. to their suggestions that she teach him a lesson by leaving him for a while she had turned a deaf ear. but now they came surging back and, in answer to her call for a method of persuasion, clamored for recognition. before she had time to stifle them they had their way. "i mean just that, bill." there was silence as she thrust the words from her mouth. bill stood still, gazing steadily at her. she lowered her lids. then he came closer and looked up under her eyes, in the hope that he would find a relenting gleam there. but she turned away from him. "all right, mother--i'll go." without another word he turned and walked toward the door. mrs. jones took a quick step forward, then paused. "where'll you go?" she asked, half in surprise, half in defiance, for she had not believed that he would accept her challenge. "oh, 'most anywhere," he said, gaily, forcing a whistle, though his lips quivered. "i'll be all right, mother." his wife stepped forward again, extending a staying hand, but her resentment had her in its grip. her hand fell back to her side. "well," she called out to him as suddenly she turned from him and hurried up the stairs, "i mean every word i've said! it's one thing or the other! either you make up your mind to sign this," and she tapped the paper in her hand, "or i'm through with you!" without a backward glance--fearing, perhaps, that she might weaken--she disappeared along the upper hallway. bill took his hand from the door and came slowly back into the room. he strolled to the california desk, pushed back his old hat, and stood there with his hands in his pockets, thoughtfully. of a sudden his absent eyes lighted on the flask resting on the desk, where mrs. jones had put it down. bill stroked his stubbled chin and gazed at the flask. it seemed to suggest an idea to him. satisfying himself that there was no one around at the moment, he strolled to the door, poked his head out, and gave a peculiar whistle; then he walked back to the desk and leaned against it, waiting. in a few minutes zeb's unkempt visage silently framed itself in the softly opened door. lightnin' jerked his head as a sign to enter. stealthily, with many a wary glance to right and left, his disreputable partner of the past eased himself across the lobby and stood before bill, childlike, trustful inquiry in his eyes. "what's the idee, lightnin'?" he rumbled, puffing at the frayed remains of a cigar. with a gesture of calm triumph bill pointed to the flask on the desk. "i said i had it, zeb," he remarked, in the tone one uses when confronting and confounding a skeptic with ocular proof, "an' there it is!" "why, so it be!" said zeb, reaching out for the prize. but lightnin' stopped him. "hold on a minute, partner. the evidence ain't to be absorbed just yet. in fact, brother, we better keep it intact for future use, 'cause you're goin' on a long journey, zeb. you an' me is goin' to hit the trail again, old-timer!" "gosh! you mean it, lightnin'?" zeb showed almost human delight and anticipation. "but for why? you had a row with your old woman?" "nope," bill replied. "can't call it that, exactly. you needn't worry them brains o' yours about why we're goin', zeb. it's just that i got a notion to teach some people 'round here a lesson, an'--an' maybe i can bring poor mother to her senses," he added, gently. "when we goin'?" zeb questioned, his eyes on the flask. "right away--this here minute, in fact," said bill. zeb looked at him dazedly. "just as we is? where 're we hittin' fer?" "i ain't telling that just yet," said bill, slowly. "where we are goin' is a secret." "oh," zeb answered, with a nod of wisdom. "i--see. you ain't tellin' 'em you be goin'--not even your old woman, eh?" "them brains o' yours is pickin' up a bit, ain't they, zeb?" bill commented, with encouraging approval. "well, you hit it, all right! nope, we ain't tellin' nobody. we're goin' to kinder disappear completely for a pretty good space. mother ain't to be able to locate me a-tall. there's some others as 'll likely find out, but i ain't worryin' about them--they want to get rid o' me, an' they ain't likely to exhaust themselves any tryin' to find me. i got a object, zeb. it ain't none o' your business what that object is--by which i merely mean to say, old-timer, that you wouldn't have no particular interest in it. come on--let's get out now, afore they begins to gather 'round me again!" picking up the flask and sliding it into his coat pocket, lightnin' walked away toward the door. nodding wisely, zeb followed, eyes hopefully on the pleasant bulge in his old partner's coat. chapter xii "well!" millie, appearing with a tray of late supper to take up-stairs to one of the guests' rooms along about ten o'clock that evening, almost ran into marvin, who had returned to the hotel in the hope of seeing bill and giving him the full reason for his not being a party to the sale of the place. the lights in the lobby were turned low and he had managed to evade the sheriff, who was sitting in his buck-board outside, waiting for lemuel townsend, who was to return to reno with him. millie's exclamation, because of her surprise in seeing marvin again, escaped her in pleasant tones, but her memory asserted itself and the smile rapidly faded from her face and she gave a haughty toss of her head, saying, as he stepped in front of her when she started for the stairs, "will you please let me pass?" but marvin had wanted to see her quite as much as he did bill, the impression she had given him of her liking for thomas having cut deeper than the events of the earlier part of the day had given him time to realize. ignoring her request, he removed his hat and said, as he searched her eyes for some play of the old light that had often gladdened his heart in the days when they were together in thomas's office in san francisco, "i suppose you are surprised to find me here still?" millie swayed toward the nevada desk, depositing her tray upon it. she faced him, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed. her first impulse was not to answer him. she could not understand his interference in the matter of the deed. neither did she believe one word he had uttered against hammond and thomas. on the contrary, thomas's apparent interest in her and her mother and his constant flattery and attentions had attained their end. she believed in him implicitly and therefore had given credence to every word he had said against marvin. nevertheless, the charge that he was not honest could not quite overcome the quickening of her interest which had manifested itself lately in a heart that ran far ahead of itself at his approach. after a silence in which she stared at him steadily, his eyes answering hers with an unflinching candor mixed with a vague wistfulness, she answered him. "i don't think anything you could do would surprise me, after all that has happened to-day and all that i've been told about you." "millie!" marvin awkwardly rolled his hat in his hands, while his speech faltered. "i've been waiting around here now for two hours in the hope that i could explain to you why i wanted to stop that sale. and i cannot bear to have you believe that i am a thief and--" millie was touched by his attitude. her hand left her hip and started toward his arm in friendly contact. but again returned the whole picture of the afternoon's events and she coolly turned from him and went to take up her tray again. "will you please let me pass?" she asked a second time, as he tried to prevail upon her by taking the tray from her and setting it down again. "i wish to have nothing to say to you. i do not believe your excuses. mr. thomas is the best friend i have in the world. i won't listen to a word against him, and i am sure he is too fine a gentleman to say anything about any one unless he were sure that it was true." as she came to the last words she swallowed to keep back the tears, for although they were uttered in perfect faith, her words burned into her own heart with as much bitterness as they were directed toward marvin. he was too filled with his mission and too sure that millie's interest in him was gone to notice the catch in her voice or to attribute it to any sense of affection for him, had he noticed it. he took her hands in his and shook them gently in an endeavor to get her to look into his eyes again. "millie, please listen to me! i know what i'm talking about when i say that mrs. jones is being cheated and robbed--" she broke away from him, and stood glaring at him, as she stamped her foot. "don't you dare to say another word about raymond thomas to me! anyway, it is none of your business if he is cheating us!" "millie, millie." marvin's voice was full of pleading as he persisted, going close to her again and shaking his head sadly. "why do you allow yourself to be taken in this way? don't you know that the only reason i am concerned is because i care--oh, well." he turned away with a sigh and went over to the nevada desk and took up the tray. "i won't say any more. will you let me carry the tray up-stairs for you? i'll go then, and you won't be bothered with me any more." the glare in her eyes melted and she made a gesture as if she would call him to her side again. but she could not forget so easily, and she said, without turning to look at him, in tones less sharp, "why didn't you tell me before that you suspected him?" "how could i? you told me how much you thought of raymond thomas. i hadn't realized that before--" he put the tray down and came to her side once more. "do you mean to say," millie was again angered, "that i told you i loved mr. thomas?" "that's what i understood," marvin replied. the two stood there, millie glancing at him in contempt, while his whole heart went out to her from his eyes. he was the first to break the silence. almost touching her hand with his, he said, softly, "you mean you don't love him?" millie snatched her hand away and went back to the desk. "you're always wrong! i told you he was my best friend and he is. i never said i loved him." if marvin had not been attracted by the arabesque of the faded rose-garlanded rug at that moment, he would have found some solace in the lowered lids and half-smile which millie vouchsafed him. but he did not see it. slowly he followed her back to the desk, this time standing aside as she made her way toward the stairs. "well, say it now--i mean"--he hesitated, embarrassed, then went on--"i mean--say you don't care for him. and then if you'll only give me time i'll find out what their game is." millie stood at the newel-post, steadying the tray against it. looking down at him, the hard gleam returned to her eyes as she replied, emphatically: "oh, i don't want you to find out anything about it! i know you're mistaken and you're not going to prevent mother's selling the place, because it's already sold. as soon as daddy's name is signed to it we get the money." "well, you sha'n't have that, millie." marvin swung his hat against the post without looking up at her. through the window he traced the moonbeams as they filtered through the pines outside. above the hoot of an owl the swish of the lake came in to them. they both stood there, gazing out to where so few weeks ago they had walked in the happiness of an unconscious awakening. it was within millie's heart to relax as she saw him sigh. from above just then came the sound of mrs. jones's voice. it brought back her concern for the tired woman above-stairs. with it returned her anger at marvin. "you're trying to prevent this sale just to hurt mr. thomas in my eyes!" she snapped. he turned and met her with the question, "thomas told you that, didn't he?" she nodded. "just the same, millie," and here marvin mounted the step and stood close to her as he looked squarely in her eyes, "i'll never let bill sign that deed. some day you'll thank me for it." this was more than her patience could stand. in her anger she almost dropped the tray, but she managed to hold it taut against the balustrade as she frowned at him and stamped her foot. "thank you?" she asked, in no gentle voice. "i shall always hate and despise you for it. always! i hope i shall never see you again, and if i do i shall never notice you--nor speak to you the longest day i live!" exhausted with her temper, she turned to mount the stairs, when she looked out toward the veranda and saw a figure slowly and stealthily coming up the steps. she recognized it at once and shrieked out, just as the sheriff entered the door, "john, look out!" but marvin had been watching her, and the fear in her eyes as she saw blodgett had been warning enough for him. he gave three quick skips to the other side of the lobby, making mock obeisance toward her, laughter in his voice because of her betrayal of her solicitude in spite of all that she had said. "thank you, miss buckley," he called as he went up the california stairs to the hall above, just as the sheriff had reached out for him, "thank you, miss buckley! i shall be grateful to you--always!" chapter xiii bill's disappearance brought quick changes to the little hotel at calivada. his ready acceptance of mrs. jones's alternative was a complete surprise, and it was several days before she and millie realized that he had taken her at her word. even then they thought he had gone off on one of his temporary jaunts in the hills. when the days grew into a fortnight and he did not return they instituted a search among the near-by villages and mining-camps. everett hammond and raymond thomas were solicitous aids in the inquiry, not for the two women they were defrauding, nor because they felt any concern for bill's welfare. rather was their full attention turned toward securing a deed which the pacific railroad would consider law-proof. had the property been entirely within the state of nevada, bill's signature would not have been imperative, but the california laws regarding the sale of property were evadable by numerous small technicalities, and shrewd counsel demanded that bona-fide deeds must appear as freewill transfers from both the husband and wife. it was for this reason that bill's disappearance was a matter of deep satisfaction to both hammond and thomas. they had begun to despair of his putting his name to the deed. now, should he not return within six months, they evolved a new scheme and one which would be law-proof if it could be carried through. if mrs. jones could be persuaded into a divorce, and the decree obtained with full rights to the property, the deed would be legal without bill's name. it was for this reason that hammond and thomas put themselves at mrs. jones's service and did everything in their power to discover bill's whereabouts. it was several weeks before they traced him to sacramento and from there to the veterans' home at yountville. by this time mrs. jones was quite beside herself, for, in spite of bill's shiftlessness, which was quite enough to wear away the patience of the average woman, she felt a deep affection for the generous-hearted, whimsical old creature and his companionship through fifteen years, and at a time when her father's death had left her desolate had relieved the monotony of a life which had had little else but hard work. millie, too, missed her foster-father, whose frequent sallies kept humor alive when work and poverty pressed hard. in reverent and grateful memory she held the thought of his care for her when she had been left a waif by her own father's death. and so, together, millie and mrs. jones pressed thomas for news of bill. he knew that if they learned his whereabouts they would not rest until they had brought him home again. mrs. jones's persistent melancholy since bill's departure told thomas that in order to get bill back, the deed itself would be abrogated by her, should that be one of his conditions of return. therefore both he and hammond determined that they would not let the two women know of bill's whereabouts. instead, they said they had traced him as far as placerville, known to old-timers as the hangtown of the gold days, and that from there he had taken the trail up over the georgetown divide, where he said he was going to find work in the mines. search throughout the entire district, hammond and thomas informed her, had failed to locate him, and they assured her and millie that inquiry should be kept up until he was found. winter came, bringing with it no news from bill, and mrs. jones settled into a melancholy resignation wherein she seldom smiled and where she spent most of her time in the rocking-chair by the front window, gazing down the path up which bill had usually zigzagged his recalcitrant way. thomas was quick to recognize her symptoms and he resolved upon his master-stroke. one day toward the end of march when a heavy storm had blown up from the lake and the entire forest was torn and twisted by a wind in high and angry mood, mrs. jones sat crying in front of the window, wondering where bill was and beset with the fear that some place beyond the ridge in that vast ocean of mountain billows bill might be homeless and cold and without food. a sudden gust shook the hillside, bringing down a grizzled pine that had stood close to the house. the crash of its falling resounded down the slope and mrs. jones, keyed to high pitch by her vigil of three months, was brought to a sudden burst of despair just as thomas, who had come to calivada to superintend the wiring of the house which was now to be put on modern basis, came down the stairs. it was his chance and he took it. "mrs. jones!" there was a surcharge of pity in his voice as he glided across the room and stood over her chair, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "i hate to see you upset. we've done everything in our power to find mr. jones and we will leave no stone unturned until we succeed. in the mean time you must think of yourself and millie." "it was thinking of myself and millie that drove him out of his home." mrs. jones buried her head on her hand and leaned against the window-sill. the wind, with renewed shock, beat the sleet against the window-pane. "he may be out this minute wandering the hills with no place to go," she sobbed, "and he ain't young no more, neither. "of course, i thought all along," she went on, "that by selling the place i could take care of him in his old age, and now he ain't here and the place can't be sold." "the place can be sold, mrs. jones, and you will then have enough money to institute a real search for mr. jones." thomas's emphasis of the possibility of a sale without bill's signature relaxed mrs. jones's mood and she sat up straight in her chair, lifting questioning eyes toward him. "there is a way." he answered her unspoken inquiry with calm deliberation, while he scrutinized her for the least sign of encouragement or of antagonism as his plan unfolded. "it is a difficult way and one which you may balk at pursuing, but it will justify itself in the end." "oh, what is it, mr. thomas?" mrs. jones's brown eyes widened and hope returned to them as she smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her gingham apron and folded her arms across her waist, rocking expectantly back and forth. "i'd do 'most anything if i thought it'd bring bill back," she exclaimed, raising her voice to an enthusiastic pitch. thomas brought an arm-chair from the center-table and sat down beside her. clasping his hands, he leaned forward, "you can get a divorce, and--" "oh, i could never do that!" mrs. jones protested and stopped rocking as she lifted up her hands in horror. "he 'ain't never done anything; and besides--" "that's not the question." thomas was quick to interrupt her flow of excuses. "i know he has done nothing, mrs. jones. but as things stand at present you have neither bill nor the money for the place. you can't give a clear title to the place while you are married to mr. jones unless it bears his signature. you have not the money to find him. a divorce will straighten all this out. you can sell the place for enough money to find bill. you can remarry him and you will both have a comfortable old age." "oh!!!" mrs. jones drew the word out with a long inflection of surprise, and she shook her head in the wisdom of a new light. "i see what ye mean." after a moment's abstraction in which she pondered thomas's suggestion, she continued, "some way or 'nuther it don't seem straight by bill." "it's the only way i see to settle matters. but i sha'n't try to persuade you against your will, mrs. jones." thomas brought to bear on the situation his finest modulations, both in voice and manner, as he sat nonchalantly in his chair, one knee cocked over the other and his foot swinging listlessly back and forth, portraying a personal indifference which mrs. jones's simple mind could not penetrate. "it does seem a good way," she mused aloud, adding, in little spurts, "but i guess--maybe--well--i think i'll talk it over with millie." mrs. jones did talk it over with millie. also, she had several prolonged interviews with thomas on the subject, and three days later she put her name to the petition which asked for a divorce from bill jones without so much as giving the document a thorough reading. whatever thomas proposed was to her, by the very fact of its being his idea, a thing worthy to be done. millie, being of the same turn of mind, aided her in accepting his decision. and it was only when the first publication of summons appeared in the reno papers that her heart sank at the words which characterized bill as a drunkard and a man who was cruel to his wife--lies which thomas justified as necessary to strengthen the one truthful ground for the divorce--that of failure to provide. even that mrs. jones felt was beside the truth, for although bill had never exerted himself needlessly, he had performed the chores, gone after the mail, made beds, and, by his gift to her on their marriage day of his three hundred and twenty acres, which were far the better portion of the property, he had made some slight concession to his responsibilities. bill's digressions had been those of omission rather than those of commission, and mrs. jones's misgivings were frequent during the three months that followed. in the mean time, thomas and hammond were quick to inaugurate a new regime at the hotel. mrs. jones and millie remained on in the capacity of guests, while a clerk and a housekeeper were brought from the city to take over the management. modern improvements and equipment soon turned it into a hostelry that verged on the fashionable. with the early spring freshet augmenting the waterfall and the stream into a cataract whose potential horse-power did not escape everett hammond, he made a hurried trip from san francisco with an official of the pacific railroad and succeeded in persuading the company to advance a comfortable sum of money for an option on the jones property. mrs. jones and millie, fretting under the suspense and without funds, were given a small amount to tide them over until the sale should be consummated, when they were to receive a large block of certificates in the golden gate land company. all would have been well with thomas, who saw life spreading before him in a panorama of ease and elegance, had it not been for two people--lemuel townsend and john marvin. lemuel townsend had been placed by the november elections on the list of superior court judges, where he immediately came into his own as presiding judge in the majority of divorce cases in reno. thomas, unable to withstand the rã´le of popular and irresistible beau brummell among the prospective divorcã©es at the hotel, had run against townsend's displeasure two days before the election, when he had dared to play interloper in lemuel townsend's attentions to mrs. margaret davis. with townsend, it had been love at first sight. with mrs. davis it was something less, her only idea at that time being a quick snatch at freedom and a hurried trip back to broadway, where she hoped to sign up for the summer circuit. lem townsend did well enough to pass the time, and it was her own diversion rather than any feeling for him which bade her accept his attentions. thomas on frequent trips had scattered his flatteries between millie and the various divorcã©es. mrs. davis came in for her full share and several times there had been clashes between the two men, thomas invariably stepping aside, but only after verbal skirmishes with townsend. marvin had not been seen in the neighborhood since a few days after bill jones had disappeared. he had returned to his cabin, after having established himself in an office in san francisco with the intention of taking bill back with him. during the days spent on the trails in search of the old man he had successfully evaded sheriff blodgett and had gone back to his office, where he had received a forwarded letter from bill at the veterans' home at yountville. he had taken one trip to the home with the purpose of persuading bill to return with him to the city. but when he saw how comfortable bill was there in the hillside country, surrounded by the old veterans who vied with one another in recounting their past prowess, he decided to let him alone until such time as he could effect a reconciliation between bill and mrs. jones. this, he trusted, would be at the termination of the case brought against him by the pacific railroad to recover the timber which he had sold to rodney harper previous to the sale of his timber-land to the golden gate land company by mrs. marvin. then, too, he hoped the way would be made straight for him and millie, although he had half lost hope under his realization of thomas's superior eligibility. these things, known to the latter, destroyed his composure and made the lapse between the filing of mrs. jones's divorce suit and the termination of its three months' summons by publication, required by law, a period of anxiety. he knew that if marvin were vindicated before mrs. jones could secure her divorce his whole framework would collapse, as millie and mrs. jones, straightforward as they were, would brook no hint of dishonesty on his part. once discovered as unworthy of trust, their confidence in him would be broken and marvin would be restored to full standing, not only in millie's affections, but in mrs. jones's approval. in the latter part of march he took a hurried trip to reno, where, in conference with blodgett, who had never been able to forgive marvin's evasion of arrest, maneuvers to have the two suits tried at the same time sent him back to san francisco rejoicing in the anticipation that his days of discomfort would soon be over and he could return to his own world again. chapter xiv mid-april came with its arabesquan days of sunlight and shadow and its fragile broidery of new leaf and timid blossom. it was as if its coming had stirred anew the life in reno's divorce colony. all winter the courts had been dull, most of the men and women seeking divorces arriving in the early fall and biding their time of six months by hibernating through the long, cold season. but now there was a renewed activity in divorce circles. the court calendars were full and there was a steady stream of gaily clad applicants making their way in and out of the washoe county court-house, going in with nervous, hasty, anxious tread and coming out with a gait which spoke of a new freedom and a smile that bespoke life as once again worth living. it was one morning just after the flux of spring divorces had begun that sheriff blodgett stood looking over the calendar in judge lemuel townsend's court-room. he scowled as he read the words announcing that the first case was that of the railroad company versus john marvin. he patted the warrant which still occupied the waiting list in his pocket. placing a chair close to the court-room door, he waited for the crowd to begin to file in. he knew that he could not arrest a man in the court-room, but he intended to keep his eye on the corridor, and to that end had propped one of the doors open with a chair so that he could see clear to the swinging doors that led in from the street. if marvin put in an appearance, he intended to arrest him at once. the thought gave him satisfaction and he sat twirling his long, drooping mustache with one hand and fondling the handcuffs in his coat pocket with the other. revenge at last would play its part to-day, for, even if marvin failed to appear and therefore balked him again, the railroad company would get judgment, anyway. it was at this point in his reverie that thomas entered the court-room, greeting the sheriff with a genial, "oh, hello there, blodgett! i guess our day's come." with a patronizing pat on blodgett's shoulder, thomas passed and went to the clerk, where he procured a list of the day's cases. he, too, nodded in satisfaction, as he saw that the pacific railroad case, in which he was attorney, was to come up first. running his finger down the line, he stopped at another close to the end, smiled again, and turned to the sheriff. "the marvin case is first," he observed. the sheriff nodded and a frown slowly puckered his brow. he walked slowly up to thomas, who stood at the clerk's desk just within the railing. he hesitated, clearing his throat, and found the courage to ask, with a slight timidity in his voice and manner, "you ain't a-goin' to bring up the old story of my serving the warrant at calivada, are you?" thomas laughed. "no," he replied; "i don't think i'll have to go into that. but i will ask you about the time you went to marvin's camp." blodgett heaved his shoulders in relief, and, with hands in his pockets, went back to his station at the door. "that's all right!" he exhaled a full breath once again. thomas turned the leaves of the calendar, looked ahead for a day or two, without noticing much that he saw, then turned the leaves back again to the day's list. he went to the court-room window and looked out upon the valley that ran from reno up toward the foothills. he sniffed the keen, cool air that was blown up to him. he stood contemplating the rushing waters of the truckee river below. after several minutes' thought he faced blodgett again. "i'm going to ask you what time you were at marvin's camp, for i want to show he was taking down the timber," he announced. "i didn't get out where the timber was," the sheriff replied. "but you know he had a gang of lumbermen there?" in thomas's tone and in the gleam on his cold, blue eyes the sheriff caught the message of persuasion. "oh, sure." he nodded with the air of a man who understood what was wanted of him. "and they drove you off by force?" blodgett nodded again. "and you remember the date?" "i guess i won't fergit it." there was emphasis in blodgett's answer and he arose impatiently from his chair and stood, his arms akimbo, peering down the corridor. "do you think marvin'll be here to-day?" this time he was interlocutor. "i got a notion he won't," he added, fathering his disappointment by admitting the possibility of frustration in the one desire that had held him ever since marvin had foiled him by the technicality of the state boundary-line. he was bound, however, that there should be no opportunity for escape this time. "i don't care whether he turns up or not," thomas answered, going to the lawyers' table, opening his brief-case, and setting them out before him as he swung gracefully into a chair. "the case is a cinch," he emphasized, with a grin that found reflection in blodgett's eyes. with a warning to the clerk to keep an eye on things until he should return, blodgett left the court-room and swaggered up the corridor, stopping at the door of the other rooms and taking a frowning survey of the occupants, hoping that marvin had entered one of them by mistake. if john marvin was in reno he was not going to escape arrest this day. with this comforting conclusion in mind, he took up his stand just outside of the court-house door at the top of the steps. in the mean time everett hammond, escorting mrs. jones and millie buckley, entered judge townsend's court-room and were greeted effusively by thomas. "oh, good morning!" he bowed low over mrs. jones's hand, which he held in his. "i'm glad to see you." staring at millie, who looked very fetching in a trim blue serge tailor suit, he beamed. "how fine you look this morning; quite irresistible, i assure you!" millie blushed and looked with frightened glance from the judge's bench to the lawyers' table, and from there to the witness-stand and back toward the door, for all the world as if she were contemplating a rapid escape. she took a deep breath. "i don't feel irresistible," she said. "i feel just as if i wanted to cry and run away." she pouted at thomas, with entreaty in her pretty eyes. thomas laughed, put his hand on her arm in deprecation, and shrugged her fears away. "oh, the trial won't amount to anything, little lady. what do you say to that, mrs. jones?" the older woman's brown eyes were staring straight ahead, as if she saw a real horror and was without power to controvert it. "all i can say," she replied, in a high-pitched, high-strung voice, "is that i'm here." she waited for a moment, casting furtive glances at hammond and thomas, who stood one on each side of her. having found the courage to assert herself, she burst out, "and i wish i wasn't!" "now, now, mrs. jones!" there was banter in hammond's voice, but there was concern in the wise direction of his eyes toward thomas. "you're a mighty brave woman and i know you're going through with this, for it means that you'll be in a much better position to find your husband and look out for your old age after you get the money for the place." mrs. jones made no response, but cast anxious eyes about the room, and she folded her hands in resignation across her ample waist-line. "it's like going to the dentist. the worst part is making up your mind to it." thomas leaned over mrs. jones and smiled his most engaging smile. he received no answer to it, so he turned to millie, who stood at the other side of him. before he could speak, the girl rid herself of the question that had been ever present in her mind now for six months, and one which she had never failed to ask him every time she saw him or wrote to him. "have you heard anything of daddy?" thomas's smile disappeared. he left the little group of four in the middle of the space inside of the rails and sat down again at the table, annoyance in the slump with which he threw himself into his chair. "no, we haven't been able to locate him." he would have been sullen had he dared, but his game was too nearly played and he did not wish to foozle at the last, so he controlled his mood and forced a smile as he thought of a method of getting away from his client's importunity for awhile. "it must be distasteful for you two women to remain in here any longer than possible," he said, rising from his chair again and pointing to a door at one side of the court-room. "lennon," he called to the clerk, "my clients can wait in there, can't they?" the clerk acquiescing, he and hammond courteously escorted mrs. jones and millie to the door and showed them into a small room which had been fitted up for hysterical women overcome with the proceeding in their cases, or for those who, like mrs. jones and millie, wished to avoid the embarrassment of a long wait in the court-room. as the two women went through the door, thomas turned to hammond and advised, in a low voice: "you better go, too, hammond. keep them cheered up." with bad grace in his shrug and in his eyes, he followed thomas's suggestion, first murmuring in his partner's ear: "i'll be damn glad when this day is over. all i've been doing this last week is to keep these darned women from backing out." chapter xv by this time the court-room was filling up with its usual motley crowd of interested parties and spectators. there were the seekers after freedom, a heterogeneous collection of them, in all sorts and conditions of clothes, of all ages and of all kinds of faces and figures. there were the women from the millionaire colonies of the east, chic, sleek, and composed. they retired into a far corner with their attorneys, conferring in low tones, or else sitting, apparently unperturbed, while waiting for their cases to be called. there were always the adventuress types, chic, too, but made up with an eye to future conquest, their skirts always tighter or wider or shorter or longer than the style decreed, their hair a little more so-so, their lips redder, their cheeks rosier, and their faces whiter than their more conservative sisters of a narrower way. there were tired women from far states not allowing divorces for cruelty or desertion. they sat, in nondescript clothes, most of them, with eyes heavy-lidded, as if they were too weary to care much what happened to them. there were gay young creatures, dancers and small-time vaudeville actresses, who refused to take life seriously and who availed themselves of a dull season to make themselves free for another venture. there was a sprinkling of men, one of them a lumber magnate from an eastern state, another a noted cabaret entertainer. they sat around, restlessly out of place, but at the same time taking an interest in those about them. supplementing these were the spectators. among them were tourists who came to reno for the express purpose of attending the divorce trials. inquisitive folk, regular residents of the town, dropped in to pass an hour's time and to gather gossip for the afternoon tea-table. club-women, anxious to find food for reform, took up their seats close to the railing, determined that no word of the testimony or proceedings should escape them. and there were the usual hangers-on, old men and women with nothing to do, who found entertainment in listening to the human dramas unfolded from the witness-stand. raymond thomas, before taking his seat at the lawyers' table, took a comprehensive view of his audience. lifting the skirt of his frock-coat, he sat down, viewing the world and himself complacently. he heard the court-room door swing to, and, looking up, he saw the sheriff coming toward him with mrs. margaret davis by his side. mrs. davis's six months' residence in nevada had been established and she had come over from calivada, where she had become quite one of the jones family, to get her decree. she had expected to meet mrs. jones at the riverside hotel, but she had been late and had hurried over, her effort flushing her cheeks even beyond the heavy coat of peach-bloom with which she hid the natural roses of her cheeks. she had been scurrying like a chicken around the corridors when she had caught sight of sheriff blodgett and importuned him to see her safely to a seat in the court-room. as soon as she saw thomas she dismissed the sheriff summarily, while thomas arose and went forward, opening the swinging gates that admitted the lawyers and witnesses behind the railing. their greeting was effusive, and thomas held mrs. davis's hand for a moment. she blushed vigorously and simpered: "oh, mr. thomas, my case comes up to-day, and i'm just worried sick about it. do you think i could see lem--" she stopped, hung her head, and looked coquettishly up at thomas as she bit her lip, correcting herself, "i mean judge townsend?" thomas looked around to see if any one were listening. "i'm afraid you can't see him just now," he replied, leading her to a chair just under the judge's desk, which was set upon a high platform. "is there anything i can do?" he asked, in his smooth, bland voice. "i don't know." mrs. davis whined and twisted in her chair. "my lawyer's sick. i telephoned his doctor, who was just as mean as could be and said he couldn't come to court to-day. if i could only tell the judge--" she gave thomas a look laden with understanding. "there shouldn't be any trouble about that," laughed thomas, dropping easily into the chair beside her. "you can explain the circumstances to the judge when your case is called, and--" "but i don't want it postponed! a court-room scares me just half to death. i'll die if i have to put it off and go through screwing up my courage again. i just will!" she nodded her head emphatically until the bright blue plumes that fell from the back of her enormous picture-hat threatened thomas's eyes. he moved away from them, offering, after a moment's thought: "well, i'll be very glad to represent you if you care to have me. there's nothing to your case, anyhow. the judge is a friend of yours, isn't he?" mrs. davis hesitated and rolled her baby-blue eyes at him from under her heavily beaded lashes as she giggled. "oh yes--he's a friend," and then, thinking better of her confidence, she ended, with a sigh, "that is, i know him--slightly." thomas smiled to himself, reassuring her. "then don't give it a thought. just leave everything to me." a grateful hand was laid upon his arm and she looked up at him with fervid admiration. "you are so smart and so kind, mr. thomas. you've taken such a load off my mind. if anything went wrong after waiting all these months i'd just die--that's all there is about it." at this moment the door of the judge's chambers opened and lemuel townsend appeared, clad in a prince albert suit and beaming on mrs. davis, who arose and walked well into the middle of the floor so that she should not escape his immediate attention. this was a moment of great satisfaction for thomas, who looked about the court-room, scrutinizing every man in it, his face brightening as he saw that john marvin had not put in an appearance. when the sheriff had finished opening court he arose from his place at the lawyers' table, for he knew that the case of the railroad against john marvin was the first upon the day's calendar. he pulled his revers together with a pompous gesture and opened his mouth to speak. before he could do so judge townsend called to the clerk, whose desk was at one side of the bench, and suggested in low tones: "i think this first case can go over--" thomas caught the words and disappointment drove the self-satisfaction from his face. he ventured to address the court: "if it please your honor, this is an action for the wrongful taking of timber, and i've come a long way and i would like to get home--" townsend had not been listening to a word, his attention being concentrated on the tip of an upstanding feather on mrs. davis's hat, which could barely be seen over the top of his desk. "eh? what's that?" he asked, sharply, not too pleased to be interrupted in his endeavor to catch further sight of mrs. davis. marvin not having put in an appearance, thomas's hopes of winning the case for the railroad by default were high. he did not think marvin would appear, but every delay might be fatal and it took an effort on his part to appear unperturbed. however, he managed to answer in urbane tones, "i was saying, your honor, that--" "oh yes." townsend bent his head and looked down with severe eyes over the top of his glasses. "just a moment, please," he added, as thomas would have finished his plea. turning to the clerk, he ordered, "let me see the list." the list was handed to him and he ran down it, finally remarking to the clerk, "i think i will dispose of these short cases first." half rising in his chair, he looked over the top of his desk to where mrs. davis was twisting and turning in her chair in an effort to get a look at him. "mrs. davis," he called in gentle tones, "are you ready?" she hurriedly precipitated herself into the middle of the space in front of the platform. "why, yes," she answered, looking about as if she did not know where to turn and gathering her sealskin cape about her. "i'll take your case at two o'clock," the judge said to thomas, who shrugged his shoulders, but did not sit down as townsend had expected him to do. as the clerk called the case, "davis _versus_ davis," thomas moved close to the bench, exclaiming, "if it please your honor--" he was interrupted by a glower from townsend, who said, "this case is davis _versus_ davis, mr. thomas," his eyes wrinkling into a broad smile as he again turned his attention to mrs. davis, who stood, bewildered, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "i am quite aware that it is the davis case, your honor," thomas answered, not without a note of triumph in his voice and demeanor. "i am the attorney for mrs. davis." thomas's announcement shocked townsend into dropping a document he held in his hand. it fell on the desk and was blown by the strong east wind that came in from the window clear across the room. "_you_ are?" he asked, with a mouth fallen half open from surprise and annoyance, his spectacles tilting to the end of his nose. thomas did not answer at once, but flushed, turning, for the sake of a few moments in which to think, toward the clerk, who was scrambling after the paper. his glance on its way back to the judge met that of blodgett, which had both a warning and an "i-told-you-so" quality in it. "well?" the judge's question was drawn into a length which further embarrassed thomas. being a young man of poise, however, he straightened the revers of his coat and settled them with a shake upon his shoulder, replying, graciously, "mrs. davis has appointed me in the place of mr. adams." townsend continued to stare most ungraciously at the young man in front of him, but thomas, unabashed, went on: "your honor, i believe, is familiar with the complaint and has gone over the depositions submitted by the plaintiff. as the defendant has neither entered a denial, put in an appearance, nor been represented in court, i move that the plaintiff be granted an absolute separation from the defendant." swift shafts of indignation bolted from townsend's eyes back and forth between thomas and margaret davis. he saw that consternation was plainly written on the latter's baby face and that tears were gathering in her big blue eyes now pleadingly uplifted to his. his jaw relaxed and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. but thomas' complacency at the softening in the judge's attitude was too much, and townsend snapped out, "the motion is denied." from her chair directly in front of the judge's desk margaret davis immediately jumped up, her eyes opening into large, round, moist orbs which threatened to grow moister as she asked, in a voice that fear had robbed of its ingenuousness, "does that mean i can't get a divorce?" thomas was about to reassure her, when he was again interrupted by the judge, whose voice flattened as he looked away from her, afraid to trust the melting effect of her coy glances. "it means that the motion of your counsel is unusual and that i have good and sufficient reasons for denying it," he said, with emphasis. margaret put her handkerchief to her eyes to stem the threatening tide, while thomas hastened to forestall the avalanche by informing her, as he placed a comforting hand on her arm, that he would be able, at least, to try the case. had lem townsend been able to prevent the latter, he would have done so, but he was too young as a jurist to allow criticism of his knowledge of points of law, and he reluctantly gave consent to the trial of the case. it was with a beating heart and a jaw set against the impending quiver of a not too slender frame that she held up her hand for the oath and took her place upon the stand, looking about with a terror that was new born in eyes heretofore ungiven to everything but treacle. her lips trembled an almost inaudible reply to the clerk's question. she was still standing, and thomas, noticing this, motioned her to be seated, beginning at the same time her examination. "mrs. davis, where do you live?" he asked. his own tones were of no certain quality, for the firm pressure of townsend's white lips and his obvious intention of steering clear of any attempt at honeyed coercion on margaret davis's part were not encouraging. in vain she cast her eyes about in an effort to inveigle the sympathy of lem townsend. he stared straight ahead at the paper in front of him, although he saw not a word. her answer to thomas's question came with a gasp. "new york." then realizing that her case was lost and her entire six months' sojourn at calivada was as nothing unless she immediately corrected her mistake, she gasped a second time as she drew the folds of her blue-velvet cape about her. "oh no! i don't mean that at all. i live here--i live here in nevada and i've lived here long enough to get a divorce. the judge--" and here she stopped for breath, making another attempt to corral his stubborn favor--"his honor--" she jerked, with a quick breath, "can tell--you that." but the judge did not smile and his eyes remained rigid in their sockets as they glared at the paper in his hand. "just answer the questions, please, mrs. davis," thomas cautioned her pleasantly, although as a witness she was disconcerting. "well," she drawled, fidgeting in her chair, "that's not easy when you're sworn to tell the truth." a titter ran through the court-room and was brought to an abrupt end by the sheriff's gavel. thomas resumed his examination. "you are the wife of gerald davis, are you not?" she nodded. "and when and where were you married to him?" "seven years ago, october fifth--in peoria." she glanced about at the sea of smiling faces, again seeking sympathy from the judge. again he was adamant. "you were living in peoria?" the insinuation that anything less than a metropolis should be her abiding-place was more than she could bear and in turbulent leaps, broken by her gasps for breath, she blurted, her lips quivering and her eyes filling with tears: "i should--say--not! my husband and i were playing there. we were partners doing a dancing act--" thomas tried to interrupt her and succeeded with half a question. "when did your husband first show signs of not loving you and--" he got no farther, for she went on, determined to get over the disagreeable business of being truthful. "he stopped loving me about a year before we were married." this time a storm of laughter surged through the court-room and it took several taps of blodgett's gavel to regain quiet. undaunted, she finished her story. "it's really hard to explain why we were married. you see"--she hesitated and resumed jerkily--"we were in peoria--and we were partners--and--and--it rained all week--well, somehow it seemed a good idea at the time." at this point it became necessary for townsend, in order to maintain the dignity of the bench, to caution the spectators that if there were any more such outbursts of joy he would have the court-room cleared. thomas still maintained his control, although cold perspiration was wilting his highly polished collar. "but after you were married he was cruel to you, was he not?" he asked. "i should say he was!" the answer was accompanied by an emphatic nod of the head and again she flew onward, over his head, determined that she should tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "why," she opened her left hand and enumerated the said gerald davis's shortcomings by pressing its fingers with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, "he put his name on the bill in larger type than mine. he tried to strike me once--but he was a poor judge of distance. and--and--" she stopped. this time her appeal was directed to thomas. "he deserted you, did he not?" thomas eagerly took up the thread, hoping to unravel the snarl she had worked with it. "well, we parted--" "after he deserted you?" before mrs. davis could answer the last question, townsend straightened the spectacles on his nose and entered the case. slowly welling within him was a jealousy now overwhelming. his political ambitions alone had stood in the way of his descending from the bench and throwing thomas out of the court-room. it was only by remaining silent that he had curbed his temper. now it broke away from him, and he turned, thundering, "so far, mr. thomas, the witness has not testified that her husband deserted her!" "oh--" margaret davis turned squarely in her chair, pursing her carmine lips into an irresistible moue. "of course he deserted me! we were playing in chicago, and i went west and he stayed there and--" "that looks to me, madam, as if you deserted him. so far, your testimony has not brought out anything to substantiate your complaint." tears unrestrained burst forth at this moment. the thought that not only had she lost all chance of securing her freedom, but that lemuel townsend, whose attentions had helped to while away a six months which would otherwise have been dull to one accustomed to a barrage of suitors at the stage door, was more than she could bear. pointing to thomas, she sobbed into a purple silk handkerchief that smelled not faintly of patchouli. "that's because he told me to do nothing but answer his questions, and then he asked me all the wrong things--" her emotion, out of bounds, spent itself in a cataract of tears. unable to go on, she sat there, trying to stem the tears with a handkerchief inadequate for their volume. thomas tried to save his case. "your honor--i--" he hesitated, margaret davis coming to his rescue. "oh, i don't mean to blame you," she said to him, addressing the last of her remark to the judge. "he doesn't know anything about my case!" what lemuel townsend would have liked to do at that moment was to have taken her in his arms and reassure her, as old fools are apt to do with naã¯ve young creatures. but her apparent friendliness with thomas and her deceitfulness in employing him for her attorney was more than he could condone. he would not relax his stern exterior, although his interior was softening. "then, why," he asked, in measured tones, "is he appearing for you if he does not understand your case?" recognizing the opportunity for explanation, margaret wiped her eyes, sniffed, and, went on: "my lawyer's sick, you see. and i wanted to tell you all about it, but mr. thomas explained that i couldn't see you. and he said he'd do everything for me, and you'd give me a divorce without any trouble at all." thomas whitened and turned to the table, where he fingered his brief-case nervously. he could not brave the glare which he knew townsend was directing at him, nor the tirade he feared would follow. "when did he tell you all that?" the judge asked, his nostrils quivering with rage, his voice strained to a tenor. "just now." margaret grew happily voluble and she nodded her head back and forth like a child of six as she ogled the judge. "when i came into court he was here and i told him the trouble i was in. it's the only time i've seen him since you asked me not to." townsend was so relieved that he did not hear the last of her remark and the noisy delight of the spectators also escaped him. he was bent upon one purpose, that of chastising thomas. "why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked margaret, in tender tones, forgetting, in his ardor, that there was such a thing as a court-room. he leaned far over the desk and beamed upon her. "there, there, don't let it upset you." he offered her a glass of water. as she took it, thomas stepped up to the bench again and tried to palliate the judge's wounded sensibilities. "if your honor please, i was simply acting from a friendly standpoint and i thought--" "no matter what your motives were, sir, you presumed when you told the plaintiff what the court's rulings would be." he turned abruptly from thomas and leaned graciously toward the plaintiff. "now, mrs. davis," he resumed, "let me question you. why did you leave your husband in chicago?" reassured, margaret bridled coyly and answered, lifting her lids to the judge: "because he didn't show up for a performance and i had to go on alone--and afterward the manager told him the act was better without him. and he sulked and stayed away from the theater all the rest of the week and on our next jump he refused to go with me." her last words dwindled into a plaintive whine. "and you were obliged to go without him?" lem townsend subtly gave a slight nod of his head which margaret caught and interpreted into a vigorous acquiescence with her own curly blond head. "did you try to have him go with you?" again the hint and again margaret scored her point. "of course i did!" she responded. "i mean, yes--your honor. but he said he'd show me how long i could go it on my own; but i showed _him_, for i've never seen him since. i only heard from him once and that was when i sent him money." "have you tried to see him?" lem townsend asked the last question grudgingly, but he felt that his own honor in the case was in danger of impeachment, and he was sure that his slight nod would be followed as it had before. he was right. "of course i did. mr. blackmore--he was our manager--gave me his sworn statement." townsend for the first time really saw the paper in front of him. he read it carefully, answering in tones of quick delight. "yes, here it is and a deposition dated chicago stating that davis left you without warning and refused to dance with you again." "yes, your honor," she cooed. there was silence while townsend scrutinized the papers in front of him. margaret sat with her eyes anxiously fastened on him. with a nod of satisfaction he shoved the papers aside and, smiling down at her, announced in kindly tones, "your decree is granted." "your honor!" she arose from her chair and sat down in it again, a copious flow of tears making it impossible for her to leave the stand. townsend reached for the glass of water and held it toward her once again. "please, please, mrs. davis," he endeavored to calm her, but his compassion only served to bring on another storm. "i'm _so_ emotional," she sobbed, "i can't stop it!" townsend looked about helplessly. a sudden awakening to his own prerogative solved the dilemma. "mr. sheriff, announce a recess," he ordered. and leaving the bench, he went to mrs. davis and guided her into his chambers. the crowd filed out of the court-room, while thomas, weak with shame and disappointment, took his seat at the table again, impatiently toying with a paper-knife that had fallen from his pin-seal brief-case. blodgett went to him and leaned over with the intention of reassuring him, when there was a disturbance at the window which opened from a balcony a few feet above the street. both of the men turned just in time to see john marvin climb through the window and pull his suit-case in after him. the sheriff stepped forward, hesitating as he realized his powers were negative in a court-room. "here, what you doing?" the clerk called out, getting up from his desk. the sheriff glared and handled the manacles in his pocket with an intemperate disgust. marvin looked at him and laughed, answering the clerk. "i've got business in this court. i'm john marvin and i'm appearing in the case the pacific railroad has brought against me." he did not deign to glance at thomas, who had arisen, facing him, white from the blow to his hope of obtaining a judgment by default. marvin went calmly to the other end of the attorneys' table and opened up his shabby brown-canvas brief-case. he whistled to himself softly as he did so and glanced at thomas, whose pallid mouth was drawn into a dogged sneer. blodgett went back to his seat just within the swinging gates that gave entrance behind the railing and sat glaring at marvin. quiet reigned in the court; then a faint shuffle of feet was heard beyond the door. as blodgett looked around, the door of the court-room opened gently and bill jones, clad in a civil war veteran's uniform, faded from the sun, its brass buttons tarnished, and wearing his soldier's black soft hat with its gold cord cocked jauntily over one eye, sauntered down the aisle, holding out his hand to marvin, who had jumped from his seat and bounded around the table to greet him. "hello, john!" lightnin' drawled, grinning. "how's tricks? you look kinder legal this morning?" chapter xvi as bill made his way through the swinging gates, blodgett put out a detaining arm, asking, with a scowl, "here, what do _you_ want?" "been arrestin' any one in california lately?" bill slid past blodgett, ignoring his attempt to stop him, the old twinkle in his eye as he touched what he knew to be the sheriff's sensitive spot. "well, lightnin'," marvin exclaimed, "how did you get here and what in the world have you come for?" "yer case ain't over yet, is it?" marvin shook his head, repeating his first question. bill did not reply at once. not wanting marvin to know that he and zeb had been nearly two weeks getting there, and that they had come in much the same way they had gone, riding when they could get a lift on a train or a wagon, walking when they could not, he pretended to forget the young man's questions, asking one himself instead, "what time your case comin' up?" "two o'clock." the sheriff sauntered up to them. bill knew the purpose of his approach was to catch the drift of their conversation, so he turned abruptly, his hands in his back pockets, and grinned at blodgett. nodding toward marvin, he drawled, "i'm a witness for him. i got to testify how you served a warrant on him." the sheriff glared and slouched over to his chair, throwing himself into it as he pulled his black sombrero down over his eyes. marvin, his arm about bill's shoulders, leaned over him, guiding him gently to the attorneys' table. "well, lightnin'," he questioned, in an indulgent voice, "how did you happen to show up here?" "i promised you, didn't i?" "but that was a long time ago. i supposed you'd forgotten all about it." bill glanced quickly at him and smiled. "i ain't never forgotten nothin' since i was four years old." marvin, happy to see the old lightnin' behind the boast, smiled, asking him, "how did you know the trial was to-day?" "that's easy," bill replied, as he sat against the edge of the table, steadying himself with his hands. "i seen it in a reno paper at the home." "but i told you the time i came to see you that you needn't bother about coming. i wouldn't have had you come all this long way for the world if i had known it." there was concern in marvin's voice as he slowly dropped into a chair in front of bill. "that's why i didn't say nothin'." "where did the money come from?" "i saved my pension." bill glanced slyly at him. catching his questioning eye, he stopped and looked through the window into the distance. "you told me you sent your pension money to your wife!" "i did--some of it. i sent mother six dollars, but i didn't get no answer." the laughter went from bill and he leaned over, looking toward the far hills, strange, unreal purple against the clear, cold blue of the april sky. marvin watched him, asking, "did you tell her you were in the soldiers' home?" "no." bill's voice was devoid of inflection. "then she probably didn't know where you were." "where else could i be?" his lips were puckered into a whistle, although they were quivering and no tune came. it was always this way when he thought of mother, so he straightened himself and stood by marvin's chair, forcing a smile to his lips and jerking out, "and six dollars is six dollars." the court-room was filling again, five minutes having elapsed since recess was declared. a side door opened and townsend came into court. blodgett stood up, pounded the desk with his gavel and announced the opening of the session. bill and marvin, rising to order, started and looked at each other as thomas entered the room just behind the judge. following him was everett hammond, who, when he saw bill and marvin together at the attorneys' table, began vigorous and anxious whispering in thomas's ear as he took his place next to him on the other side of the table. margaret davis entered from the judge's chambers. she was accompanied by mrs. jones and millie. bill did not see them. his eyes were fastened on hammond and thomas in close conference. but suddenly, as he turned to take in the rest of the people in the room, his eyes alighted on his wife. he arose and wandered toward her, exclaiming, as she came to meet him, "why, mother, what are you doing here?" he stared at her and held out his hand. mrs. jones was so surprised to see him that she could not speak and stood still, her hands in the air half-way between her waist and shoulder. millie was the first to answer him. "oh, daddy--" she was going to put her arms around him, when blodgett rapped upon the table for order. tears sprang to mrs. jones's eyes and margaret davis arose and led her to a chair next to hers and just at the foot of the platform, from which townsend smiled happily upon them. "come along, mr. clerk!" there was cheer in townsend's voice as he directed another saccharine shaft toward margaret. "i've got an important engagement and i want to get through. call the next case." bill, his eyes still on his wife, walked slowly to the table and sat down just behind marvin. "jones _versus_ jones," read the clerk, standing at one side of the platform and unfolding the document he held in his hand. bill did not hear him. he was gazing at mrs. jones, an old tenderness in his eyes, a bitter longing in his heart. drifting, living only for the hour, as was his nature, but one scar had remained unobliterated upon his memory, one hope alone flickered in the lonely sanctuary of a soul that had known no conflicts. his affection for his wife had been something deeper than emotion, something lighter than passion. it had been the lasting quantity in a life of fleeting concepts, and his six months at the home had subdued it into a dull ache which found relief only when a faint optimism brought vague dreams of a remote reunion. her presence in court puzzled him. he felt that it must have something to do with the sale of the place, or, perhaps, with marvin's case. and yet he was sure she knew nothing of the transaction between mrs. marvin and thomas, or between rodney harper and marvin. whatever it was, it had brought a ray of expectancy to bill, and he jumped as he was brought out of his reverie by marvin's perplexed whisper: "jones _versus_ jones. by jove, lightnin', i believe that's you!" "me?" bill glanced around as if he were half awake and leaned far forward in his chair, putting his hand to his ear and straining to catch every word as the clerk read the complaint: "to the people of the state of nevada, mary jones, plaintiff _versus_ william jones, defendant. a civil action wherein the said plaintiff deposes and says she was lawfully married to the said defendant on the 14th day of june, eighteen hundred and ninety-six, in the state of nevada. the said plaintiff prays this court for a permanent annulment of her marriage vows, the defendant, william jones, having disregarded and broken all obligations of the marriage contract, thereby causing the plaintiff great suffering and mental agony and the said mary jones claims a final separation and divorce from the said william jones on the grounds of failure to provide, habitual intoxication, and intolerable cruelty. subscribed and sworn to me on the fifth day of april, nineteen hundred and seventeen. alexander bradshaw, notary: raymond thomas, attorney for the plaintiff." when the clerk had finished bill sent a beseeching glance toward his wife. each word of the document had entered far into a mind little given to taking account. one by one he had tolled off the record against him, placing the accusations in two files--the true and the false. that his wife had cause for anger against him he now, for the first time, fully realized. but he was bewildered, and when bill was bewildered it was his habit to seek enlightenment. after a moment, in which mrs. jones darted swift glances from beneath a brow bowed with regret, he turned to marvin, who had arisen and was standing back of his chair, bending over him, and asked, simply, "is that all about me?" blodgett tapped his sheriff's gavel. townsend caught bill's question and asked, "what did you say?" marvin, knowing that bill was inadequate to the test placed upon him, came quickly to the rescue. standing in front of the judge, he explained: "your honor, mr. jones is the unconscious defendant in this case. it just happened that he came to court to-day to be a witness in another case. he has had no previous knowledge of this action." before he could go farther raymond thomas, upon whom the entire situation was reacting in swift, powerful threats to his cause, arose, his face drawn with the agony of frustration, his voice high pitched from the effort to subdue the feelings fast getting beyond his control. "the defendant's whereabouts were unknown to us, your honor, and the court allowed us to serve notice by publication." "publication in what?" marvin demanded, as he darted contempt at thomas. townsend answered him. "proper service was given, if the defendant could not be located." to bill he addressed the next question, "is that what you asked about?" still confused, and not yet quite getting the trend of the whole matter, he asked, in his quiet, disinterested way, "who, me?" "yes," replied the judge. "you made some remark after the complaint was read." "i wasn't sure i'd got it straight," bill said, looking ahead of him, mouth half open. "you mean the grounds on which the action is based?" the judge persisted. there was a pause, in which bill looked first at thomas, whose lids drooped under the old man's scrutiny, and then at his wife, who hung her head. "i guess so," he jerked, drumming his fingers softly on the table. townsend ordered the clerk to repeat that part of the complaint wherein the grounds for the suit were mentioned. the clerk repeated, "failure to provide, habitual intoxication, and intolerable cruelty." bill listened attentively. as the clerk sat down, bill looked up at the judge, asking, "is that all?" [illustration: lightnin', in his faded g. a. r. uniform ... listened attentively] "don't you think it's enough?" there was admonition in his manner, but there was a certain gentleness in his voice and a smile of sympathy lurked at the corners of his mouth. it was difficult for lemuel townsend, who knew the lovable side of the careless old man, but he was determined to maintain the dignity and the integrity of the law, and he knew that he must remain unbiased, no matter how strong his feeling was that here there had been sad tampering with truth and the finer essences of happiness. his severity did not touch bill. his sense of humor, always close to the surface, asserted itself. a gleam that was half derision, half amusement, lighted his eyes as he grinned up at the judge. "sounded as if there was more the first time." marvin again stood before the judge. he knew that bill had no one to defend him and he had not felt the necessity of offering himself. he just took it for granted that bill would turn to him in the dilemma and so he took the case in his hands. "i am counsel for the defendant, your honor," he said, "and he is entering a general denial." "are you counsel for the defense?" townsend's astonishment was evident in his long-drawn inflection. he had not heard of marvin's admission to the bar. neither had he seen the young man about lately, and the whole situation puzzled him. before marvin could answer him, bill was out of his seat, replying for him, "yes, sir, he is my lawyer." it was not the judge's way to admit himself baffled. turning to thomas, he instructed him to call his witnesses. marvin took a seat in front of bill at the attorneys' table, while bill on the edge of his chair leaned forward expectantly, his eyes fastened not on thomas, but upon his wife, who sat with her head bowed and her eyes staring into her lap. thomas beckoned to mrs. jones, calling her name. as she arose, hammond, who sat next to thomas on the other side of the table from marvin and bill, and who had appeared indifferent and bored so far in the proceedings, jumped to his feet, dismay written on every feature, and hastened to whisper in his partner's ear: "are you crazy? the most dangerous thing you can do, now that old jones is in court, is to call her to the stand." thomas in his vaunted shrewdness had overlooked this possibility, but now that hammond mentioned it to him he saw what disastrous complications mrs. jones's presence on the witness-stand might lead to. nodding in answer to hammond's counsel, he again turned to mrs. jones, saying, "i don't think it will be necessary for you to testify at all, mrs. jones." as she sat down, he smiled at millie, addressing her, "miss buckley, will you take the stand, please?" millie had not expected to be called, and as she arose at his summons her face flushed with embarrassment. she stood still momentarily and her eyes met marvin's for the first time since he had appeared in court. with an angry flash they quickly sought the witness-chair, and, although trembling at the ordeal before her, she made an effort to trip lightly to the stand. as she took her place and was sworn in by the clerk her replies were scarcely audible. casting frightened glances up through her long lashes at thomas, she was reassured by a smile. after the preliminary examination as to her adoption by bill and mrs. jones and her residence with them since she was three years old, he began upon the intimate questions which he hoped would weave a web of incriminating evidence against bill, evidence which would redound to his justification in the part he had played in bringing about the divorce. "miss buckley," he asked, pulling nervously at his cuffs and bringing them down two or three inches below his sleeves, "mrs. jones has toiled early and late to provide for the family ever since you can remember, has she not?" millie nodded, gazing anxiously at bill, who, far forward on his chair, was drinking in every word she said. there was a pitiful accusation behind the sadness in the eyes with which he returned her gaze. as thomas continued she, like her mother, concentrated her attention on her hands folded tight in her lap. "why did you leave home three years ago, miss buckley?" "to earn my living, of course," was the reply, in low, reluctant tones. "what did you do with your wages?" millie hesitated. after taking out barely enough to live on in meager fashion she had sent most of the remainder home, not because either mrs. jones or bill had asked for help, but because she knew how difficult was their living during the long winter months when their only source of income was bill's pension and the few mountain people who dropped in when passing back and forth and remain overnight and for a meal or so. had she known that she was to be called as a witness she might even have refused to accompany mrs. jones to court, for bill's derelictions could never outweigh the knowledge that it was he who had saved her from an orphanage. she swallowed the lump in her throat, but even this did not keep back her tears at the thought that her answer might be the betrayal of the old man who had been a father to her through all the years. thomas saw her disinclination and understood the condition of mind which prompted it. he knew he must call his persuasive powers to his aid, so he went very close to the witness-stand, and, leaning over her, spoke in his softest tones. "i am sorry to have to ask these questions, miss buckley, because i know how you dread to testify in this case, but it is unavoidable. will you answer my question? you sent the greater part of your wages home, did you not?" he spoke as if he, too, were distressed. millie, falling into the trap, sighed, "yes, sir." "and you really left home to earn money in order to help support the jones family, didn't you?" again, overcome by the complications of the situation in which she found herself, she was unable to answer except with a reluctant nod. "did you ever see mrs. jones's husband drunk?" as thomas asked this question he looked toward bill. millie did not answer. the tears gathered in her eyes and she wiped them away, burying her face in the handkerchief she held in one of her hands. thomas insisted. "you have seen him in that condition hundreds of times, have you not?" there was a malicious note in his voice this time, as well as in the look he directed at the old man at the table. millie caught it, and a slight antagonism crept into her voice as she straightened in her chair, answering, in surprise, "why, i never counted." thomas was deriving a long-desired satisfaction in his prodding of bill, and it threatened his shrewder self-control. "but he was in the habit of coming home drunk, wasn't he?" there was real glee in the question, but it escaped millie this time. with a beseeching glance at thomas, and one which pleaded for forgiveness toward bill, she said, slowly, "sometimes." "and because of the poverty brought about by those bad habits you were obliged to leave--" here millie broke in. forgetting her embarrassment and the crowded court-room in the realization that words were being put into her mouth, words which fell far short of the truth, she burst out, indignantly: "why, i never said any such thing! i went away to work because there was no opportunity in calivada to earn any money, and i thought as long as i was going at all i might just as well go to san francisco where i could make a salary large enough to take care of myself and to help mr. and mrs. jones, who have been very good to me." thomas saw that he had overstepped himself and he groped in his mind for new questions, until a scowl from hammond reminded him that it might be better to stop rather than to bring out evidence which might turn against them and in favor of bill. so he dismissed millie from the stand. she stood up while thomas took his place next to hammond at the table. but marvin, after a few whispered words with bill, took thomas's place by the witness-chair, holding up a detaining hand and calling, "miss buckley!" millie glared at him, blushed deeply, and walked off the stand. she had not been able to forgive him for his advice to bill and still held him responsible for bill's leaving home, as she had felt that if bill had not been prejudiced against thomas and hammond the place would have been sold and they would have all been living together in comfort. but she did not get very far. as she left the platform townsend motioned her to return and, submerging his personal friendship for her beneath his judicial duties he exclaimed, severely: "one moment, miss buckley. the counsel for the defense has asked you a question." millie turned her back on marvin as she dropped into the chair again. a smile played on marvin's lips, but it was a rueful one. to come thus face to face with her in a situation where he was compelled to be her antagonist in order to see that justice was done to his old friend was not a happy ordeal for him. townsend knew what was going on between the young people and he felt keenly for them, but it was a part of him to hold to his duty always and not to his own personal biases. his severity did not relax even when millie pouted: "i don't want to answer _his_ questions! must i?" the people in the court-room, interested and amused at the unusual dã©nouement, went into a peal of laughter which received swift check from the sheriff's gavel. she flushed violently and obeyed judge townsend's admonishment that she must answer all of marvin's questions. marvin's first inquiry did not tend to make things any easier for her. "who employed you as a stenographer?" he asked. his back was turned to thomas, but he could feel the latter shifting in his chair. finding no mercy in townsend's manner, she succumbed to the inevitable, snapping, with a toss of her head, "mr. thomas!" "_this_ mr. thomas?" marvin asked. "yes," said millie. there had been nothing in her heart but deepest misery and shame at having to testify against bill during her examination by thomas. now she was fired by a resentment against marvin, bill being forced out of the equation. her answers came in a swift defiance that bespoke a determination to make it as difficult for him as possible. marvin, seeing at once that she and mrs. jones were still plastic in the hands of thomas and hammond, was tempted into battle. "did mr. thomas," he asked, "give you this position because you told him you wanted to be of financial assistance to the jones family?" millie opened her mouth to reply, but thomas was on his feet at once, objecting to the question. facing the judge, marvin ignored thomas, saying, "i am quite willing to withdraw it if it is found objectionable, your honor." thomas stepped quickly to marvin's side. he was a few inches the taller and he glared down at marvin, who stared back, his jaw set in the resolution to stand firm against the man he knew to be a fraud. that he was standing on thin ice thomas knew, and he knew also that bluff was the only feasible strategy to employ against the unforeseen crisis wrought by bill's sudden and unexpected arrival. "don't flatter yourself that i mind any question you might ask," he emphasized, "only this one has no bearing on the case." at this, townsend sustained the objection. marvin, resorting to a legal trick, changed the form of the question, for he was bound to prove his point. "well, miss buckley," he asked, "mr. thomas has taken an interest in your affairs and given you advice?" the insinuation was more than millie could bear calmly. she turned quickly, meeting his eyes in anger as she flashed a significant smile toward thomas. "mr. thomas has been more than kind to me always. he has given me advice when i had no one else to turn to." "and you have always followed his advice?" following his key, millie replied, "always, implicitly, in spite of what _others_--" and she paused long enough to send a pointed shaft marvin's way--"have said against him." marvin grinned and continued, "miss buckley, you have never known mr. jones to be cruel or even unkind to his wife, have you?" an objection from thomas was overruled, the judge contending that cruelty was one of the grounds in the complaint. as he had forgotten how the question read, he asked the stenographer to repeat it. millie answered in the negative and marvin prodded her further, "you have never seen him unkind to any one or anything, have you?" gentleness had always been such an ever-present quality in bill's treatment of millie that she forgot her anger for the moment and hastened to reply, as she smiled sweetly at bill, "daddy has always been most kind to me and every one else." this was an opportunity to lead her into an admission which might immediately quash all of the grounds of the complaint. marvin saw it at once and took advantage of it. "now, miss buckley," he argued, "the complaint asks for a divorce on the grounds of drunkenness, failure to provide and cruelty. in all honesty you know that not one of these is the real reason that mrs. jones has asked for a divorce, don't you?" unused to the ways of the law and its peculiar methods of arriving at conclusions, millie was perplexed. the only excuse in her mind for the divorce had been that it would bring about the sale of the property and that mrs. jones would thereby have sufficient money with which to find bill, which would mean happiness for the three of them. had thomas not intervened with an objection which the judge sustained, she would have given her answer, but as it was she remained silent. marvin, determined to prove bill jones's simple sweetness, so that he would at least be understood by the world, went to his purpose again. "miss buckley, you know that mr. jones loved his wife, loved her devotedly, don't you?" he asked. townsend beamed in judicial humor upon marvin and laughed. "how can she know that? that's not an astute question for a lawyer to ask, and i don't sanction such methods." the question, however, had brought back a certain softness in millie's attitude. forgetting for the moment her dislike of marvin, she smiled, but to regret it and to efface the smile with a frown. his examination of millie had been difficult for marvin. into his mind had crowded old memories--happy walks along the cliff in san francisco, afternoons in golden gate park, and days in the office when he had dared to hope that some day she might learn to care. his heart leaped at the thought of moonlight strolls in the mountain woods and along the shores of the lake. those were days when she had interested herself in his plans and it all came back to him with desperate force as her unintentional smile awakened a poignant longing within him. a whirlwind of reminiscent emotion caught him in its teeth. "if it please your honor," he said, his eyes shining, "there is one thing that a woman does know, and that is whether a man loves her or not! she may believe a man to be a contemptible liar. she may say that she will hate and despise him always, but somehow down in her heart, if he really loves her, she knows it!" forgetting that there was such a place as a court-room, or that he was defending a divorce suit against bill jones, all he saw was the scorn in the eyes of the girl he loved. all he felt was that he was fighting single-handed against overwhelming odds for his own happiness. he leaned close to the witness-chair and looked into the girl's eyes, and she, seeing in his eyes the thing that she had tried to forget through all the long and sorrowful months, turned away from him, lest she should betray the longing that lurked in her own heart. but marvin's fervid plea flamed higher and higher and he went on: "if a woman is a man's ideal--if he would gladly lay down his life for her--she knows it and no matter what she says about him or what anybody else says about him the knowledge that he cares more for her than for anything else in the entire universe must count for something, and i contend, your honor--" he got no farther. the whole court-room was in roars of laughter and the sheriff's gavel was knocking loudly on his table. millie, unable to bear the situation any longer, was sobbing aloud. townsend arose quickly and, leaning over his desk, shook a warning finger at marvin. "hold on there!" he called, half in humor and half in anger. "are you trying a divorce case or are you making love?" the laughter in the court-room began again, but subsided, for there was something in the situation that struck deep into the hearts of the spectators and they knew that, grotesque as it might appear, shattered romance was stalking before them. marvin, himself once again, lowered his voice and pleaded, apologetically: "i beg your pardon, your honor. i did not mean to go so far." smiling sadly at millie, he added, "that is all, miss buckley." "i should say it is quite enough!" satirized the judge. "i think we had better get back to business." without looking at marvin, millie left the stand and took her seat beside her mother. thomas called everett hammond as the next witness. hammond, although outwardly nonchalant, was inwardly ill at ease. marvin's appearance in court followed so closely by bill's arrival was a contact that puzzled him. millie's hesitancy as a witness was another feature which he felt was not altogether in favor of the cause of the golden gate land company. during her testimony he had kept close watch of her mother, who several times wept audibly, burying her face in her handkerchief. he knew that he and thomas were playing a close game and that the slightest contradiction in his testimony might set mrs. jones to thinking in the wrong direction; especially with bill jones in the court-room, his eyes divided between the witness-stand and his wife. he assumed an air of bravado as he took the stand, glaring down at marvin, who was seated not far from him and who was smiling blandly upon him. preliminaries over, thomas launched into hammond's direct examination. "how long have you known mr. and mrs. jones?" he asked. "i met them first," hammond answered, pausing to think, "about seven months ago." "kindly tell the court how you happened to meet them." hammond, looking at the judge, answered: "i was asked to consider the purchase of a piece of property belonging to mrs. jones. i had some other business near by and stopped off at the joneses' place." "what was the other business?" was thomas's next question. he glanced at marvin, who met his look with straightforward, unswerving eyes, which turned thomas's attention to his witness. "the pacific railroad," said hammond, scowling at marvin, "was being robbed of timber in that locality and they sent me with the sheriff," he nodded toward blodgett, who flushed at the memory of that embarrassing incident, "to arrest the thief." "who was the thief?" there was triumph in thomas's voice as he asked the question. "his name is john marvin." "since that time, you have had dealings with mrs. jones, have you not?" "i have, and i have always found her to be an honest and splendid woman." hammond smiled over at her. "and mr. jones was a source of trouble and great embarrassment to her, wasn't he?" this time hammond made bill the goal of his insulting focus. "yes, sir, he was! he was shiftless and drinking, cruel and untruthful." with a malicious sneer he added, "why, to my knowledge, he's the biggest liar in the county!" all this time, without a word, bill had been sitting on the edge of his chair, accepting the testimony against him in the same indifferent manner in which he met most of life's difficulties. hammond's last remark proved to be the first telling blow at his equanimity. it was too much! this hammond person had called him, bill jones, a liar! in lightnin's code, shrunken and old though he was, there could be but one answer. calmly and quietly bill stood up and began to draw his faded blue coat from his bent old shoulders. chapter xvii every eye in the court-room was on bill. there was even a cheer, which the judge, half out of his chair, failed to reprove. townsend knew that bill was sore tried and had been brought to the point where his temper was not an impulse, but a last resort. his personal sympathies were with lightnin's fistic intent. however, the order of his court must be observed and he signed to blodgett, who raised his gavel. before it was necessary to bring it down upon the table marvin was quickly on his feet. he put a restraining hand on bill's arm and with the other hand drew the coat back into its place on the bent shoulders. in amused contempt, thomas continued his examination. "did you ever see mr. jones drunk?" he asked. "yes, sir, i never saw him any other way." hammond laughed lightly. "and you saw him abuse his wife?" "yes, sir." "you heard him tell lies?" "i did indeed. why, he broke the law by harboring a fugitive from justice in his house." thomas, having brought skilfully to the attention of the court the numerous charges that he hoped would result in securing mrs. jones a divorce, dismissed hammond from the stand. his experience as a witness had not been a joyous one to hammond, and he prepared to take quick action on his dismissal, but marvin had other intentions. standing between hammond and his way of escape, marvin exclaimed: "i am not through with the witness, mr. thomas! i also have some questions to ask him." with a scowl hammond threw himself back into the chair. "you say, mr. hammond, that you had business dealings with mrs. jones? do you mind telling the court what that business was?" "not at all," said hammond, defiantly. "i purchased three hundred and twenty-nine acres of land, including buildings, from mrs. jones for some clients of mine." "why didn't you consult mr. jones?" asked marvin. "because mrs. jones was the sole owner," sneered hammond. marvin looked him in the eye and said, slowly: "you had seen the records?" hammond grunted in acquiescence and marvin went on, each question bringing his victim nearer to an outburst of temper, which he hoped would lead to the self-contradictions he was sparring for. "now you testified that you first met mr. and mrs. jones about seven months ago. do you remember the exact date?" "no, i don't recall the exact date. perhaps you can," he emphasized, with a contemptuous twist of his black mustache. "it was the day i brought the sheriff there with a warrant for your arrest." marvin, undaunted by this attempt to slander him, took occasion to give a thrust at blodgett, who had been glaring at him all through the case. "possibly the sheriff will remember the date," he said, with a smile, while blodgett squirmed in his chair. "and you also met mr. thomas on that same day, did you not?" hammond made no reply. it was his desire to make the court think that he and thomas had never known each other previous to this transaction. he directed an imploring and searching squint toward thomas. receiving no help and seeing trouble in the gray pallor that had spread over thomas's face, he floundered on, "yes, i think that was the day i met raymond thomas--and miss buckley was there, too." "are you sure you had never met miss buckley or mr. thomas before? in his office in san francisco, for instance?" hammond hesitated. he had been in thomas's office several times while millie was employed there, and, though he had not met her, it was more than likely that she had seen him. the moment was dangerous. "no, i don't think i had ever met them before," he said, slowly. "all right," said marvin, nodding his head complacently and going closer to the witness-stand. "mr. hammond," he went on, "you have told the court that mr. jones was a lawbreaker." hammond fairly jumped to this question. "yes," he flared. "you were a fugitive from justice and jones was harboring you in his house." marvin smiled. "didn't you just testify that mrs. jones was the sole owner of that house? that being so, how could mr. jones harbor a fugitive in his house, if he didn't own a house?" caught in his own net, hammond twisted angrily in his chair, reddening as the spectators laughed and the sheriff pounded for order. "well, i don't suppose he could," he blurted. "then you will withdraw the statement that he broke the law?" "yes, i withdraw it," hammond drawled. bill got up smiling from his chair and went over to marvin, patting him proudly on the shoulder; but a look from the judge and a snarl from blodgett sent him back again. marvin continued. "now, up to the time you met mr. jones you did not know anything about him, did you?" hammond shrugged, drawing his mouth into an angry curve. "of course not, but it didn't take me long to find out about him." marvin gave the arm of the witness-chair two angry thumps. "i agree with you there, mr. hammond," he said. "eight hours after you first saw mr. jones he was driven from his house and you have never set eyes on him since. yet you have testified that he is a drunkard, a loafer, a liar, and a lawbreaker!" hammond, startled at the swiftness with which marvin had turned his testimony to profit, shrugged himself into a straight position. "well, it didn't take me one hour to see what jones was," he said. marvin nodded with half-closed eyes at hammond and smiled reassuringly at bill. "you also said he was cruel to his wife?" hammond nodded. "in what way?" hammond hesitated, moving uneasily from side to side. "well," he snarled, "his manner was insulting. he criticized the dress she was wearing before the other guests." this amused the court-room, which in turn had to be quieted. "and do you think the claim of intolerable cruelty is substantiated by a husband's criticizing his wife's dress?" asked marvin, smiling. thomas arose at once. "i object to that question," he said, his lips twitching and his face livid from disappointment and fear of what was coming next. "i should think you would!" marvin said, laughing. the objection sustained, he went at his witness again. "you testified that mr. jones was a drunkard and that you had never seen him sober?" "i never have," emphasized hammond, insolently. going to the table, marvin took bill by the arm, assisted him to his feet and guided him into the middle of the court-room until he stood before the witness-stand. then he asked of hammond, motioning with his head toward bill, "is he drunk now?" bill stood quietly, a quizzical smile half closing his eyes, half opening his mouth. hammond, infuriated, swallowed in order to control himself, and then blurted with a disgusted shrug of his shoulders, "i don't know." having fulfilled marvin's intention, bill took his seat again and the cross-examination was resumed. "if you don't know whether he is drunk or not now, how did you know the other time when you saw him?" hammond gazed fiercely into space, replying, finally, "oh, it was plain enough then!" seeing that hammond was ruffled and that he was also confused, marvin felt that the time was now right to bring forth by a few swift, well-put questions the full purpose of hammond and thomas in bringing about the divorce between bill and mrs. jones. "it was not possible for you to get a good title to the property unless mr. jones signed the deed?" he asked. at once thomas was on his feet, objecting. on marvin's explanation that the complaint charged intoxication and that his question had a direct bearing on that point, the judge overruled the objection and thomas took his seat again. not discerning the trap that marvin had set for him, hammond turned to the judge and said, in more even tones: "i don't mind answering in the least. the property belonged entirely to mrs. jones, but the husband's signature was wanted on the deed." "and he refused to sign it?" marvin's question came back. "yes," hammond sneered, "after you told him not to." marvin once more challenged hammond's soul with the searchlight of his own straightforward eye. "was he drunk then?" he asked. hammond paused, then shrugged his shoulders. "yes, i think he was." "i am not asking you what you think," marvin remarked. "you said under oath that you never saw him sober. was he drunk when he refused to sign that deed?" "yes, he was!" hammond reiterated, quickly. "and you tried to induce him to sign such an important document as that when he was drunk?" marvin asked the question in a slow, concise tone and looked up at the judge to gather the impression made by hammond's evident duplicity. the deep water into which hammond had walked was making itself felt and he tried to wade toward shore. "i never tried to get him to sign! he didn't sign it!" he snapped. "no, he wasn't drunk enough for that! he wasn't drunk at all. he was as sober as he is at this moment!" "you mean to call me a liar?" hammond, his red neck swelling over the top of his collar, and his small, close-together black eyes flashing angrily, got up and made a threatening move toward his questioner. marvin, although much smaller, did not flinch. "no, i mean to _prove_ it," he answered. judge townsend made a quieting gesture to hammond, who sat down in the witness-chair again as marvin went on with his rapid-fire. "now you called mr. jones a liar, didn't you?" "yes," was hammond's gruff reply. "and everybody who knows him says the same thing!" "oh," said marvin, with a shake of his head. "so you testified that he was a liar because you heard others say so?" "no," jerked hammond, "he lied to me." "what did he tell you that was untrue?" "everything," said hammond. "can you repeat one lie that mr. jones told you?" "oh, he told me so many," was the impatient reply, "i can't recall them. oh yes," after a pause, "he said he drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter." bill, who was facing him, and who had not taken his eyes from him, burst into a loud laugh, the whole court-room, even to the judge, following suit, while marvin raised his voice above the uproar to ask, "now, how do you know that is a lie?" "why, i know the thing is impossible!" hammond said, contemptuously. "why?" "it's all nonsense," sneered hammond, with an angry gesture. "that is precisely what it is, mr. hammond, and that is just what mr. jones meant it to be! what else did he say?" "what's the difference?" asked hammond. "you admit it's all nonsense." "not all, mr. hammond." marvin raised his voice and he looked searchingly at the judge. "he said at least one thing that was not nonsense. he said to his wife, 'mother, these two men are trying to rob you.' do you remember that, mr. hammond? you were all there. do you remember that he said you and mr. thomas were trying to rob mrs. jones?" in order to make his question more impressive, marvin nodded at hammond and pointed to mr. thomas, and then directed a glance toward mrs. jones. her hands were still folded in her lap and her head bent toward them. everett hammond, his face purple with rage, shouted at marvin, "i don't propose to sit here and be insulted by a criminal like you!" thomas, too, had risen and come forward. standing on the other side of marvin and looking down upon him, he exclaimed, with quivering, blue lips: "this is insufferable, your honor! this gentleman has come here to give disinterested testimony, as a favor, and he is subjected to the insults--" judge townsend interrupted him calmly: "i think the defense has brought out quite clearly that this witness's testimony is not disinterested. this divorce has got to be obtained to give him a deed to the jones property, hasn't it?" thomas grew conciliatory, endeavoring to impress upon the judge that the property sale had nothing to do, at all, with the testimony of hammond. "well, i wouldn't call him exactly disinterested," responded townsend, with a wise glance. "nevertheless, your honor, i protest against this man's insulting manner," thomas shouted. "how it is possible for such a person, a person who even now ought to be serving a jail sentence, to be admitted to the bar, i can't see!" he backed to his chair and sat down, taking up a book and slamming it back on the table. until now marvin had been complete master of the situation, but thomas's last words drove the blood from his face and he grew troubled as he looked up at the judge and then away and out through the window into space. there had been something on his mind, but he had been able to keep it in the background because of bill's predicament. and now it came to the surface again. townsend studied marvin intently for several moments and then he asked, quietly, "you are an attorney in good standing, are you not?" at the judge's question, thomas got up and looked down upon marvin, in insolent inquiry. marvin did not answer at once; then he walked over to the judge's bench and with his head bowed said, "no, your honor, i am not." "do you mean to say that you are not a member of the bar?" there was surprise and injured dignity and at the same time a strong savor of pity in lem townsend's voice. thomas and hammond exchanged smiles of triumph, the former advancing to a place by marvin's side in front of the judge. the horror in millie's face told marvin that her last shred of consideration for him had been torn away. bill alone held faith, smiling encouragement at the lad who had been his only friend when his hour was at its worst. with eyes on the ground, slowly, and in low voice, marvin explained, "no, i have never been admitted to the bar, your honor. but mr. jones had taken a long journey from the soldiers' home, on his own account and at his own expense, to testify in my case. when, without warning, this action for divorce was called, i knew it was a conspiracy." the injustice accorded bill drew marvin from himself again. pointing at hammond and thomas, he raised his voice. "i knew that these two conspirators--" thomas interrupted him by jumping from his seat and making a menace with his right arm. "sit down, mr. thomas," townsend commanded. "i will attend to this. you are making a very serious charge, mr. marvin, and if you believe you can substantiate it you will find the courts open to you. in the mean time you must be aware that you had no right whatever to undertake the trial of this case under the guise of being an attorney. you are guilty of a reprehensible act, and if i did not believe there were mitigating circumstances i would punish you most severely for contempt of court." he ordered the stenographer to strike out all of the cross-examination. "mr. thomas," he asked, "have you finished with your witness?" "if the cross-examination is to be stricken out, i will not take up the court's time with any redirect testimony. we have had enough," thomas said. hammond got up and shook himself as if he were rid of a heavy burden; but as he walked from the stand marvin made one more plea. "one moment, please, your honor," he asked. "before the witness is excused--" townsend interrupted him. "you have no standing in this court, young man. if you wish to remain, you may take a seat on the visitors' bench," and he pointed to a vacant seat just outside of the railing. if there was one person in the court-room who was pleased at that moment, it was blodgett. he arose, caressing his mustache, and opened the gate. "this way," he called out, giving an overbearing wave of his hand. as he came to the gate, marvin stopped. he was thinking hard. it did not seem right that bill should be left alone to fight his way with those two keen schemers. he knew that lem townsend would look after lightnin' in so far as he could justifiably do so, but the figure of the lonely old man, smiling complacently in the midst of his trouble, touched marvin deeply, and he delved into his mind in an effort to find a way to help him. then, unexpectedly, lightnin' solved the problem. getting to his feet, he stood quietly before the bench, looking up at townsend with an odd excitement in his eyes. "your honor," he asked, in his usual drawl, "a defendant has the right to plead his own case, ain't he?" "yes, he has," townsend replied, with a nod. "well," said bill, "i guess i'll plead this case myself!" marvin hesitated. he had thought of this himself, of course, but had dismissed the idea, not feeling quite sure as to the advisability of it. now, however, the deed was done. quickly he put an arm over bill's shoulder and led him beside the witness-stand, where hammond still sat. bill looked up at townsend and smiled. "it's all right, judge," he remarked, with his humorous twinkle. "i was a lawyer once!" chapter xviii the court-room fairly seethed with interest. the crowd was smiling, amused; but, under the surface smile, every face reflected a strong sympathy for the quaint old figure standing there, about to fight his own battle. as bill turned to conduct his case, blodgett took marvin by the arm. "you come out here!" he commanded, roughly. marvin pulled his arm free and appealed to the judge. "i am a witness for the defense, your honor," he said. "then you may remain where you are," replied townsend, with a nod. he looked at lightnin'. "examine your witness," he directed. for a moment lightnin' stood in front of the frowning man in the chair and silently inspected him with humorous interest, from the top of his sleek, pomaded head to the gleaming toes of his immaculate boots. "looks kinder all polished up, don't he?" bill remarked. the noise of the general laughter and the pounding of the sheriff's gavel seemed to distract townsend's attention; anyway, he uttered no objection when marvin slipped from his place among the witnesses and dropped into his former chair directly behind bill. looking up at townsend, lightnin' resumed: "the things marvin asked him were all right, your honor," he said. then, with a terse but rather humorous shrug, he addressed hammond, "answer 'em!" "you mean the testimony he has already given will stand?" asked the judge. "i got a right to ask 'em again, 'ain't i?" questioned bill. townsend nodded. hammond could much better stand the young and impatient manner of john marvin than he could the wise humor of bill. he grew red and shifted in his chair angrily, asking the judge: "do i have to go all over that, your honor?" "would your replies be the same?" townsend's eyes as well as his question begged hammond for the answer and he was not comfortable. but there was nothing else for him to do, and after a moment's hesitation, in which he lowered his lids to avoid the judge's scrutiny, he replied: "certainly." the cross-examination reinstated, hammond for the fourth time started to leave the stand. bill held up his hand and snapped in a determined tone, but with a smile playing among the wrinkles of his face: "hold on! i got some more for you!" his victim threw himself back into the chair with a shrug and a sneer as he gave his head an irate shake. "mr. hammond," bill went on, "when you went after mr. marvin with the sheriff, what was the charge against him?" hammond answered, with a ready enthusiasm, "trespassing on the property of the pacific railroad company." bill nodded his head and said: "uh, ha." he assumed an air of wisdom and raised his voice to the pitch that it seldom knew, but to have the floor again after so many months was having its effect upon him and he was taking the task in the same way and with the same glee as if it were the opportunity for telling a good story. "if he was on their property," he began--then he seemed to forget what it was he was going to ask. he turned to marvin in whispered conference. the unusual character of his procedure did not affect lemuel townsend, who was anxious to give the old man his full chance. his way evidently made clearer by marvin's advice, bill sauntered slowly back to hammond. "if he was on the railroad's property, what did you have to do with it?" he asked. "oh, that's easy enough!" said hammond, nonchalantly crossing one leg over the other. "i went at the request of the president of the road." bill grinned. "you sold the railroad the land he was trespassing on, didn't you?" thomas broke in with an endeavor to show that the question was irrelevant, but townsend, knowing bill's natural acumen, felt that the question did have some real connection with the case. "mr. thomas," he said, "you and your witness have been accused of conspiracy. if i were you, i would allow him to answer mr. jones." thomas knew that he was sparring for his life and he didn't intend to let the question get by if he could help it, so he tried another subterfuge. "your honor," he deplored, his voice hoarse with anger, "i don't propose to defend the witness and myself from such a ridiculous charge at this time. we are not on trial. this is a divorce action." he glared at marvin, pulling his cuffs angrily, in a way that he had, down over his wrists. but the judge's opinion was unchanged. "if there is any conspiracy about this action, the court wants to know it. answer the question." with an insulting drawl, hammond did as he was bid. "i purchased the property for the railroad, acting as their agent." "who did you buy it from?" bill snapped. "mr. thomas." "when did you buy it?" asked bill. "about ten months ago." bill's shoulders straightened at hammond's reply and he drew himself together with a quick shrug, taking a swift step forward and peering into hammond's face. "that was three months before you bought mother's place?" he asked. "yes," jerked hammond, sulkily. "then, why did you say you had never met him until you met him at the hotel?" hammond started, alarm in the quick glance that traveled from bill to raymond thomas. he realized he had overstepped himself. thinking the better plan would be to brave it out, he bellowed: "because i never did!" bill smiled at him and said, in his slow, gentle monotone: "you bought all that land of him and never saw him about it?" he looked up at the judge and laughed. "and he called _me_ a liar!" hammond got up, but bill detained him. "don't go away," he admonished, with a jaunty toss of his head. "we got some more for you, 'ain't we?" and he looked at marvin, who smiled in approval. "i've got a good one for him!" bill went on. "you know the railroad company leased the waterfall on mother's place and put a power-plant there?" "i believe they have," said hammond, impatiently. "and you know that the railroad pays you more for that lease in a month than you agreed to give mother in a year?" it was a surprise to hammond, and evidently to marvin, too, that bill should know anything of the details of either the lease of the railroad company or of what payment had been promised to mrs. jones. a great light flashed on marvin--obviously bill jones had not been altogether wasting his time during his prolonged disappearance! hammond, beginning to suspect that bill knew more than he had been given credit for, decided that ignorance was the best stand to take. "how should i know the petty details of the railroad's lease?" he said. "how should _you_ know?" echoed bill, his voice raised, unwontedly clear and ringing. "didn't the railroad lease the waterfall from a bum concern called the golden gate land company? didn't you, actin' for the golden gate company, put through the deal? don't you know that the golden gate land company is controlled by yourself and raymond thomas--ain't you and thomas the whole works o' that--" thomas was on his feet with an objection, but the judge had no opportunity to overrule it, for bill had something to say and he was going to say it. he lifted his voice above that of thomas, calling out and waving his arms violently in an excitement he had never known before. "and all your stocks in the name of rummies?" his eyes twinkled as marvin came up to him and whispered. again waving his arms, bill shouted: "dummies, i mean--dummies!" thomas had been tried to the point of despair. there was a lump in his throat as he beseeched the judge: "i protest against this!" the judge interrupted him. "i am beginning to believe in this plot story." "then let him go on," was bill's agreeable reply. hammond jumped up out of his chair and descended from the witness-stand. "your honor," he said, in an angry tone, "i absolutely refuse to submit to this any longer--to stand here and be made to look like a criminal!" bill could not withstand the chance for another quip and he smiled at his antagonist. "well, you look natural," he remarked. "do you expect me to stand for this?" hammond stormed. "sit down, if you want to," said bill, restored to his old nonchalance. "i'm through with you," and he turned his back on hammond and went over to marvin. thomas, keyed to a high pitch, knew that something must be done at once, for he saw that not only the jones case was crumbling, but he sensed trouble ahead in his afternoon's venture, so he resorted to everett hammond's tactics of placing the matter in an absurd light. "all this ridiculous testimony," he argued, "has no possible connection with the case in point, but i propose to prove that all the accusations against the witness and myself are not only groundless but absolutely malicious, and i shall do this at the first opportunity." unable to stand the situation any longer, he went back and took his seat. marvin had sat quiet all through this controversy. now he forgot the judge's admonition as to his place in the case. he got up, stating to the judge: "your honor, mr. thomas will have that opportunity at two o'clock this afternoon, when the pacific railroad's action against me comes before the court. at that time i will submit documentary proof that these men control the golden gate land company and have been buying up all the land wanted by the pacific railroad. i will submit to the court twenty cases where the golden gate land company has swindled innocent farmers out of their property and paid them with worthless stock. i will prove to the court--" "just a moment, mr. marvin," townsend stopped him. "it will be most interesting for you to prove your statements at two o'clock; but in the mean time i must warn you again that you are not a party to this divorce action and have no standing as an attorney in this court." marvin bowed to the ruling and retired quietly to his seat. he stared calmly at thomas, seeming to have no fear that he had prematurely revealed his own case and that his opponents might have an opportunity to take advantage of his statements. "if the defense wishes you for a witness, mr. marvin," said townsend, "you may be sworn." bill was on his feet again and, turning to the judge, said: "i don't need no witness! i didn't know nothing about it at all until i got here, but i've been thinking it over ever since and i have made up my mind that mother's right. if mother can prove them things they read," and he nodded toward the clerk, "she could get a divorce, couldn't she?" townsend replied in the affirmative. bill smiled sadly and, glancing at mrs. jones, who was crying as if her heart would break, he went on, "well, i can prove them for her." "you can prove them?" townsend asked, in surprise. "oh yes," said bill, with a flash of humor. "i used to be a judge." he stood still in the middle of the floor and looked into space for a moment. he was a dejected figure as the humor that was his habit left him and he stood there deserted by all but marvin. but it was not his way to remain an object of pity, either to himself or to anybody else, and with a slight shrug he straightened and looked the judge in the eye. placing his hand in front of him, he tolled off the first count on the thumb of his right hand. "now, first it said," he began didactically, "that i got drunk," and he paused and thought about it, adding, with a nod, "well, i can prove that! and then it said i was cruel to mother." he took a step forward and bent his shoulders a bit, as if he would look under the brim of his wife's hat and search her soul for the answer to his plea. "well, i can--no, i can't prove that, 'cause it ain't true, judge, an' i don't believe mother ever said it." a dramatic hush fell in the court-room. it was suddenly, pathetically clear to marvin and to many others that, despite his unexpected knowledge on other counts, bill did not fathom the real reason behind his wife's action for divorce. plainly he thought she really wanted a divorce, and, in lightnin's sensitive code, if mother wanted it she should have it. "an' then it said that i failed to provide," he went on, while the court-room breathed softly, feeling the tug at the old man's heartstrings. "well, that what's on my mind, judge. i have failed. i never thought anything about it before, and i don't see any chance of providing, now that i do think about it. mother an' millie could get along better without me. so you see, mother should get a divorce, judge--" and here bill for the first time in his life broke down. tears came into his eyes and he swallowed to keep them back. he hesitated and, with a last brave effort, he dashed in to complete his testimony against himself. "i'm all right, judge. i can go back to the home and stay there until"--he hesitated--"until--" and turning quickly away, "that's all, judge." before he could get to his seat mrs. jones had jumped up from hers and was standing before the judge's desk, wiping the tears from her eyes and sobbing loudly. "no, please, judge, don't give me a divorce! i don't want one, judge! i can take care of bill in our old age. they were just telling me lies, judge, and i was a fool not to have seen through it!" tears were in townsend's eyes; also, margaret davis was sniffing audibly, and the spectators in the court-room were deeply touched. thomas and hammond gave one glance at each other and groaned, while mrs. jones rushed to bill and held one of his hands in both of hers, pleading: "bill, i have done you a wrong--a great wrong, and i cannot blame you if you never look at me again, but i didn't mean to, bill, i didn't mean to! and if you will forgive me and take me back i will try all my life to make up for it! will you?" bill took her hands in his and patted them. his eyes were moist, and they blinked for a moment; then a slow, happy grin spread over his stubbled face. "that's all right, mother," he said, easily. "say, did you ever get the six dollars i sent you?" chapter xix late that afternoon john marvin and bill jones came out of the reno court-house together and sauntered down the street. there was a gleam of triumph in marvin's eyes and a deep satisfaction in his manner. lightnin's grin was equally expressive. "you better come right back to calivada with me, john!" he urged. the triumph left marvin's eyes and was replaced by a troubled expression. "no, bill," he said, quietly, "i don't think it is time for me to go there yet. mother and millie may still feel that my part in the whole scheme was not as kindly as it might have been, so i'll just drive over to my cabin and maybe later, perhaps to-morrow morning, come over and join you for a visit of an hour or two. it's a long time, old chap," he said, as he patted bill on the shoulder, "since you have been home, and i think it is about time you were running along." bill knew what was deterring him. tactfully he said nothing, but smiled. they walked along in silence for a block or two, until in a jeweler's window bill saw something that appealed to his imagination. he put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it before it touched bottom, realizing that his last dime had gone for a cup of coffee for himself and zeb at a lunch-counter early that morning. zeb was waiting for him at the g. a. r. hall up the street a ways, but he had a duty to perform and it seemed to him that that duty could best be done by the help of the object in the jeweler's window. "john, will you lend me two dollars?" he asked. "at your old tricks, lightnin'? you bet i can lend you two dollars! you sure that's all you want?" marvin laughed, taking the money from his pocket. "plenty," was bill's brief reply, pocketing the two dollars. they walked to the corner of the street, where they said good-by to each other. when bill was satisfied that marvin's back was well turned he sauntered into the jewelry-shop and up to the counter, where he purchased a sterling-silver ring, washed in gold, with a bright, shining piece of glass set in it. the clerk in the store smiled at the old man as he pocketed the monstrosity and went happily out of the store. how to get to calivada from reno had not entered his mind. it was a good seventy-five miles, but he knew that some way or other he would get home that night. with his mind made up to that issue, he wandered up the street and joined zeb, who had been waiting for him all afternoon. the two old men, arm in arm, stood on the street corner and looked about. and just then rodney harper and his wife, who were interested spectators in the court-room during the afternoon trial, turned the corner in their machine and stopped to say a good word to bill. "what you going to do, lightnin'?" asked harper, while his wife beamed at the two odd old souls. "what _you_ going to do?" was bill's evasive answer. "why, we are motoring back to calivada, where we have a room at the hotel," said mrs. harper. "well, then, i guess," said bill, putting his foot on the step of the automobile, "that's just what me and zeb is goin' to do." the harpers laughed and looked at each other. they were both agreed. bill and zeb climbed in and made a strange couple on the back seat of the car as it whirled through the streets of reno and on up into the hills. in the mean time the hotel at calivada, true to its nature, was the scene of a new sensation. after court that afternoon margaret davis and judge townsend, leaving mrs. jones and millie to take the train home, went their own way. about eight o'clock that evening they arrived at the hotel, going to the desk where the sleek and dapper new clerk awaited them and came forward to welcome them. "hello, mrs. davis!" he said, extending his hand. "good evening," margaret replied, giggling and looking coyly back at the judge. "will you give me my key, mr. peters?" she asked. "sure," he said, taking the key from the rack and handing it to her with a smirk. "i didn't expect you back to-night." he smiled. "well, i wasn't expecting it myself." the annoyance evidenced by the frown on lemuel townsend's face immediately changed her tone. with a "thank you" she turned to go, but the clerk had other plans. "this has been a wonderful day, mrs. davis," he said, as he cast languishing glances at her. townsend was not at all pleased with the attention peters was showing her and he turned, asking, unctuously, "see here, have you got a suite?" peters stepped back and looked in surprise from one to the other. "got what?" "got a--?" repeated townsend, but his question was broken into by margaret, who exclaimed: "oh, mr. peters, we would like to see miss buckley and mrs. jones." "all right," he said; "i will go up and tell them you are here," and he disappeared up the nevada stairs. "but, young man," townsend was insisting as he put his foot on the first stair, "i want to get a--" he reiterated, but margaret again placed a restraining hand on his arm. "wait until he comes down," she simpered. as the clerk disappeared behind the portiã¨res at the top of the stairs, townsend turned to margaret, putting his arm about her waist. "what's the matter, dear? don't you want the clerk to know we are married?" he asked, in injured tones. "i didn't want you to tell him right before me." he looked into her eyes. "you are not ashamed of it, are you?" "no," she drawled, in her usual giggle, "but it is embarrassing to leave here this morning to get rid of number one and come back this evening with number two." townsend started, removing his arm from her waist. putting it back, she pouted, "you are not angry, are you, dear?" indulgently, but not enthusiastically, he answered, "it is a little jarring to be referred to as number two." "oh, i didn't mean that!" she exclaimed, leaning coquettishly on his shoulder. "but i can't bear to have every one staring at us." "but this isn't a secret marriage, maggie," said the judge. at this margaret drew herself away from him, horror in her opened mouth and widening eyes. "oh, don't say that!" she protested. "my name is margaret," adding, sweetly, "i don't mind if they find out about it after we are gone, dear, but let's try to keep them from finding it out to-night." "all right, my darling, just as you say," and he drew her to him again. peters reappeared at the stairs. "mrs. jones will be down in a minute," he announced, and was going to say more, but the sight of margaret locked close in lemuel townsend's dignified arms permitted him no further expression than a prolonged and astonished "oh!" which wrought a quick parting of the loving couple, while margaret, blushing furiously, hastened to explain: "judge townsend is my husband, mr. peters. we were married this afternoon." peters had been having much of his own way since mrs. jones and millie had retired from the actual management of the hotel, and his authority ran away with him at times, thrusting him into situations in which his assumption brought him quick rebuke. this was one of them. obsequiously and with an easy laugh he extended a congratulatory hand to townsend, while he remarked, "quick work, eh, judge?" townsend stood back and withered peters with a glance that did its full duty from head to foot. margaret, kind-hearted, and seeing peters's embarrassment, hastened to be friendly. "we don't want you to say a word about it to anybody!" "oh, i can keep a secret. my congratulations. i hope this one turns out better than the other one did," peters effused. margaret sighed. the judge shuddered. it was the fourth time since they were married that he had been reminded that he was number two. "if you don't mind," he ordered, severely, "we won't discuss that question." margaret, anxious to prevent further repartee on the subject, went up-stairs, calling back, "when mrs. jones comes down, will you tell her i will be back in five minutes?" when she had disappeared townsend ordered peters to get up a special supper for four, suggesting that the champagne he had brought with him, and which was in the basket on the floor, be put on ice. peters disappeared to do his duty, but townsend followed close behind him, desirous of directing the spreading of a good wedding supper for mrs. townsend, mrs. jones, and millie. he had been gone but a few minutes when mrs. jones came down the stairs. she looked around, expecting to find margaret davis awaiting her. not seeing her, she returned to the floor above, when mr. and mrs. harper came bursting in. "how do you do? don't you remember us?" harper called out, as he held forth a welcoming hand. "surely!" cried mrs. jones. she came quickly down the stairs and shook hands with harper, kissing his pretty wife. "we just brought your husband and a friend of his over from reno," said harper. "oh, where are they?" mrs. jones asked, excitedly. she had been waiting all afternoon for bill and was beginning to fear lest he had decided not to return home. "oh, bill's out there telling his experiences as a lawyer," harper laughed, and mrs. jones joined him, happy to know that bill was back, the same lovable old boaster as before. margaret townsend, hearing the voices, hurried to join the group, throwing her arms wildly around mrs. jones's neck and giggling like a school-girl. "who do you think drove me over?" she asked mrs. jones, answering herself. "judge townsend." "my, but that was romantic!" exclaimed mrs. jones. "why, what do you know about it?" margaret simpered, putting mrs. jones from her and looking into her eyes. the dining-room door opened and townsend burst in, going to his wife and exercising his new proprietorship by putting his arm about her. she drew away, blushing, and hastened to introduce the harpers. townsend acknowledged the introduction; then he turned to mrs. jones. "i'm very glad to see you under more pleasant circumstances, mother," he said. "thank you, lem!" she answered, tears gathering in her eyes. "oh, what a mean fool i was! but, lem, i 'ain't heard a word yet about how that fine young man made out--i'm just dyin' to know if john marvin won his case!" "oh, you really haven't heard?" exclaimed margaret. "i should say he certainly did win his case, my dear!" "thomas and hammond were lucky to keep out of jail," said townsend. "they gave up this place without a murmur." "what?" mrs. jones gasped. "surely you know that the place is yours again?" harper asked, while they all nodded eager confirmation. "ours again?" mrs. jones repeated, excitedly. "absolutely, my dear!" margaret hastened to explain. "and the judge and i were married this afternoon!" irrespective of mrs. jones's bewildered gasp, margaret rushed on: "and, mother, you are to get all the money the railroad pays for the waterfall, and it's an awful lot! the golden gate land company is a fake concern! to keep out of jail, where they belong, those two sharpers are making restitution at once to mr. marvin and to everybody else they can! and now you're going to have supper with us, mother! mr. and mrs. harper are going to join us--and you, too, millie dear," she added, turning to the girl, who had joined the group and stood there listening, her cheeks flushed with a conflict of emotions. "oh!" millie gasped. "oh--then what--" what millie was going to say was lost in a general chorus of delighted exclamations. "oh, lem," cried mrs. jones, "won't you let me do the cooking? i'm just dyin' to get back into that kitchen again!" "well, i know what your cooking is like, mother," replied townsend, smiling; "and if you really want to go out there and cook that supper, i say it would be a crime to stop you!" "let's all help!" exclaimed little mrs. harper, who looked as if she would not have the faintest idea what to do in a kitchen. "fine!" echoed her amused husband. "come on, folks!" mrs. jones led the way, and they all went out through the dining-room and into the kitchen, bent on making a home of the place for the first time since the new regime went into effect. chapter xx the dapper peters was left alone at his desk, but not for long. in a few minutes the street door opened and bill jones, with a certain air about him--one might even say with a certain flourish in his manner--sauntered in. he ambled up to the desk. "who might you be?" he asked, casually, his half-shut eyes making an inventory of peters. "i'm the manager!" peters snapped. "no, you ain't," said bill, grinning. "what's the reason i ain't?" inquired peters. "because you're fired," said bill, calmly, turning his back and putting his hands in his pockets. he gazed slowly around from floor to ceiling, and then at the walls. peters came from behind the desk and stood close to him. "say, mrs. jones pulled something like that on me," he said, "but i ain't taking no orders from you people! i take my orders from mr. hammond!" "is that so?" asked bill, nonchalantly. drawing a letter from his pocket, he handed it to the clerk. "well, here they are!" he said. peters opened the letter and read it. "well, if i'm fired," he sighed, "i suppose i can go back to my old job." a stealthy foot on the floor made bill turn around to greet zeb, who had put his head in the door. "got a segar for me, bill?" zeb whispered. bill went over to the drawer in the california desk, where he knew there was a box of cigars. he took one, extending it to zeb. but the latter, looking toward the dining-room, saw millie coming, and in spite of the fact that he wanted that cigar as desperately as he had ever wanted anything, force of habit sent him scuttling out of the room as he warned bill, hoarsely, "look out!" bill called him back. "what you 'fraid of? it's only millie." "well," said zeb, intrepid enough to grab the cigar, but not brave enough to stay, "i'll see you to-morrow, when the women-folks is working. it's safer then." millie rushed over and took bill in her arms, kissing him again and again, while bill, unused to such demonstration, tried to disengage himself. "did you just get here, daddy?" she asked, gazing fondly at him. "yes," was his reply, as he sat down in the chair in front of the table. "have you seen mother?" she asked, standing very close to him. bill, remembering the old days when his return home meant a searching examination as to soberness, grinned, and then he breathed deeply toward her. "i 'ain't had a drink in a month," he informed her. she laughed and was silent for a moment. looking down at the floor, she asked, "did you come alone, daddy?" "yes," he answered, slowly scrutinizing her. "why didn't you speak to john before you left the court to-day?" he asked, after a moment in which he gazed at her intently. tears came into her eyes and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "i just couldn't, daddy, that was all." bill placed a reassuring hand on her hair. "well, it's all right. i fixed it for you," he said, slowly. millie stepped back aghast, blushing violently. "you did _what_?" but bill was unabashed. "i got him to promise he would come over here and see you." bill had done no such thing, but the one flaw to a perfect happiness for him was the thought that john marvin and millie might not make up. "you asked him to come over and see me?" millie asked, in dismay. "no," said bill, with a quiet grin; "i just told him you were crazy to see him. you would have lost him if it hadn't been for me. every girl in reno is crazy about john, but i got him so he's willing to marry you." "oh, daddy, i don't know what i am going to do with you!" millie was almost in tears and leaned dejectedly on a shoulder indifferent through habit and not will. "you don't mean to say you asked john marvin to marry me?" she pouted. "sure i did," said bill, untouched by any thought of having done what was not right. "it was a tough job after the way you treated him," he admonished, dropping into the chair and tipping it back while he clasped his hands behind his head and whistled. "i told him," he went on, "that you had made a fool of yourself, but that most women did that now and then, and not to mind it. after he's been married awhile he'll get used to it. i asked him, if you would own up that you were wrong like mother did, would he give you another chance?" bill looked up at her, adding, complacently, "'ain't i done a good piece of business?" millie gave one shriek and ran up the stairs. bill, unmoved by any sense of his own iniquity, followed her to the foot of the staircase, calling after her, "now, if you beg his pardon when he comes--" she stopped at the top step and looked back. "beg his pardon!" she exclaimed, defiantly. "i don't even intend to _see_ him when he comes!" bill held out one hand toward her in a deprecating gesture. "oh, come along down-stairs again." taking a little square box from his pocket, he opened it and held it up to view, saying, "if you don't see him, what is he going to do with this?" "what is it?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her anger as she came slowly back down the stairs. bill showed her his prize in its nest of bright purple velvet. "he got it for you. he sent me out to buy it while he was in court!" mildred looked at the thing, and with one long "oh!" of disgust she turned and went through the door into the dining-room. alone once more, bill walked slowly, going to the desk and looking at the register. then he went back of the desk, examining familiar objects. suddenly his eyes rested on the electric-light switchboard. he played with the lights for several seconds, turning them out finally. with a start he grunted, "now i broke 'em." pushing the button again, the lights came on, revealing mrs. jones, who had tiptoed in from the dining-room when millie told her bill was there. when he saw her he came out from behind the desk and she hurried toward him with outstretched arms. "are you all right, bill?" she asked, tenderly. and bill, smiling, leaned over her and breathed so that she could see that he was all right. but she had been through so much lately and where bill was concerned there was more tenderness than humor in her attitude. "aren't you all tired out, dear?" she asked. bill grinned sheepishly. it was a long time since his wife had shown such affection for him. "no," was his quick reply. but her conscience bade her make sure that he was comfortable. she drew a big arm-chair from the corner and placed it in the center of the room, taking a pillow from the sofa and putting it on the back of the chair. gently she sat bill down in it. he didn't know what to make of it all and he looked up at her, asking, with a chuckle: "what's the matter, mother, you sick?" she laughed. "no, bill, i ain't sick. i'm just thinkin'." bill looked straight ahead of him. she took her rocking-chair and placed it next to him. clasping one of his hands, she leaned forward. "you've forgiven me, 'ain't you, bill?" "yep," chirped bill, without so much as a glance. her attempt to make love to bill was not meeting with the success she had hoped, but she was bound to make up to him for all the sorrow of the last few months, and so she did not notice his apparent indifference. "just think," she exclaimed, enthusiastically, "the place is ours again!" "you mean it's yours again," said bill, slowly. "no," she shook her head emphatically. "_ours_, after this, bill." "all right," bill replied, again not moving. mrs. jones, seeing that her attempts to be affectionate were falling upon unfertile ground, dropped his hand. "how did mr. marvin manage to get it away from them?" she asked. for the first time bill took interest. "i fixed it," he said, sitting up straight in his chair. "do you want me to tell you how much money you get out of the waterfall?" "yes, bill. but please say _we_ get it." "you mean i get half of it?" mrs. jones nodded. "and you're going to keep it for me?" he went on. she smiled at him and nodded again. "how did you know about my getting the place back?" he asked. "lem townsend told me," she informed him. "did you know that he and mrs. davis were married to-day?" bill didn't know it, but he didn't intend that his wife should know this. playing up to form, he smiled indulgently upon her as he stated, glibly, "yes, i fixed it!" they smiled wisely upon each other and mrs. jones once again took her husband's hand. "we won't have any more divorce people here, will we, bill?" "then you will have to close up," was his answer. "i want to close up, bill." her voice was full of deep tenderness. "i want to have a home again." "all right," bill said, getting up from the chair. display of affection always embarrassed him. his attitude amused and at the same time hurt mrs. jones, so she changed her subject to one that she felt might interest him. "we are all going to have some supper soon, bill. i have been cooking it," she said. bill patted her tenderly on the hand. "mother, i found out one thing when i was at the home. i found that you were a good cook." she smiled happily, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. bill looked at her a moment in surprise; then he laughed. a shadow crossed her face and she gazed into his eyes. "you don't mind my doing that, do you, bill?" she asked. there was a pause for a moment. bill shifted awkwardly from side to side as he stood up. "no, i guess i don't," he said. mrs. jones walked toward the dining-room, pausing half-way across the room. "bill," she said, glancing down at the floor, "would you kiss me?" bill gaped at her in surprise. "yes," he said, slowly walking to her. mrs. jones saw his hesitation, and, realizing the humor of the situation, laughed heartily. "oh, never mind, bill! you can kiss me later." "now, mother, i was going to." he grinned and followed her to the door, but she was through it before he could reach her. he stood still and was about to reopen the door when marvin burst in, out of breath, but a new radiance in his eyes. "why, john," bill remarked, "i thought you were going over to the cabin!" "well, i was," said marvin. "but i heard about lem and mrs. davis being married, and i knew that everybody would be over there having a good time. i didn't mean to be out of it. where's your wife?" "oh, she's all right. she's cooking supper," bill replied. marvin hesitated a moment. he went to a window and looked out; then he came back, putting his arm through bill's. "is millie--?" he could get no farther, for bill interrupted him. "oh yes, she's waiting for you. she's afraid you're not going to forgive her." "well, i think i can convince her of my forgiveness," said marvin. delving into his pocket bill brought forth the ring. "when you see her just give her this," he said. marvin smiled. "now i know why you borrowed that two dollars this afternoon!" "sure! you can find her. she's around some place. after you give it to her come in to the party." "what party?" bill nodded toward the dining-room door. "lem and his wife are giving a party and we want you to come. but you can't come until you get millie," said bill. marvin turned and walked toward the stairs, wondering where millie was. his thought brought his wish, for she parted the curtains and came slowly down. she stopped when she saw him, but there was a look in his eyes that she could not mistake and her heart was beating as it had not done for many months, ever since she and marvin had walked on the shores of lake tahoe many months ago. "daddy has told you what i should say to you, hasn't he?" she asked, coming slowly down the stairs. marvin went half-way up. "what is it?" he asked. "well, i have made a fool of myself and i am ashamed of myself and i beg you to forgive me!" pausing on the stairs, she lowered her eyes, coloring deeply. marvin could not help laughing, and there was a dimple of amusement in millie's cheek. he put an arm around her and led her down into the lobby. "i could tell you something better than that to say," he stated, seeing that her eyes were at last answering his, "you might say, for example, 'john, dearest, i know that you love me always,' because that is something a woman must know!" they both laughed delightedly at this repetition of the words he had used in the court-room. "and i suppose i should say"--but here millie turned her head away--"please marry me!" "exactly!" marvin cried. "and my answer is, yes, millie--if you will have me!" suddenly he remembered the horrible ring bill had bought. he took it from his pocket, saying, with mock tenderness, "millie, i want to show you something, and--" [illustration: ... he took it from his pocket, saying, "millie, i want to show you something"] "i have seen it!" she interrupted, laughing softly, glancing down at the object in its gaudy setting. "well, we mustn't disappoint lightnin'," said marvin. "put it on your finger, dear, for the old fellow's sake and let him see it. it will show him that his efforts were not in vain--no ring could be more beautiful in thought than this one!" "you're right, john!" she said, with shining eyes, as she slipped the thing on her finger and raised her face for a kiss. at that psychological moment bill stuck his head in the door. he withdrew, of course, but only to return in an instant with the whole party at his heels. bill was leading his wife by the hand. gesturing toward marvin and millie, his shrewd old eyes fairly snapping with whimsical happiness, lightnin' exclaimed: "mother--look! i fixed that!" the end booth tarkington's novels _seventeen._ illustrated by arthur william brown. no one but the creator of penrod could have portrayed the immortal young people of this story. its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was seventeen. _penrod._ illustrated by gordon grant. this is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. it is a finished, exquisite work. _penrod and sam._ illustrated by worth brehm. like "penrod" and "seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written. _the turmoil._ illustrated by c. e. chambers. bibbs sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. the love of a fine girl turns bibbs' life from failure to success. _the gentleman from indiana._ frontispiece. a story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country editor's life in indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love interest. _the flirt._ illustrated by clarence f. underwood. the "flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. the novels of mary roberts rinehart _dangerous days._ a brilliant story of married life. a romance of fine purpose and stirring appeal. _the amazing interlude._ illustrations by the kinneys. the story of a great love which cannot be pictured--an interlude--amazing, romantic. _love stories._ this book is exactly what its title indicates, a collection of love affairs--sparkling with humor, tenderness and sweetness. _"k."_ illustrated. k. lemoyne, famous surgeon, goes to live in a little town where beautiful sidney page lives. she is in training to become a nurse. the joys and troubles of their young love are told with keen and sympathetic appreciation. _the man in lower ten._ illustrated by howard chandler christy. an absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the "man in lower ten." _when a man marries._ illustrated by harrison fisher and mayo bunker. a young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. the aunt, who contributes to the family income, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. how the young man met the situation is entertainingly told. _the circular staircase._ illustrated by lester ralph. the occupants of "sunnyside" find the dead body of arnold armstrong on the circular staircase. following the murder a bank failure is announced. around these two events is woven a plot of absorbing interest. _the street of seven stars._ (photoplay edition.) harmony wells, studying in vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. she meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with world-worn dr. anna and jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. stories of rare charm by gene stratton-porter _michael o'halloran._ illustrated by frances rogers. michael is a quick-witted little irish newsboy, living in northern indiana. he adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. he also assumes the responsibility of leading the entire rural community upward and onward. _laddie._ illustrated by herman pfeifer. this is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in indiana. the story is told by little sister, the youngest member of a large family, but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love affairs of older members of the family. chief among them is that of laddie and the princess, an english girl who has come to live in the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a mystery. _the harvester._ illustrated by w. l. jacobs. "the harvester," is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be notable. but when the girl comes to his "medicine woods," there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality. _freckles._ illustrated. freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great limberlost swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "the angel" are full of real sentiment. _a girl of the limberlost._ illustrated. the story of a girl of the michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type of the self-reliant american. her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. and by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. _at the foot of the rainbow._ illustrations in colors. the scene of this charming love story is laid in central indiana. the story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. the novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. _the song of the cardinal._ profusely illustrated. a love ideal of the cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy and humor. zane grey's novels _the light of western stars_ a new york society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. a surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close. _the rainbow trail_ the story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western uplands--until at last love and faith awake. _desert gold_ the story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine. _riders of the purple sage_ a picturesque romance of utah of some forty years ago when mormon authority ruled. the prosecution of jane withersteen is the theme of the story. _the last of the plainsmen_ this is the record of a trip which the author took with buffalo jones, known as the preserver of the american bison, across the arizona desert and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines." _the heritage of the desert_ a lovely girl, who has been reared among mormons, learns to love a young new englander. the mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second wife of one of the mormons--well, that's the problem of this great story. _the short stop_ the young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as a professional ball player. his hard knocks at the start are followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win. _betty zane_ this story tells of the bravery and heroism of betty, the beautiful young sister of old colonel zane, one of the bravest pioneers. _the lone star ranger_ after killing a man in self defense, buck duane becomes an outlaw along the texas border. in a camp on the mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. _the border legion_ joan randle, in a spirit of anger, sent jim cleve out to a lawless western mining camp, to prove his mettle. then realizing that she loved him--she followed him out. on her way, she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots kells, the leader--and nurses him to health again. here enters another romance--when joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes jim, in the throes of dissipation. a gold strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly. _the last of the great scouts_ by helen cody wetmore and zane grey the life story of colonel william f. cody, "buffalo bill," as told by his sister and zane grey. it begins with his boyhood in iowa and his first encounter with an indian. we see "bill" as a pony express rider, then near fort sumter as chief of the scouts, and later engaged in the most dangerous indian campaigns. there is also a very interesting account of the travels of "the wild west" show. no character in public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of america than "buffalo bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous. the furnace of gold by philip verrill mighels author of the pillars of eden, bruvver jim's baby, etc illustrations by j. n. marchand grosset & dunlap publishers :: new york copyright, 1909, by p. v. mighels copyright, 1910, by desmond fitzgerald, inc. _all rights reserved_ contents chapter i. prince or bandit ii. into the mountains iii. a rescue iv. congenial company v. van's partners vi. the battle vii. an exchange of questions viii. a night's expenses ix. progress and salt x. the laughing water claim xi. algy stirs up trouble xii. bostwick loses ground xiii. a combination of forces xiv. moving a shack xv. hatching a plot xvi. involving beth xvii. unexpected complications xviii. wherein matters thicken xix. van and beth and bostwick xx. queenie xxi. in the shadow of the rope xxii. two meetings after dark xxiii. beth's desperation xxiv. a blizzard of dust xxv. a timely deliverance xxvi. the night in the desert xxvii. tall stories xxviii. work and song xxix. suspicious answers xxx. beth's one expedient xxxi. mccoppet busies his mind xxxii. the hardships of the trail xxxiii. the clouds of trouble gather xxxiv. the taking of the claim xxxv. the meetings of two strong men xxxvi. van runs amuck xxxvii. the primitive law xxxviii. beth makes demands xxxix. algy's cooking and beth's despair xl. glen and revelations xli. suvy proves his love xlii. the furnace of gold xliii. preparing the net for a draw xliv. the engines of climax xlv. the last cigars xlvi. wasted time xlvii. a tribute to the desert list of illustrations he proceeded to pan from a dozen different places in the cove . . . . frontispiece [missing from book] his hold was giving way the angry miner lurching in closer to shoot [missing from book] "don't you want to give this man a chance?" beth felt her heart begin new gymnastics [missing from book] no corpse snatched from its grave could have been more helplessly inert "yesh, he's broke the law" till the mechanism burst, he would chase his man across the desert [missing from book] the furnace of gold chapter i prince or bandit now nevada, though robed in gray and white--the gray of sagebrush and the white of snowy summits--had never yet been accounted a nun when once again the early summer aroused the passions of her being and the wild peach burst into bloom. it was out in nauwish valley, at the desert-edge, where gold has been stored in the hungry-looking rock to lure man away from fairer pastures. there were mountains everywhere--huge, rugged mountains, erected in the igneous fury of world-making, long since calmed. above them all the sky was almost incredibly blue--an intense ultramarine of extraordinary clearness and profundity. at the southwest limit of the valley was the one human habitation established thereabout in many miles, a roadside station where a spring of water issued from the earth. towards this, on the narrow, side-hill road, limped a dusty red automobile. it contained three passengers, two women and a man. of the women, one was a little german maid, rather pretty and demure, whose duty it was to enact the chaperone. the other, beth kent, straight from new york city, well--the wild peach was in bloom! she was amazingly beautiful and winning. it seemed as if she and not the pink mountain blossoms must be responsible for all that haunting redolence in this landscape of passionless gray. her brown eyes burned with glorious luminosity. her color pulsed with health and the joyance of existence. her red lips quivered with unuttered ecstacies that surged in the depths of her nature. even the bright brown strands of her hair, escaping the prison of her cap, were catching the sunlight and flinging it off in the most engaging animation. she loved this new, unpeopled land--the mountains, the sky, the vastness of it all! for a two-fold reason she had come from new york to nevada. in the first place her young half-brother, glenville kent--all the kin she had remaining in the world--had been for a month at goldite camp, where she was heading, and all that he wrote had inflamed her unusual love of adventure till she knew she must see it for herself. moreover, he was none too well. she had come to visit and surprise him. in the second place, her fiancé, searle bostwick, he who was now at the wheel, had also been marooned, as it were, in this sagebrush land, by the golden allurements of fortune. beth had simply made up her mind to come, and for two days past had been waiting, with her maid, at the pretty little town of freemont, on the railroad, for searle to appear in his modern ship of the desert and treat her to the one day's drive into goldite, whither he also was bound. the man now intent on the big machine and the sandy road was a noticeable figure, despite the dust upon his raiment. he was a tall, well-modeled man of thirty-five, with an air of distinction upon him, materially heightened by his deep-set, piercing gray eyes, his firm, bluish jaw, and the sprinkling of frost in his hair. he wore no moustache. his upper lip, somewhat over long, bore that same bluish tint that a thick growth of beard, even when diligently shaved, imparted to his face. he was, indeed, a handsome being, in a somewhat stern, determined style. he was irritated now by the prospect of labor at the station. even should he find some willing male being whose assistance with the tire might be invoked, the task would still involve himself rather strenuously; and above all things he loathed rough usage of his hands. for three more miles he cursed the mechanism, then he halted the car at the station. a shack that served as lodging-house, saloon, and dining-room, a shack for a stable, and a shack for a shed, together with a rough corral, comprised the entire group of buildings at the place. six or eight fine cottonwoods and a number of twisted apple trees made the little place decidedly inviting. behind these, rising almost sheer from the level yard, the mountains heaved upward grayly, their vast bulk broken, some hundred yards away, by a yawning rock canyon, steep and forbidding. the station proprietor, who emerged from the door at sound of the halting machine, was a small, lank individual, as brown as an indian and as wrinkled as a crocodile. the driver in the car addressed him shortly. "i wonder if you can help me put on a tire?" the lank little host regarded him quietly, then looked at the women and drew his hand across his mouth. "wal, i dunno," he answered. "i've set a tire and i've set a hen, but i wouldn't like to tell ye what was hatched." the girl in the tonneau laughed in frank delight--a musical outburst that flattered the station host tremendously. the man at the wheel was already alighting. "you'll do," he said. "my name is bostwick. i'm on my way to goldite, in a hurry. it won't take us long, but it wants two men on the job." he had a way of thrusting his disagreeable tasks upon his fellow beings before they were prepared either to accept or refuse a proposition. he succeeded here so promptly that the girl in the car made no effort to restrain her amusement. she was radiantly smiling as she leaned above the wheel where the two men were presently at work. in the midst of the toil a sound of whistling came upon the air. the girl in the auto looked up, alertly. it was the toreador's song from carmen that she heard, riotously rendered. a moment later the whistler appeared--and an exclamation all but escaped the girl's red, parted lips. mounted on a calico pony of strikingly irregular design, a horseman had halted at the bend of a trail that led to the rear of the station. he saw the girl and his whistling ceased. from his looks he might have been a bandit or a prince. he was a roughly dressed, fearless-looking man of the hills, youthful, tall, and as carelessly graceful in the saddle as a fish in its natural clement. the girl's brown eyes and his blue eyes met. she did not analyze the perfect symmetry or balance of his features; she only knew his hair and long moustache were tawny, that his face was bronzed, that his eyes were bold, frank depths of good humor and fire. he was splendid to look at--that she instantly conceded. and she looked at him steadily till a warm flush rose to the pink of her ears, when her glance fell, abashed, to the pistol that hung on his saddle, and so, by way of the hoofs of his pinto steed, to the wheel, straight down where she was leaning. the station-keeper glanced up briefly. "hullo, van," was all he said. the horseman made no reply. he was still engaged in looking at the girl when bostwick half rose, with a tool in hand, and scowled at him silently. it was only a short exchange of glances that passed between the pair, nevertheless something akin to a challenge played in the momentary conflict, as if these men, hurled across the width of a continent to meet, had been molded by fate for some antagonistic clash, the essence of which they felt thus soon with an utter strangeness between them. bostwick bent promptly to his labors with the tire. the girl in the tonneau stepped past her maid and opened the door on the further side of the car. bostwick stood up at once. "i wouldn't get out, beth--i wouldn't get out," he said, a little impatiently. "we'll be ready to go in five minutes." nevertheless she alighted. "don't hurry on my account," she answered. "the day is getting warm." the eyes of both bostwick and the horseman followed her graceful figure as she passed the front of the car and proceeded towards the orchard. above the medium height and superbly modeled, she appeared more beautiful now than before. she had not descended for a change of position, or even to inspect the place. as a matter of fact she was hoping to secure a profile view of the bold-looking horseman on the pony. her opportunity soon arrived. he spoke to the station proprietor. "want to see you for a moment, dave," and he rode a little off to a tree. dave ceased helping on the tire with marked alacrity and went to the horseman at once. the two engaged in an earnest conversation, somewhat of which obviously concerned the auto and its passengers, since the lank little host made several ill-concealed gestures in the car's direction and once turned to look at the girl. she had halted by the orchard fence from which, as a post of vantage, she was apparently looking over all the place. her brown eyes, however, swung repeatedly around to the calico pony and its rider. yes, she agreed, the horseman was equal to the scene. he fitted it all, mountains, sky, the sense of wildness and freedom in the air. what was he, then? undoubtedly a native--perhaps part indian--perhaps---there was something sinister, she was certain, in the glance he cast towards the car. he was armed. could it be that he and the station man were road-agents, plotting some act of violence? they were certainly talking about the machine, or its owner, with exceptional earnestness of purpose. bostwick had finished with the tire. "come along, beth, come along!" he called abruptly. no sooner had she turned to walk to the car than the horseman rode up in her path. her heart sank suddenly with misgivings. she halted as the unknown visitor addressed himself to bostwick. "may i speak to you a moment privately?" bostwick bristled with suspicions at once. "i have nothing of a private nature to discuss with you," he answered. "if you have anything to say to me, please say it and be prompt." the horseman changed color, but lost no whit of the native courtesy that seemed a part of his being. "it isn't particularly private," he answered quietly. "i only wished to say i wouldn't rush off to goldite this morning. i'd advise you to stay here and rest." bostwick, already irritated by delay, and impervious to any thought of a possible service in the horseman's attitude, grew more impatient and far more irritating. "i haven't desired your advice," he answered sharply. "be good enough to keep it to yourself." he advanced to the station owner, held out a bill, and added: "here you are, my man, for your trouble." "heck!" said the lank little host. "i don't want your money." across the horseman's handsome visage passed a look that, to the girl, boded anything but peace. bostwick's manner was an almost intolerable affront, in a land where affronts are resented. however, the stranger answered quietly, despite the fact that bostwick nettled him to an extraordinary degree. "i agree that the sooner _you_ vamoose, the prompter the improvement in the landscape. but you're not going off to goldite with these ladies in the car." matters might still have culminated differently had bostwick even asked a civil "why?" for van was a generous and easy-going being. beth, in the road, felt her heart beat violently, with vague excitement and alarm. bostwick glared, in sudden apprehension as to what the horseman had in mind. "is this a hold-up?" he demanded. "what do you mean?" the rider dismounted, in a quick, active manner, and opened the door of the tonneau. "you wouldn't have thanked me for advice," he replied; "you would hardly thank me more for information." he added to the maid in the car: "please alight, your friend is impatient to be starting." he nodded towards the owner of the auto. the maid came down, demurely, casting but a glance at the tall, commanding figure by the wheel. he promptly lifted out a suitcase and three decidedly feminine-looking bags. bostwick by now was furious. "it's an outrage!" he cried, "a dastardly outrage! you can see i am wholly unarmed! do you mean to restrain these ladies here by force?" the horseman slipped his arm through the reins of his pony's bridle, surveying bostwick calmly. "do you mean to desert them if i do? i have not yet ordered you to leave." "ordered me to leave!" echoed the car owner fiercely. "i can neither be ordered to leave nor to stay! but i shall go--do you hear?--i shall go--and the ladies with me! if you mean to rob us, do so at once and have it over! my time is precious, if yours is not!" van smiled. "i might be tempted to rob a gentleman," he said, "but to deprive your passengers of your company would be a charity. pray waste no more of your precious time if that is your only concern." beth had regained a shadow of her former composure. her courage had never been absent. she was less alarmed than before and decidedly curious as to what this encounter might signify. she dared address the horseman. "but--but surely--you seem--- you must have some excellent reason for--for acting so peculiarly." he could not repress the brightness in his eyes as he met her half-appealing gaze. "reason, advice, and information would apparently be alike unwelcome to your chauffeur," he answered, doffing his hat. "he is eager to hasten on his way, therefore by all means let us bid him begone." bostwick grew rapidly wilder at each intimation of his social standing--a friend of the maid, and beth's chauffeur! his impatience to proceed with all possible haste to goldite was consuming. he had not intended that anything under the sun should delay him another single hour--not even beth, should occasion arise to detain her. even now he was far more concerned about himself and the business of his mission than he was for the women in his charge. he was much afraid, however, of the horseman's visible gun. he was not at all a person of courage, and the man before him presented such an unknown quantity that he found himself more or less helpless. at most he could merely attempt a bluff. "you'll pay for this!" he cried somewhat shrilly, his face a black mask of anger. "i'll give you just half a minute to release these ladies and permit them to go with me in peace! if you refuse----" the horseman interrupted. "i said before you had not been ordered on your way, but now i've changed my mind. don't talk any more--get into your car and hike!" the gleam in his eye achieved two results: it cowed the last vestige of bravado in bostwick's composition and ignited all the hatred of his nature. he hesitated for a moment, his lips parting sidewise as if for a speech of defiance which his moral courage refused to indorse. then, not daring to refuse the horseman's command, he climbed aboard the car, the motor of which had never ceased its purring. "you'll pay for this!" he repeated. the girl, now pale again and tremendously disturbed, was regarding bostwick with a new, cold light in her eyes--a light that verged upon contempt. she had never seen this lack of courageous spirit in the man before. "but, searle! you're not going--you're not really going, like this?" it was the horseman who replied. "you see, his time is precious. also in his present state of mind he is certainly unfit company for--well, for dave, here, a man who loves the pure white dove of peace." the station owner grinned. van turned once more to the car owner, adding, placidly: "there, there, driver----" bostwick broke in vehemently. "i refuse to abandon these ladies! your conduct is not only that of a coward, it is----" van looked him over in mock astonishment. "say, searle," he said, "don't you savvy you've lost your vote in this convention? i told you to do these ladies the kindness to sweeten the atmosphere with your absence. now you hit the trail--and hit it quick!" bostwick looked helplessly at the girl. "i am entirely unarmed," he said as before, though she knew there was a pistol in the car. "this ruffian----" the horseman cut him short. "so long, searle. i trust you'll meet congenial company on the road, but i advise you even now to return the way you came." bostwick glared at him vindictively, but impotently. his jaw was set and hard. a cold fire glittered in his eyes. how selfishly eager he was to be started on his way not even the girl could have known. moreover, some sort of plan for the horseman's speedy punishment had taken possession of his mind. "have courage, beth," he said to the girl. "have courage." he speeded up his motor, dropped in his clutch, and the car slowly started on its way. chapter ii into the mountains beth stood perfectly still beside the road, watching the auto round the hill where it presently disappeared from view. the station owner picked up a sliver of wood and began to whittle industriously. the horseman remained with his bridle reins in hand, amusedly looking at his captive. the maid sat down upon the suitcase, dropped her skirt in a modest little manner, and cast her gaze upon the ground. beth was the first to speak. "well, elsa, i hope you are comfortable." "yes, miss, thank you," said the maid. thereupon miss kent turned to the horseman and laughed. someway she could not feel alarmed, in the presence of this man of the hills, in whose eyes merry devils were dancing. "isn't this absurd?" she said. "searle must have been born absurd," replied the horseman, once more removing his hat. he waved it towards the station host imperiously. "dave, present me to the lady." and as dave floundered, hopelessly puzzled, he added: "give me a knock-down, man, don't you savvy?" dave dropped his sliver, snatched off his hat, and rid himself of a quid of something strong--all in one convulsion of activity. "'scuse me," he apologized, approaching nearer. "miss--miss--miss laffin' water, this is van. his whole name's----" "that's enough," van interrupted. "i'm gratified to meet you, señorita, i'm sure." he extended his hand. beth knew not what to do, wherefore she gave him her own. "how do you do, mr. van?" she answered tremulously, and she drew her fingers back again at once. "if you don't mind," she added, "we really must continue on to goldite as soon as possible." a fleeting look of doubt and alarm had swept all the mirth from her eyes. after all, even with this "introduction" what were these men's intentions? it was a grave affair to be halted thus--to be practically abducted--to be left with no protection, in the hands of roadside strangers, one, at least, of whom was certainly inclined to be lawless and outrageously bold. the horseman regarded her seriously, as if with a certain divination of her worry. someway, from the look in his eyes her confidence returned, she knew not why. "do you ride?" he asked her, "--you and your maid?" "why, yes--that is----" she addressed the maid on the suitcase. "elsa, can you ride--on a horse?" elsa said: "yes, miss, if it is part of my duty." beth's composure increased. after all, it was a glorious day, the horseman was handsome, and she had wished for a little adventure--but not too much! "what does it mean?" she asked of van more boldly. "we were perfectly comfortable, riding in the car. if you really intend to permit us to go, why couldn't we have gone on as we were?" dave started to answer. "you see, miss----" van cut in abruptly. "never mind, dave; this isn't your pie." to beth he added: "if you've brought any particularly appropriate garments for riding, suppose you retire for preparations. dave will tote the bags inside the house." "you bet i will!" said dave, who, as elsa rose, took suitcase and all in one load. beth hesitated. the horseman had started already for the stable at the rear. how superbly straight was his figure! what a confident, impudent grace beset him as he moved! how could it be possible for such a man to be other than a gentleman--no matter where he was found? some strange little thrill of excitement and love of adventure stirred in the girl's full veins. resistance was useless. come what might, she was helpless in the hands of this man--and he seemed a person to be trusted. "come, elsa," she said, bravely deciding to face whatsoever might arise. "you may wear the second of my skirts." fifteen minutes later, therefore, she and her maid emerged from the shack attired in brown cloth, and kahki, respectively, her own skirt long and graceful, while elsa's was shorter and divided. aside or cross-saddle beth was equally at home upon a horse--or always had been, in the parks. van and dave now returned, leading two extra ponies from the stable. one was a bay, accoutered with a man's deep mexican saddle, whereon was secured a coiled lasso; the other was a wiry little roan mare, with a somewhat decrepit but otherwise sound side-saddle tightly cinched upon her back. "our stable chamberlain has slipped a cog on the outfits for ladies recently," said van apologetically, "but i reckon these will have to do." beth looked the two mounts over uncritically. they seemed to be equally matched, as to general characteristics, since neither appeared either strong or plump. she said: "shall we ride very far?" "no, just a pleasant little jog," replied the horseman. "they call it forty miles to goldite by the ridge, but it isn't an inch over thirty." thirty miles!--over the mountains!--with an unknown man and her maid! beth suppressed a gasp of despair and astonishment, not to mention trepidation, by making an effort that verged upon the heroic. "but we--we can never arrive in goldite tonight!" she said. "we can't expect to, can we?" "it takes more than that to kill these bronchos," van cheerfully assured her. "i can only guarantee that the horses will make it--by sunset." beth flushed. he evidently entertained a very poor notion of her horsemanship. her pride was aroused. she would show him something--at least that no horse could make this journey without her! "thank you," she said, and advancing to the roan she addressed herself to dave. "will you please help me up. mr. van may assist my maid." dave grinned and performed his offices as best he could, which was strongly, if not with grace. van shook a threatening fist, behind his captive's back. he had meant to take this honor to himself. fairly tossing the greatly delighted little elsa to the seat on the bay, he mounted his own sturdy animal and immediately started for the canyon below, leaving beth and her maid to trail behind. the girl's heart all but failed her. whither were they going?--and towards what fate? what could be the outcome of a journey like this, undertaken so blindly, with no chance for resistance? the horseman had stubbornly refused a reply to her question; he was calmly riding off before them now with the utmost indifference to her comfort. there was nothing to do but to follow, and resign herself to--the lord alone knew what. the little roan mare, indeed, required no urging; she was tugging at the bit to be off. with one last look of helplessness at the station and dave--who someway bore the hint of a fatherly air upon him--she charged her nerves with all possible resolution and rode on after her leader. elsa permitted her broncho to trudge at the tail of the column. she dared to cast one shy, disconcerting little glance at dave--and he suddenly felt he would burst into flame and consume himself utterly to ashes. the great canyon yawned prodigiously where its rock gates stood open to grant the party admission to the sanctum of the hills. sheer granite walls, austere and frowning, rose in sculptured immensity on either side, but the trail under foot was scored between some scattered wild-peach shrubs, interspersed with occasional bright-green clumps of manzanita. the air was redolent of warmth and fragrance that might with fitness have advertised the presence in the hills of some glorified goddess of love--some lofty, invisible goddess, guarded by her mountain snows, yet still too languorous and voluptuous to pass without at least trailing on the summery air the breath that exhaled from her being. it was all a delight, despite vague alarms, and the promise ahead was inviting. van continued straight onward, with never so much as a turn of his head, to the horses in the rear. he seemed to have quite forgotten the two half-frightened women in his wake. beth had ample opportunity for observing again the look of strength and grace upon him. however, she found her attention very much divided between tumultuous joyance in the mountain grandeur, bathed in the marvelously life-exciting air, and concern for the outcome of the day. if a faint suggestion of pique at the manner in which the horseman ignored her presence crept subconsciously into all her meditations, she did not confess it to herself. elsa's horrid little habit of accepting anything and everything with the most irresponsible complacency rendered the situation aggravating. it was so utterly impossible to discuss with such a being even such of the morning's developments as the relationship of mistress and maid might otherwise have permitted. a mile beyond the mouth of the canyon the slight ascent was ended, the chasm widened, rough slopes succeeded the granite walls, and a charming little valley, emerald green and dotted with groups of quaking aspen trees, stretched far towards the wooded mountain barriers, looming hugely ahead. it was like a dainty lake of grass, abundantly supplied with little islands. the sheer enchantment of it, bathed as it was in sun-gold, and sheltered by prodigious, snow-capped summits, so intensely white against the intensity of azure, aroused some mad new ecstacy in all beth's being. she could almost have done something wild--she knew not what; and all the alarm subsided from her thoughts. as if in answer to her tumult of joy, van spurred his pinto to a gallop. instantly responding to her lift of the reins, beth's roan went romping easily forward. the bay at the rear, with elsa, followed rhythmically, pounding out a measure on the turf. a comparatively short session of this more rapid locomotion sufficed for the transit of the cove--that is, of the wide-open portion. the trail then dived out of sight in a copse where pine trees were neighbors of the aspens. van disappeared, though hardly more than fifty feet ahead. through low-hanging boughs, that she needs must push aside, beth followed blindly, now decidedly piqued by the wholly ungallant indifference to her fate of the horseman leading the way. she caught but a glimpse of him, now and again, in the density of the growth. how strange it was to be following thus, meekly, helplessly, perforce with some sort of confidence, in the charge of this unknown mountain man, to--whatsoever he might elect! the utterly absurd part of it all was that it was pleasant! at length they emerged from the shady halls of trees, to find themselves confronted by the wall of mountains. already van was riding up the slope, where larger pines, tall thickets of green chincopin, and ledges of rock compelled the trail to many devious windings. once more the horseman was whistling his toreador refrain. he did not look back at his charges. that he was watching them both, from the tail of his eye, was a fact that beth felt--and resented. the steepness of the trail increased. at times the meager pathway disappeared entirely. it lay upon rocks that gave no sign of the hoofs that had previously rung metallic clinks upon the granite. how the man in the lead discerned it here was a matter beth could not comprehend. some half-confessed meed of admiration, already astir in her nature for the horseman and his way, increased as he breasted the ascent. how thoroughly at home--how much a part of it all he appeared, as he rode upon his pony! two hours of steady climbing, with her mare oblique beneath her weight, and beth felt an awe in her being. it was wonderful; it was almost terrible, the fathomless silence, the altitudes, this heretofore unexperienced intimacy with the mountains' very nakedness! it was strange altogether, and impressive, the vast unfolding of the world below, the frequency with which the pathway skirted some dark precipice--and the apparent unconcern of the man ahead, now so absolutely master. and still that soul-inviting exhilaration of the air aroused those ecstacies within her spirit that she had not known were there. they were nearing the summit of the pass. it was still a thousand feet below the snow. to the left a mighty chasm trenched the adamant, its bottom lowered away to depths of mysterious blue. its side, above which the three stout ponies picked their way, was a jagged set of terraces, over the brink of which the descents were perpendicular. rising as if to bar the way, the crowning terrace apparently ended the trail against all further advance. here van finally halted, dismounted, and waited for the advent of his charges. beth rode up uncertainly, her brown eyes closely scrutinizing his face. it appeared as if they had come to the end of everything--the place for leaping off into downward space. "let me see if the cinches are tight," said the horseman quietly, and he looked to the girth of her saddle. it was found to be in a satisfactory condition. the girth on the bay he tightened, carelessly pushing elsa's foot and the stirrup aside for the purpose. his own horse now showed unmistakable signs of weariness. he had traveled some twenty odd miles to arrive at dave's before undertaking this present bit of hardship. since then van had pushed him to the limit of his strength and speed, in the effort to reach goldite with the smallest possible delay. if a sober expression of sympathy came for a second in the horseman's steady eyes, as he glanced where his pony was standing, it quickly gave way to something more inscrutable as he looked up at beth, in advancing once more to the fore. "both of you give them the reins," he instructed quietly. "just drop them down. let the bronchos pick the trail." he paused, then added, as if on second thought, "shut your eyes if you find you're getting dizzy--don't look down." beth turned slightly pale, in anticipation of some ordeal, undoubtedly imminent, but the light in her eyes was one of splendid courage. she might feel they were all at the gate of something awful, but her nature rose to meet it. she said nothing; she simply obeyed directions and looked with new emotions on the somewhat drooping mare to whom her own safety was entrusted. van was once more in his saddle. he started, and the ponies behind resumed their faithful plodding at his heels. a few rods ahead they encountered a change, and beth could scarcely repress a gasp of surprise and apprehension. the trail was laid upon the merest granite shelf, above that terrible chasm. she was terrified, frankly. the man and pony in the lead were cut with startling sharpness against the gray of the rock--the calico coloring, the muscular intensity, the bending of the man to every motion--as they balanced with terrifying slenderness above the pit of death. for a moment the girl thought nothing of herself and of how she too must pass that awful brink, for all her concern was focused on the man. then she realized what she must do--was doing--as her roan mare followed on. she was almost upon it herself! her hand flew down to the reins to halt the pony, involuntarily. a wild thought of turning and fleeing away from this shelf of destruction launched itself upon her mind. it was folly--a thing impossible. there was nothing to do but go on. shutting her eyes and holding her breath she felt the mare beneath her tremulously moving forward, smelling out the places of security whereon to rest her weight. elsa, sublimely unresponsive, alike to the grandeur or the danger of the place, rode as placidly here as in the valley. they passed the first of the shelf-like brinks, traversed a safer contour of the wall, and were presently isolated upon the second bridge of granite, which was also the last, much longer than the first, but perhaps not so narrow or winding. van had perspired in nervous tension, as the two women rode above the chasm. men had gone down here to oblivion. he was easier now, more careless of himself and horse, less alert for a looseness in the granite mass, as he turned in his saddle to look backward. suddenly, with a horrible sensation in his vitals, he felt his pony crumpling beneath him, even as he heard beth sound a cry. a second later he was going, helplessly, with the air-rush in his ears and the pony's quiver shivering up his spine. all bottomless space seemed to open where they dropped. he kicked loose the stirrups, even as the pony struck upon the first narrow terrace, ten feet down, and felt the helpless animal turned hoofs and belly upward by the blow. he had thrust himself free--apart from the horse--but could not cling to the rotten ledge for more than half a second. then down once more he was falling, as before, only a heart-beat later than the pinto. out of the lip of the next shelf below the pony's weight tore a jagged fragment. the animal's neck was broken, and he and the stone-mass plunged on downward together. van half way fell through a stubborn bush--that clung with the mysterious persistency of life to a handful of soil in a crevice--and his strong hands closed upon its branches. he was halted with a jolt. the pony hurtled loosely, grotesquely down the abyss, bounding from impacts with the terraces, and was presently lost to mortal sight in the dust and debris he carried below for a shroud. sounds of his striking--dull, leaden sounds, tremendous in the all-pervading silence--came clearly up to the top. then van found his feet could be rested on the shelf, and he let himself relax to ease his arms. chapter iii a rescue beth had uttered that one cry only, as man and horse careened above the pit. she now sat dumbly staring where the two had disappeared. nothing could she see of van or his pony. a chill of horror attacked her, there in the blaze of the sun. it was not, even then, so much of herself and elsa she was thinking--two helpless women, lost in this place of terrible silence; she was smitten by the fate of their guide. van, for his part, looked about as best he might, observing his situation comprehensively. he was safe for the moment. the ledge whereon he was bearing a portion of his weight was narrow and crumbling with old disintegration. the shrub to which he clung was as tough as wire cable, and had once been stoutly rooted in the crevice. now, however, its hold had been weakened by the heavy strain upon it, and yet he must continue to trust a part of his weight to its branches. there was nothing, positively nothing, by which he could hope to climb to the trail up above. he deliberately rested and fostered his breath, not a trifle of which had been jolted in violence from his body. presently he raised his voice and called out, as cheerfully as possible: "ship ahoy! hullo--miss laughing water!" for a moment there was no response. beth was to utterly overcome to speak. she hardly dared believe it was his call she heard, issuing up from the tomb. she feared that her hope, her frantic imagination, her wish to have it so, had conjured up a voice that had no genuine existence. her lips moved, but made no audible sound. she trembled violently. van called again, with more of his natural power. "hullo! hullo! miss beth--are you up there on the trail?" "oh, yes! oh! what shall i do?" cried beth in a sudden outburst of relief and pent-up emotions. "tell me what to do!" van knew she was rather near at hand. the bridge and trail were certainly no more than twenty-five feet above his head. he could make her hear with little effort. "brace up and keep your nerve," he instructed. "we're o.k. up to date. just ride ahead till you come to the flat. let elsa hold your mare. can you hear me plainly?" "oh! yes--yes--then what next?" replied the worried girl. van resumed calmly: "you'll find a rawhide rope on elsa's saddle. come back with that, on foot. then i'll tell you what to do. don't try to hurry; take your time, and don't worry." after a moment, as he got no reply, he added: "have you started?" beth had not budged her mare, for terror of what she must do. she was fortifying all her resolution. she answered with genuine bravery: "yes--i--i'll do what you say." she took up the reins. her pale face was set, but she did not close her eyes to cross the dizzying brink. the mare went forward--and elsa's bay resumed his patient tagging, up to and past the fateful place where a part of the shelf-edge, having been dislodged, had let van's pony fall. for ten age-long minutes van waited on his ledge, feeling the treacherous, rotted stuff break silently away beneath his feet. the shrub, too, was showing an earthy bit of root as it slowly but certainly relinquished its hold on the substance which the crevice had divided. the man could almost have calculated how many seconds the shelf and the shrub could sustain their living burden. then beth returned. she had left her maid with the horses; she held the lasso in her hand. to creep on foot along the granite bridge was taxing the utmost of her courage. she could not ascertain precisely where it was that the horseman was waiting below. she was guided only by the broken ledge, where pony and all had disappeared. therefore, she called to him weakly. "mr. van--mr. van--where are you?" van's heart turned over in his breast. "just below that split boulder in the trail," he answered cheerily. "go to that." a silence succeeded, then he heard, in tremulous accents: "i'm here--but how am i going to tie the rope?" van answered distinctly, for much depended on precision. "uncoil it first. on one end there's an eye that runs the loop. open the loop to a pretty good size and slip it over the smaller portion of the boulder. then push it well down in the crevice, and pull it tight." he knew that the rope was far too short to loop the larger rock and reach his hands. he waited while he thought she might be working--as indeed she was--and presently added: "got that done?" "yes," she called. "yes--but are you sure----" his hold was giving way. he answered crisply: "now drop me the end. don't wait!" [illustration: his hold was giving way.] beth had forgotten all danger to herself. she had ceased to tremble. she paid out the rope with commendable promptness. "does it reach?" she cried. "can you get it?" he could not. though sufficiently long it was ten feet away, on his right. his seconds were growing fearfully precious. "just shift it over, more towards elsa," he called, still calmly. "move it about ten feet." it began to approach him jerkily. it halted, then once more it moved. the shrub in his grasp gave out an inch, and was coming from its anchorage. then his fist was closed on the rope. "all right!" he called. "let go--and stand aside!" "but--oh, if the rock shouldn't hold!" cried the girl. "are you sure it won't pull over?" he was not at all certain of the boulder. this explained his directions, "stand aside!" if it came--it must not involve the girl. there was nothing for him but to trust to its weight against his own. he was strong. he began to come up, bracing a foot against the crumbling wall, winding the rope around one of his legs--or his leg around the rope, and resting whensoever he could. beth stood there, nearly as tense as the rope. her brown eyes were fixed on the bedded boulder; her face was more gray than its bulk. at the edge, where the lasso impinged upon the granite, small particles were breaking and falling ominously. scarcely daring to breathe, as she felt how the man was toiling up from the maw of the chasm, beth could not bear to look where he must come--if come he ever should. it seemed an eternity of waiting. at last, when new misgivings had seized upon her heart, she heard his labored breathing. even then she did not turn. she feared to watch his efforts; she feared to break the spell. a minute later she heard his even voice. "it's a wonderful view--from down below." the glad, eager light in her eyes, which his eyes met from the brink, put strength in both his arms. he came up to safety in an outburst of vigor that was nothing short of magnificent. "oh!" said the girl, and she leaned against the wall in a sudden need for support. "i really had no intention of--deserting like that," panted van, with a smile that was just a trifle forced. "but it's so much easier to--drop into a habit than it--ever is to get out." she made no reply, but remained where she was, weakly leaning against the wall and slowly regaining the strength she had lost at the moment of beholding him safe. she was not the fainting kind, but she was human--womanly human. van began immediately to release and re-coil the rope. "too bad to throw away a pony like that," he resumed regretfully. "i always intended, if he died a christian death, to have his hide tanned for a rug." he was saying anything, no matter what, to dissipate the reactionary collapse into which he feared the girl was falling. "now then," he added, when the rope was well in hand, "we've wasted all the time we can spare on a second-rate vaudeville performance. come along." chapter iv congenial company he started ahead as he had before, with that show of utter unconcern towards the girl that was absolutely new to her experience. her eyes were wide with appeal as she watched him striding up the trail. for herself she wanted nothing; but her womanly nature craved some trifling sign, some word of assurance that the man was uninjured--really safe again and whole--after that terrible plunge. but this from the horseman was impossible. he had not even thanked her for the rescue. "you horrid, handsome wretch!" she murmured vexedly, stimulated to renewed activity by her resentment; then she followed along the narrow way. they came to the flat, beyond the wall, where elsa sat keeping the horses. the maid looked the horseman over quite calmly, inquiring: "what for dit you did it--go down there?" "just for ducks," said van. he halted for beth's approach, put her up on the roan, and once more strode off in the trail ahead with a promptness that was certainly amazing. there was no understanding such a person. beth gave it up. the whole affair was inexplicable--his attitude towards searle at the station, his abduction of herself and the maid, and this trailing of the pair of them across these terrible places, for no apparent reason in the world. her mare followed on in the tracks of the muscular figure, over whom, for a moment, she had almost wished to yearn. his escape from death had been so slender--and he would not even rest! the flat was, in reality, the hog's back or ridge of a lofty spur of the mountains. except for the vast bluish canyons and gorges far below, the view was somewhat restricted here, since towering summits, in a conclave of peaks, arose to right and left. after a time, as they swung around on the trend of the ridge, they came abreast a mighty gap in the mountains to the left, and there, far down, lay a valley as flattened by perspective as the unruffled surface of a lake. here van presently halted, peering down and searching the vast gray floor with the keenest attention. he went on further, and halted again, beth meanwhile watching his face with increasing curiosity. at the third of his stops she gazed no more on the panorama of immensity, but rather gazed at him. "what is it you expect to see?" she inquired at last. "goldite isn't down there, is it?" "i'm rather expecting--if i haven't miscalculated on the time---there he is now," he answered, still staring afar off down upon the valley. he raised his arm and extended a finger to point towards the north-most limit of the level stretch of land. "do you see that small, dark object in the road? that's a road, that slender yellow streak that you can follow." beth obeyed directions and thereby discerned, with remarkable clearness, the moving object, far away below. she did not in the least suspect its nature. "why, yes--what is it?" she asked with languid interest, having expected something more significant. "is it some small animal?" "yes," responded van. "it's searle." beth was instantly all attention. "not mr. bostwick, in his car?" van continued to study the gray of the world-wide map. "i rather wonder----" he mused, and there he halted, presently adding, "he's climbing a hill. you might not think so, looking down from here, but it's steep and sandy, for a car." she was watching eagerly. "and he's no further along towards goldite than this?" "he's had some tough old going," answered van. "he's in luck to----" then to himself, as he continued to scan the scene for something he did not apparently find. "by jupe! i'd have sworn matt barger----" he broke off abruptly, adding in a spirit of fairness, "searle is getting right up to the ridge all right. good boy! he must have a powerful motor under the--there! by george! i knew it! i knew it! got him! right there in the gravel!" the girl looked suddenly upon him, wholly unable to comprehend the sharp exclamations he was making. "what has got him? what do you mean?" she demanded in vague alarm. "i don't see what you----" "that's matt every time--i thought so," he resumed, as he stepped a little closer to the girl. "don't you see them?--those lively little specks, swarming all around the machine?" beth bent her gaze on the drama, far below--a play in which she knew but one of the characters, and nothing of the meaning of the scene. "i see--yes--something like a lot of tiny ants--or something. what are they?--not robbers?--not men?" "part men, part hyenas," he told her quietly. "it's a lot of state convicts, escaped from their prison, two days free--and desperate." she was suddenly very pale. her eyes were blazing. "convicts! out of prison?" "a good long way out," he told her watching, "and clever enough to hike for the mines, with the camps all full of strangers. they learn to be good mixers, when they're trying to escape." beth gazed at him searchingly. "you--knew they were out--and waiting on the road?" "everyone knew they were out--and i certainly thought big matt would do precisely what you see he has done." "matt?" she echoed. "the leader," he explained, "a clever brute as ever worried a sheriff." she was not in the least interested in the personality of the convict thus described. her mind had flown to another aspect of the case--the case involving herself. "and this was why you wouldn't let us go in the auto?" she said. "you expected this?" he looked at her quickly. "searle wouldn't take my advice, you know." his eyes were once more merry. "what could i do?" "but mr. bostwick wouldn't have gone if you had told him!" she said. "oh, i'm surprised you'd do it--let him go and be captured like that!" she was looking down upon the silent drama intently as she added: "i don't see why you ever did it!" he was still amused. "oh, i thought perhaps searle deserved it." she blazed a little. "you told him you hoped he'd meet congenial company on the road. you didn't mean----" "guilty as charged in the indictment. i guess i did." "oh! i wouldn't have thought----" she started, then she shivered in horror, reflecting swiftly on the fate that might have befallen herself and elsa had they too been captured with searle. it was all explained at last--the horseman's earnest talk with dave, his quiet but grim refusal to permit herself and elsa to remain with the car, and the hazardous ride he had since dared compel them to take at such peril to his life! and now, his persistent advance on foot, when perhaps he was painfully injured! he had done then such a service as she could never in her life forget. his treatment of searle had perhaps, even as he said, been deserved. nevertheless, searle was much to her, very much, indeed--or had been--up to this morning--and she was worried. "what do you think they will do?" she added in a spirit of contrition that came at once upon her. "they must be terrible men!" "they won't do much but take his money and clothes, and maybe beg for a ride," said van reassuringly. "they'll see he isn't fit to kill." beth glanced at him briefly, inquiringly. what a baffling light it was that played in the depths of his eyes! what manner of being was he, after all? she could not tell. and yet she felt she could trust him--she certainly knew not why. despite his ways of raillery she felt he was serious, true as steel, and big in heart and nature. "i mustn't forget to thank you," she murmured. "i mean for sparing us--all that. i do thank you, most sincerely, for----" "never mind that," he interrupted. "we're going to be late to lunch." he turned once more to the trail and started off, in his active manner, together with a thorough indifference as to what became of bostwick. beth, with a feeling that something ought yet to be done for searle, down in the valley with the convicts, cast one helpless glance at the scene of the hold-up, then perforce urged her pony forward. van halted no more. he led the way doggedly onward, over the rises, through great silent forests, past crystal springs, and down dark, somber ravines. at a quarter of one he emerged from a gorge upon the level acre of a tiny cove, still high in the mountains fastnesses. here he let out a whoop like an indian, its echo filling all the place. an answering call came clearly from somewhere near at hand. beth felt a sudden alarm to know there were human beings near. what sort they were was a matter entirely of conjecture. then presently she discovered a number of small, rude buildings, and a fair-sized cabin, planted next the hill. the door of the latter was open. a tall man appeared in the frame. "this," said van, who had waited for the girl to ride once more to his side, "is the monte cristo mine--the worst false alarm that ever disfigured the map." chapter v van's partners the monte cristo mining property comprised a tunnel in the hill, a glory hole, a little toy quartz-mill--five stamps strong--the bunk-house, kitchen, blacksmith-shop, stable, corral, and four human beings. these latter were a chinese cook named algy, a piute indian half-breed called cayuse, and two rare souls--napoleon g. blink and "gettysburg"--miners, and boastful old worthies, long partnered and beloved by van. just at present the tunnel was empty, the glory-hole was deserted, and the quartz-mill was silent. the mine had proved a failure. van had expended many thousands of dollars and ten months of time to demonstrate the facts; and now, in possession of much new experience, an indomitable spirit, two tired partners, and a brand-new claim, he was facing his fate, as heretofore, with a wonderful boyish cheer. not all this knowledge was vouchsafed to beth when she and her maid were presently put in possession of the place. with the utmost gravity van introduced her by old dave's appellation, miss laughing water. the maid he merely called elsa. his explanation as to whence they hailed, whither they were bound, why he had taken them in charge, and how he had lost the pinto pony, was notable chiefly for its brevity. he and his charges were hungry and somewhat pressed for time, he announced, and he therefore urged algy to haste. dinner had been promptly served at twelve. algy was therefore in despair--for algy was proud of his art. he still had good red beans, most excellent coffee, corn-fed bacon, the best of bread and butter, a hunger-inspiring stew of lamb, white potatoes, fine apple sauce, and superlative gingerbread on hand in great abundance, however, but in spite of it all he spluttered. "what's mallah you, van?" he demanded several times. "wha' for no tell me blingee ladies? how you s'plose i gettee dinner? sominagot, you come like this, that velly superstich." he would readily have laid down his very life for van, but he laid a good dinner instead. during its preparation beth and her maid sat down on a bench beside the bunk-house, in the presence of cayuse, napoleon, and gettysburg, while van led the horses to the stable for refreshment, and algy talked to himself in pigeon english. it was an odd situation for the girl from new. york, but she found herself amused. both napoleon and gettysburg had been cast for amusing roles, which they did not always fill. neither, as might be supposed from his name, had ever even smelled the faintest suggestion of things military. napoleon had once been a sailor, or, to be more accurate, a river boatman. he was fat, short, red-headed, red-necked, red-nosed, and red-eyed. his hands were freckled, his arms were hairy. he turned his head to one side like a bird--and promptly fell in love with demure little elsa. gettysburg was as thin as napoleon was fat. he had a straggling gray beard, a very bald pate, high cheek bones, and a glass eye. this eye he turned towards the maid, perhaps because it was steady. he also had a nervous way of drawing one hand down his face till he lowered his jaw prodigiously, after which, like the handle of a knocker, it would fall back to place with quite a thump. he did this twice as he stared at beth, and then he remarked: "quite a hike yit, down to goldite." "i suppose it is," said beth in her interesting way. "how far is it, really, from here?" "'bout twenty miles of straight ahead, and two miles of straight up, and three of straight down--if a feller could go straight," said gettysburg gravely, "but he can't." beth looked very much concerned. she had hoped they were almost there, and no more hills to climb or descend. she felt convinced they had ridden over twenty miles already, and the horseman had assured her it was thirty at the most, from the station so far behind the mountains. "but--mr. van can't walk so far as that," she said. "i'm sure i don't see what----" she was interrupted by the reappearance of van himself. "isn't there a horse on the place?" he asked his partners collectively. "what have you done with the sorrel?" gettysburg arose. "loaned him to a. c., yistiddy," said he. "but the outlaw's on the job." "not vesuvius?" van replied incredulously. "you don't mean to say he's turned up again unslaughtered?" "cayuse here roped him, up to cedar flat," imparted gettysburg. "cornered him there in natural corral and fetched him home fer fun." napoleon added: "but cayuse ain't been on board, you bet. he likes something more old-fashioned than suvy. split my bowsprit, i wouldn't tow no horse into port which i was afraid to board. when i was bustin' bronchos i liked 'em to be bad." "yes," agreed gettysburg, "so bad they couldn't stand up." a bright glitter came for a moment in van's blue eyes. "if suvy's the only equine paradox on the place, he and i have got to argue things out this afternoon," he said, "but i'll have my dinner first." beth was listening intently, puzzled to know precisely what the talk implied. she was vaguely suspicious that van, for the purpose of escorting her on, would find himself obliged to wage some manner of war with a horse of which the indian was afraid. further discussion of the topic was interrupted now by the cook, who appeared to announce his dinner served. beth and her maid were, therefore, directed by van to a table set for two, while he, with napoleon and gettysburg for company, repaired to a place in the kitchen. beth was hungry. she ate with all the relish of a mountaineer. algy, moreover, was a kitchen magician in the art of transforming culinary commonplaces into viands of toothsome delight. elsa became speechlessly busy. despite her wishes in the matter, beth could hear the men talking beyond. "so them convicts has hiked over this way already," said the voice of gettysburg distinctly. "we heard from a. c. about the prison break, but he wasn't on to which ones they was." "one is matt barger," van informed them. "he's the only one i know." "matt barger! not _your_ matt barger?" demanded gettysburg sharply. van nodded. "mine when i had him." gettysburg arose excitedly. "he ain't come hunting fer you as quick as this?" he inquired uneasily. "that ain't what's fetched him over to the desert?" "haven't asked him," answered van. "he promised to look me up if ever he got out alive." "look you up!" gettysburg was obviously over-wrought by the mere intelligence that barger was at liberty. "you know what he'll do! you know him, boy! you know he'll keep his word. you can't go foolin' around alone. you've got to be----" "pass the beans," van interrupted. he added more quietly: "sit down, gett, and shut the front door of your face." napoleon was eating, to "keep van company." he pushed away his plate. "just our luck if these here derelicts was to foul us, skipper and crew," he observed ruefully. "just our luck." gettysburg sat down, adding: "why can't you wait, van, wait till the whole kit and boodle of us can move to the bran'-new claim?" van finished half a cup of coffee. "i told you i should continue on without delay. the horses will probably come to-night for all of you to follow me to-morrow." "then why don't you wait and go with us?" repeated gettysburg. "we'll git there by noon, and you ain't got nuthin' to ride." the horseman answered: "suvy's the prettiest gaited thing you ever saw--when he gaits." "holy toads!" said the older man apprehensively, "you ain't sure-a-goin' to tackle the outlaw today?" "i've always felt we'd come to it soon or late," was van's reply. "and i've got to have a horse this afternoon. we can't kill each other but once." "supposen he stoves in your pilot-house," said napoleon. "what shall we do about the claim, and all this cargo, and everything?" "the claim? work it, man, work it," van responded. "what's a mining claim for but to furnish good hard work for a couple of old ring-tailed galoots who've shirked it all their lives?" "work it, yep, but what on?" asked gettysburg. "we're as broke as a hatched-out egg." "haven't you worked on shinbones and heavenly hopes before?" inquired the busy leader of the partnership. "and that reminds me, algy, what about you?" he added to the chinese cook. "we can't afford a tippe-bob-royal chef of your dimensions after this. i guess you'll have to poison somebody else." "what's mallah you, van?" algy demanded aggressively. "you makee me velly sick. you get velly lich i cook your glub. you go bloke, i cook alle same. sominagot, i b'long go with you all time. you no got good luck i never want the money, you savvy? you go hell--go anywhere--i go same place--that's all. you talkee big fool, that velly superstich." he looked at van fiercely to disguise a great alarm, a fear that he might, after all, be dismissed in the break-up impending. van shrugged his shoulders. "sentenced for life. all right, algy, if your cooking kills us off, at least, as the brave young husband remarked, it will all be in the family." algy still looked as fierce as one of his heathen idols. "you t'ink velly smart," he said, still concealing his feelings. "lats!" and with that he went out to chop some wood. "batten me into the pantry!" said napoleon. "i'll bet old algy'd board the outlaw himself, fer you, van, squall and all." "that horse ain't human," gettysburg exploded anew. "van, you can't ride no such fourth-of-july procession!" "shut up!" murmured van, with a gesture towards the room where beth and her maid were dining. he added aloud: "the chances are we'll find he's a cheap sunday-school picnic. napoleon, you and cayuse go out and prepare his mind for work." "aye, aye," said napoleon rising to go, "but i wish we had some soothin' syrup, skipper." he and the indian were heard to depart, by beth, sitting back in her chair. she was greatly alarmed by all she had heard of vengeful convicts and the vicious horse, and could eat no more for nervous dread. "that horse has killed his man, and you know it," said gettysburg in a whisper that the girl distinctly overhead. "boy, boy, let the injun ride him first." "there, there, ease off," van answered quietly. "you keep the women entertained about the mill while suvy and i are debating." he gulped down a last drink of coffee, silenced the miner's further remonstrances, and departed by way of the kitchen door. beth arose hurriedly and hastened forth, intent upon immediate prevention, if possible, of any further ordeals undertaken in behalf of herself. she was thoroughly frightened. a prescience of something ominous impending seemed to grip her very heart. she glanced about, helplessly, unfamiliar with the place. van was nowhere in sight. she started to run around the cabin when gettysburg appeared in her path. "well, well," said he nervously, "now who'd a-thought you'd finished eatin'?" "oh please," she said, "please go tell mr. van i'd rather he wouldn't attempt to ride _any_ horse again to-day. will you please go tell him that?" "you bet your patent leathers!" said gettysburg. "you just go over and globe-trot the quartz-mill while i'm gone, and we'll fix things right in a shake." he strode off in haste. beth watched him go. she made no move towards the quartz-mill, which gettysburg had indicated, over on the slope. she soon grew restive, awaiting his return. elsa came out and sat down. the old miner failed to reappear. at length, unable to endure any longer her feeling of alarm and suspense, beth resolutely followed where gettysburg had gone, and soon came in sight of the stable and high corral. then her heart struck a blow of excitement in her breast, and her knees began to weaken beneath her. chapter vi the battle too late to interfere in the struggle about to be enacted, the girl stood rigidly beside a great red pine tree, fixing her gaze upon van, on whose heels, as he walked, jingled a glinting pair of spurs. from the small corral he was leading forth as handsome an animal as beth had ever seen, already saddled, bridled--and blindfolded. the horse was a chestnut, magnificently sculptured and muscled. he was of medium size, and as trim and hard as a nail. his coat fairly glistened in the sun. despite his beauty there was something about him that betokened menace. it was not altogether that the men all stood away--all save van--nor yet that the need for a blindfold argued danger in his composition. there was something acutely disquieting in the backward folding of his ears, the quiver of his sinews, the reluctant manner of his stepping. beth did not and could not know that an "outlaw" is a horse so utterly abandoned to ways of broncho crime and equine deviltry that no man is able to break him--that having conquered man after man, perhaps even with fatal results to his riders, he has become absolutely depraved and impossible of submission. she only knew that her heart was beating rapidly, painfully, that her breath came in gasps, that her whole nervous system was involved in some manner of anguish. she saw the chinese cook run past to witness the game, but all her faculties were focused on the man and horse--both sinister, tense, and grim. van had not turned in beth's direction. he was wholly unaware of her presence. he halted when the horse was well out towards the center of the open, and the outlaw braced awkwardly, as if to receive an attack. with the bridle reins held in his hand at the pommel of the saddle, van stood for a moment by the chestnut's side, then, with incredible celerity of movement, suddenly placed his foot in the stirrup and was up and well seated before the blinded pony could have moved. nothing happened. no one made a sound. no one, apparently, save beth, had expected anything to happen. she felt a rush of relief--that came prematurely. van now leaned forward, as the horse remained stiffly braced, and slipping the blindfold from the pony's eyes, sat back in the saddle alertly. even then the chestnut did not move. he had gone through this ordeal many times before. he had often been mounted--but not for long at a time. he had even been exhausted by a stubborn "broncho buster"--some hardy human burr who could ride a crazy comet--but always he had won in the end. in a word he had earned his sobriquet, which in broncho-land is never lightly bestowed. van was not in the least deceived. however, he was eager for the conflict to begin. he had no time to waste. he snatched off his hat, let out a wild, shrill yell, dug with his spurs and struck the animal a resounding slap on the flank, that, like a fulminate, suddenly detonated the pent-up explosives in the beast. he "lit into" bucking of astounding violence with the quickness of dynamite. it was terrific. for a moment beth saw nothing but a mad grotesquerie of horse and man, almost ludicrously unnatural, and crazed with eccentric motion. the horse shot up in the air like a loose, distorted piece of statuary, blown from its pedestal by some gigantic disturbance. he appeared to buckle in his mid-air leap like a bended thing of metal, then dropped to the earth, stiff-legged as an iron image, to bound up again with mad and furious gyrations that seemed to the girl to twist both horse and rider into one live mass of incongruity, he struck like a ruin, falling from the sky, went up again with demon-like activity, once more descended--once more hurtled wildly aloft--and repeated this maneuver with a swiftness utterly bewildering. had some diabolical wind, together with a huge, volcanic force, taken insane possession of the animal, to fire him skyward, whirl him about, thrash him down viciously and fling him up again, time after time, he could not have churned with greater violence. he never came down in the same place twice, but he always came down stiff-legged. the jolt was sickening. all about, in a narrow, earth-cut circle he bucked, beginning to grunt and warm to his work and hence to increase the deviltry and malice of his actions. van had yelled but that once. he saw nothing, knew nothing, save a dizzy world, abruptly gone crazy about him. to beth it seemed as if the horror would never have an end. one glimpse she had of van's white face, but nothing could it tell of his strength or the lack thereof. she felt she must look and look till he was killed. there could be no other issue, she was sure. and for herself there could be no escape from the awful fascination of the merciless brute, inflicting this torture on the man. it did end, however, rather unexpectedly--that particular phase of the conflict. the horse grew weary of the effort, made in vain, to dislodge the stubborn torment on his back. he changed the program with the deadliest of all a broncho's tricks. pausing for the briefest part of a second, while van must certainly have been reeling with hideous motion and jolt, the chestnut quickly reared on high, to drop himself clean over backwards. it was thus that once he had crushed the life from a rider. "oh!" screamed both, and she sank beside the tree. the men all yelled. they were furious and afraid. with hoofs wildly flaying the air, while he loomed tall and unreal in such an attitude, the broncho hung for a moment in mid-poise, then dropped over sheer--as if to be shattered into fragments. but a mass of the bronze-like group was detached, and fell to one side, on its thigh. it was van. he had seen what was coming in time. instantly up, as the brute rolled quickly to arise, he leaped in the saddle, the horn of which had snapped, and he and the chestnut came erect together, as if miraculously the equestrian group had been restored. "yi! yi!" he yelled, like the madman he was--mad with the heat of the fight--and he dug in his spurs with vicious might. back to it wildly, with fury increased, the broncho leaped responsively. here, there, all the field over, the demon thrashed, catapulting incredibly. he tried new tricks, invented new volcanics of motion, developed new whirlwinds of violence. once more, then, as he had on the first occasion, the beast reared up and fell backward to the earth. once more van dropped away from his bulk and caught him before he could rise. this time, however, he did not immediately mount--and the men went running to his side. "fer god's sake, boy, let me kill the brute!" cried gettysburg taking up a club. "i'll shoot him! i'll shoot him! i'll shoot him!" said napoleon wildly, but without any weapon in his hands. beth beheld and heard it all. she was once more standing rigidly by her tree, unable to move or speak. she wished to run to van as the men had run, but not to slay the broncho--only to beg the horseman not to mount again. she saw him push the men away and stand like the broncho's guard. his face was streaked with blood--his blood--jolted alike from his mouth and nose by the shocks to which he had been subjected. "let the horse alone!" he commanded roughly. "good stuff in this broncho--somewhere. get me a bottle of water, right away--a big one--get it full." his partners started at once to raise objections. the indian stood by stolidly looking on. "you can't go no further. van, you can't----" started gettysburg. "sominagot! una ma, hong oy! una ca see fut!" said the chinese-cook, swearing vehemently in the language likeliest to count, and he ran at once towards the kitchen. van was replacing the blindfold on the broncho's eyes. the animal was panting, sweating, quivering in every muscle. his ears went backward and forward rapidly. the blindfold shut out a wild, unreasoning challenge and defiance that burned like a torch in his eyes. algy came running with a big bottle, filled and corked. "fer god's sake, leave me kill him!" gettysburg was repeating automatically. "van, if you ain't got no respect fer yourself, ain't you got none left fer us old doggone cusses?" "give me the bottle, algy," van replied. "you're the only game sport on the ranch." still he did not discover beth. his attentions were engrossed by the horse. he was dizzy, dazed, but a dogged master still of his forces. up he mounted to the saddle again, the bottle held firmly in his grasp. "slip off the blinder," he said to his friends, and algy it was who obeyed. "damn you, now you buck!" cried van wildly, and his heels ignited the volcano. for five solid minutes the broncho redoubled his scheme of demoniac fury. then he poised, let out a shrill scream of challenge, and abruptly raised to repeat the backward fall. up, up he went, an ungainly sight, and then--the heavens split in twain. he was only well lifted from the earth when, with a thunderous, terrible blow, van crashed the bottle downward, fairly between his ears, and burst it on his skull. the weapon was shattered with a frightening thud. red pieces of glass and streaming water poured in a cataract down across the broncho's eyes as if very doom itself had suddenly cracked. a cataclysm could not have been more horrible. an indescribable fright and awe overwhelmed the brutish mind as with a cloud of lead. down swiftly he dropped to his proper position, perhaps with a fear that his crown was gaping open from impact with the sky. he was stunned by the blow upon his brain, and weakened in every fiber. he started to run, in terror of the thing, and the being still solid in the saddle. wildly he went around the cove, in the panic of utter defeat. the men began to cheer, their voices choked and hoarse. van rode now as fate might ride the very devil. he spurred the horse to furious, exhausting speed, guiding him wildly around the mountain theater. again and again they circled the grassy arena, till foam and lather whitened the broncho's flank, chest, and mouth, and his nostril burned red as living flame. when at last the animal, weary and undone, would have sobered down to a trot or walk, van forced him anew to crazy speed. at least five miles he drove him thus, till the broncho's sides, like the rider's face, were red with blood mingled with sweat. beth, at the climax, had gone down suddenly, leaning against the tree. she had not fainted, but was far too weak to stand. her eyes only moved. she watched the two, that seemed welded into one, go racing madly against fatigue. at last she beheld the look of the conquered--the utter surrender of the broken and subdued--gleam dully from the wilted pony's eyes. she pitied the animal she had feared and hated but a few brief moments before. she began to think that the man was perhaps the brute, after all, to ride the exhausted creature thus without a sign of mercy. she rose to her feet as the two came at last to a halt, master and servant, conquered and conqueror, man and quivering beast. then van got down, and her heart, that had pitied the horse, welled with deeper feeling for the rider. she had never in her life seen a face so drawn, so utterly haggard beneath a mask of red as that presented by the horseman. van nearly fell, but would not fall, and instead stood trembling, his arm by natural inclination now circling the neck of the pony. "well, suvy," he said not ungently, "we gave each other hell. hereafter we're going to be friends." beth heard him. she also saw the chestnut turn and regard the man with a look of appeal and dumb questioning in his eyes that choked her--with joy and compassion together. she someway knew that this man and horse would be comrades while they lived. half an hour afterward as she, van, and elsa rode forward as before, she saw the man in affection pat the broncho on the neck. and the horse pricked his ears in a newfound gladness in service and friendship that his nature could not yet comprehend. chapter vii an exchange of questions youth is elastic, and van was young. an hour of quiet riding restored him astoundingly. he bore no signs of fatigue that beth could detect upon his face. once more, as he had in the morning, he was riding ahead in the trail, apparently all but oblivious of the two anxious women in his charge. they had wound far downward through a canyon, and now at length were emerging on a sagebrush slope that lowered to the valley. van halted for beth to ride to his side, and onward they continued together. "i suppose you have friends to whom you are going in goldite," he said, "--or at least there's someone you know." "yes," she answered, "my brother." van looked at her in his quizzical way, observing: "i don't believe i know him." her glance was almost one of laughter. "why, how can you tell? you don't even know his name." she paused, then added quietly: "it's glenmore kent." she felt he had a right to know not only her brother's name, but also her own, if only for what he had done. "you might, of course, know him after all," she concluded. "he has quite a number of acquaintances." "kent," said van. to himself it was "beth kent" he was saying. "no, guess not. no such luck, but i hope you'll find him in the camp." "do you think i may not?" she was just a trifle startled by the possibility. he was grave for once. "men come and go in a mining town, where everyone's unduly excited. if he isn't on deck, then have you no one else? have you any alternative plan?" "why, no," she confessed, her alarm increasing, "not unless mr. bostwick has arrived and arranged our accommodations." "i wouldn't count on searle," drawled van significantly. "he may have to walk." "not across the awful desert?" "if he goes around he'll be longer." "why--but----" she gasped, "there is nothing to eat--no water--there isn't anything on the desert, is there?--anywhere?" he was looking intently into the deep brown depths of her eyes as he answered: "there's so little to eat that the chipmunks have to fetch in their lunches." beth continued to gaze upon him. if she noted the lights of laughter lying soberly subdued in his eyes, she also discerned something more, that affected her oddly. despite the horseman's treatment of her escort--a treatment she confessed he had partially deserved--and despite the lightness of his speeches, she felt certain of the depth of his nature, convinced of the genuine earnestness of his purposes--the honesty and worth of his friendship. she knew she was tremendously indebted for all he had done and was doing, but aside from all that, in her heart of hearts she admired bravery, courage, and a dash of boldness more than anything else in the world. she was not yet certain, however, whether the man at her side was brave or merely reckless, courageous, or indifferent to danger, bold or merely audacious. she knew nothing about him whatsoever, nothing except he must be tired, lame, and bruised from exertions undertaken in her behalf. it had been a long, long day. she felt as if they had known each other always--and had always been friends. her mind went back to the morning as if to an era of the past. the thought of the convicts who had captured bostwick aroused new apprehensions in her breast, though not for the man with the car. someway searle seemed strangely far away and dimmed in her regard. she was thinking of what she had overheard, back there at the monte cristo mine. "this has been a trying day," she said, apparently ignoring van's last observation. "you have taken a great deal of trouble for--for us--and we appreciate it fully." van said gravely: "taking trouble is the only fun i have." "you laugh at everything," she answered, "but isn't it really a serious thing--a menace to everyone--having those convicts out of prison?" "it isn't going to be a knitting-bee, rounding them up," van admitted. "and meantime they're going to be exacting of everyone they meet." she looked at him half seriously, but altogether brightly. "and what if they chance to meet you?" "oh, we'd exchange courtesies, i reckon." she had no intention of confessing how much she had overheard, but she was tremendously interested--almost fearful for the man's safety, she hardly dared ask herself why. she approached her subject artfully. "do you know them, then?" "well, yes, the leader--slightly," he answered. "i sent him up for murder, stealing cattle, and robbing sluices. he was too annoying to have around." "oh! then won't he feel ugly, resentful?" she inquired earnestly. "won't he try to hunt you up--and pay you back?" van regarded her calmly. "he told me to expect my pay--if ever he escaped--and he's doubtless got his check-book along." "his check-book?" "colt--forty-four," van drawled by way of explanation. she turned a trifle pale. "he'd shoot you on sight?" "if he sighted me first." her breath came hard. she realized that the quiet-seeming horseman at her side would kill a fellow-being--this convict, at least--as readily as he might destroy a snake. "how long ago did you put him in jail?" she inquired. "four years ago this summer." "have you always lived here--out west?" "i've lived every day i've been here," he answered evasively. "do i look like a native?" she laughed. "oh, i don't know. we came here straight from new york, a week ago, elsa and i. mr. bostwick joined us two days later. i really know nothing of the country at all." "new york," he said, and relapsed into silent meditation. how far away seemed old new amsterdam! how long seemed the brief six years since he had started forth with his youthful health, his strength, determination, boyish dreams, and small inheritance to build up a fortune in the west! what a mixture of sunshine and failure it had been! what glittering hopes had lured him hither and yon in the mountains, where each great gateway of adventure had charged its heavy toll! he had lost practically all of his money; he had gained his all of manhood. he had suffered privation and hardship; he had known the vast comfort of friends--true friends, as certain as the very heart in his breast to serve him to the end. like a panoramic dream he beheld a swift procession of mine-and-cattle scenes troop past for swift review. he lived again whole months of nights spent out alone beneath the sky, with the snow and the wind hurled down upon him from a merciless firmament of bleakness. once more he stumbled blindly forward in the desert--he and gettysburg--perishing for water, giving up their liquid souls to the horribly naked and insatiate sun. again he toiled in the shaft of a mine till his back felt like a crackly thing of glass with each aching fissure going deeper. once more the gold goddess beckoned with her smile, and fortune was there, almost in reach--the fortune that he and his partners had sought so doggedly, so patiently--the fortune for which they had starved and delved and suffered--only to see it vanish in the air as the sunshine will vanish from a peak. old hopes, like ghosts, went skulking by, vain charlatans, ashamed. but friendships stood about in every scene--bright presences that cast a roseate glow on all the tribulations of his life. and it seemed as if a failure here was half a failure only, after all. it had not robbed him either of his youth, his strength, or a certain boyish credulity and trust in all his kind. he still believed he should win his golden goal, and he loved the land that had tried him. his last, his biggest venture, the monte cristo mine was, however, gone--everything sold to meet the company debts. nevertheless, he had once more purchased a claim, with all but his very last dollar in the world, and he and his partners would soon be on the ground, assaulting the stubborn adamant with powder, pick, and drill, in the fever of the miner's ceaseless dream. to-day, as he rode beside the girl, he wondered at it all--why he had labored so persistently. the faint, far-off shadow of a sweetheart, long since left behind, failed to supply him a motive. she had grown impatient, listened to a suitor more tangible than van's absent self, and so, blamelessly, had faded from his scheme of hopes, leaving no more than a fragrance in his thoughts, with certainly no bitterness or anger. "old new york," he repeated, at the end of his reverie, and meeting once more the steady brown eyes of the girl with whom the fates had thrown him, he fetched up promptly with the present. "how long has your brother been out here in goldite?" "about a month," she answered. "he's been in the west for nearly a year, and wrote mr. bostwick to come." "mr. bostwick is doubtless a very particular friend of your family." "why, yes, he's my--- that is, he _was_--he always has been a very particular friend--for several years," she faltered suddenly turning red. "we haven't any family, glen and i--and he's my half brother only--but we're just like chums---and that was why i wanted to come. i expect to surprise him. he doesn't know i'm here." van was silent and she presently added: "i hope you and glen will be friends. i know how much he'll wish to thank you." he looked at her gravely. "i hope he won't. it's up to me to thank him." they had come to a road at the level of the valley--a desert valley, treeless, grassless, gray, and desolate. the sun was rapidly nearing the rim of the mountains, as if to escape pursuit of a monstrous bank of clouds. van spurred his chestnut to a gallop, and the horses bearing the women responded with no further need of urging. chapter viii a night's expenses from karrish to goldite by the road was twenty-seven miles. there were fifteen mile of bottles by the way--all of them empty. a blind man with a nose for glass could have smelled out the trail unerringly across that desert stretch. karrish was the nearest town for a very great distance around. over the road innumerable caravans were passing. everything was rushing to goldite. there were horsemen, hurried persons on foot, men in carriages and autos, twenty-horse freight teams, and men on tiny burros. nearly all were shedding bottles as they went. a waterless land is not necessarily devoid of all manner of moisture. a dozen of the slowly laboring freight outfits were passed by van and his two companions. what engines of toil they represented! the ten pairs of sweating, straining animals seemed almost like some giant caterpillar, harnessed to a burden on wheels. they always dragged three wagons, two of which were huge gray hulks, incredibly heavy with giant-powder, canned goods, bottled goods, picks, shovels, bedding, hay, great mining machinery, and house-hold articles. these wagons were hitched entrain. the third wagon, termed a "trailer," was small and loaded merely with provisions for the teamster and the team. the whole thing, from end to end, beat up a stifling cloud of dust. the sun went down while beth, van, and elsa were still five miles from their goal. they rode as rapidly as possible. the horses, however, were jaded, and the way was slightly up grade. the twilight was brief. it descended abruptly from the western bank of clouds, by now as thick and dark as mud. afar off shone the first faint light of the gold-camp to which the three were riding. this glimmering ray was two miles out from the center of town. goldite was spread in a circle four miles wide, and the most of it was isolated tents. the darkness shut down like a pall. a vivid, vicious bolt of lightning--a fiery serpent, overcharged with might--struck down upon the mountain tops, pouring liquid flame upon the rocks. a sweeping gust of wind came raging down upon the town, hurling dust and gravel on the travelers. van rode ahead like a spirit of the storm. he knew the need for haste. beth simply let her pony go. she was cramped and far too wearied for effort. they were galloping now past the outskirts of the camp, the many scattered tents of the men who were living on their claims. all the world was a land of claims, staked off with tall white posts, like ghosts in the vanishing light. ahead, a multitude of lights had suddenly broken on the travelers' vision, like a nearby constellation of stars. they rode into all of it, blazing lights, eager crowds upon the streets, noise of atrocious music from the brilliant saloons, and rush of wind and dust, not a minute too soon. they had barely alighted and surrendered their horses to a friend of van's when the rain from the hilltops swooped upon the camp in a fury that seemed like an elemental threat to sweep all the place, with its follies, hopes, and woes, its excitements, lawlessness, and struggles, from the face of the barren desert world. beth and her maid were lame and numb. van could only hustle them inside a grocery-and-hardware store to save them from a drenching. the store was separated from a gambling-hall saloon by the flimsiest board partition. odors of alcohol, confusion of voices, and calls of a gamester came unimpeded to the women's senses, together with some mighty bad singing, accompanied lustily by strains and groans pounded from a ghastly piano. "sit down," said van, inverting a tub at the feet of the wondering women. "i'll see if i can rustle up your brother." he went out in the rain, dived impartially into the first of the crowded saloons, was somewhat hilariously greeted by a score of convivial fellows, found no one who knew of young glen kent, and proceeded on to the next. the horseman was well and favorably known in all directions. he was eagerly cornered wheresoever he appeared by a lot of fellows who were friends to little purpose, in an actual test. however, he clung to his mission with commendable tenacity of purpose, and kept upon his way. thus he discovered at length, when he visited the bank--an institution that rarely closed before ten o'clock in the evening--that kent had been gone for the past two weeks, no one knew where, but somewhere out south, with a party. there was nothing to do after that but to look for fit apartments for the gently reared girl and her maid. hunting a needle in the ocean would have been a somewhat similar task. van went at once at the business, with his customary spirit. he was presently informed there was nothing resembling a room or a bed to be had in all the place. a hundred men would walk the streets or sleep in chairs that night. the one apartment suitable for two lone women to occupy had been secured the previous day by "plunger" trask, an eastern young man who would bet that grass was not green. van searched for trask and found him "cashing in" a lot of assorted chips, representing his winnings at a faro game at which he had been "bucking." "hello, there, van," he said familiarly as the horseman touched him on the shoulder. "come and have a drink." "my teeth are floating now from drink," said van, "but i'll take something else if you say so. i want your apartments for the night." "say, wire me!" answered the plunger. "that's the cutest little bunch of nerve i ever saw off the bowery! how much money have you got in your clothes?" "about forty-five dollars," said van. "is it good?" "not as a price, but o.k. in a flip," said trask, with an itch for schemes of chance. "i'll throw you the dice, my room against your forty-five--and the devil take your luck if you win!" van agreed. they borrowed a box of dice, threw three times apiece--and the horseman paid over his money. "there you are, old man," said the plunger cheerfully. "satisfied, i hope." "not quite," said van. "i'll owe you forty-five more and throw you again." "right ho!" responded trask. "go as far as you like." they shook again. van lost as before. he borrowed again, undiscouraged. for the third time they cast the little cubes of uncertainty and this time van actually won. the room was his to dispose of as he pleased. it had cost him ninety dollars for the night. in his pocket he had cautiously retained a little money--seven and one-half dollars, to be accurate. he returned to beth, informed her of all he had discovered concerning her brother, took herself and elsa to dine in the camp's one presentable restaurant, paid nearly seven dollars for the meal, and gave what remained to the waiter. then beth, who had never in her life been so utterly exhausted, resigned herself to elsa's care, bade van good-night, and left him standing in the rain before the door, gallant, and smiling to the end. chapter ix progress and salt goldite, by the light of day, presented a wonderful spectacle. it was a mining camp positively crystallizing into being before the very eyes of all beholders. it was nearly all tents and canvas structures--a heterogeneous mixture of incompleteness and modernity to which the telegraph wires had already been strung from the outside world. it had no fair supply of water, but it did have a newspaper, issued once a week. a dozen new buildings, flimsy, cheap affairs, were growing like toadstools, day and night. several brick buildings, and shacks of mud, were rising side by side. everywhere the scene was one of crowds, activity, and hurry. thousands of men were in the one straight street, a roughly dressed, excited throng, gold-bitten, eager, and open-handed. hundreds of mules and horses, a few bewildered cows, herds of great wagons, buggies, heaps of household goods, and trunks, with fortifications of baled hay and grain, were crowded into two great corrals, where dusty teamsters hastened hotly about, amidst heaps of dusty harness, sacks of precious ore and the feed troughs for the beasts. beth had slept profoundly, despite the all-night plague of noises, penetrating vividly through the shell-like walls of the house. she was out with elsa at an early hour, amazingly refreshed and absorbingly interested in all she heard and saw. the sky was clear, but a chill wind blew down from the mountains, flapping canvas walls in all directions. the building wherein the women had rested was a wooden lodging house, set barely back from the one business street of the camp. next door was a small, squat domicile constructed of bottles and mud. the bottles were laid in the "mortar" with their ends protruding. near by, at the rear of a prosperous saloon, was a pyramid of empty bottles, fully ten feet high--enough to build a little church. drawn onward by the novelty of all the scene, beth crossed the main street--already teeming with horses, wagons, and men--and proceeded over towards a barren hill, followed demurely by her maid. the hill was like a torn-up battlefield, trenched, and piled with earthworks of defense, for man the impetuous had already flung up great gray dumps of rock, broken and wrenched from the bulk of the slope, where he quested for gleaming yellow metal. he had ripped out the adamant--the matrix of the gold--for as far as beth could see. like ant-heaps of tremendous dimensions stood these monuments of toil--rock-writings, telling of the heat and desire, the madness of man to be rich. the world about was one of rocks and treeless ridges, spewed from some vast volcanic forge of ages past. it was all a hard, gray, adamantine world, unlovely and severe--a huge old gold furnace, minus heat or fire, lying neglected in a universe of mountains that might have been a workshop in the ancient days when titans wrought their arts upon the earth. beth gazed upon it all in wonder not unmingled with awe. what a place it was for man to live and wage his puny battles! yet the fever of all of it, rising in her veins, made her eager already to partake of the dream, the excitement that made mere gold-slaves of the men who had come here compelling this forbidding place to yield up some measure of comfort and become in a manner their home. van, in the meanwhile, having spent the time till midnight on his feet, and the small hours asleep on a bale of hay, was early abroad, engaged in various directions. he first proceeded to the largest general store in the camp and ordered a generous bill of supplies to be sent to his newest claim. next he arranged with a friendly teamster for the prompt return of the two borrowed horses on which beth and her maid had come to camp. then, on his way to an assayer's office, where samples of rock from the claim in question had been left for the test of fire, he encountered a homely, little, dried-up woman who was scooting about from store to store with astonishing celerity of motion. "tottering angels!" said he. "mrs. dick!" "hello--just a minute," said the lively little woman, and she dived inside the newest building and was out almost immediately with a great sack of plunder that she jerked about with most diverting energy. "here, fetch this down to the house," she demanded imperiously. "what's the good of my finding you here in goldite if you don't do nothing for your country?" van shouldered the sack. "what are you doing here anyhow?" said he, "--up before breakfast and busy as a hen scratching for one chicken." "come on," she answered, starting briskly towards a new white building, off the main thoroughfare, eastward. "i live here--start my boarding-house today. i'm going to get rich. every room's furnished and every bed wanted as fast as i can make 'em up. have you had your breakfast?" "say, you're my indian," answered van. "i've got you two customers already. you've got to take them in and give them your best if you turn someone else inside out to do it." mrs. dick paused suddenly. "bronson van buren! you're stuck on some woman at last!" "at last?" said van. "haven't i always been stuck after you?" mrs. dick resumed her brisk locomotion. "snakes alive!" she concluded explosively. "she's respectable, of course? but you said two. now see here, van, no mormon games with me!" "her _maid_--it's her maid that's with her," van explained. "don't jump down my throat till i grease it." "her maid!" mrs. dick said no more as to that. the way she said it was enough. they had come to the door of her newly finished house, a clean, home-like place from which a fragrance of preparing breakfast flowed like a ravishing nectar. "where are they now?" she demanded impatiently. "wherever they are it ain't fit for a horse! why don't you go and fetch 'em?" van put the bag inside the door, then his hands on mrs. dick's shoulders. "i'll bet your mother was a little red firecracker and your father a bottle of seltzer," he said. then off he went for beth. she was not, of course, at "home" when he arrived at the place he had found the previous evening. disturbed for a moment by her absence, he presently discerned her, off there westward on the hill from which she was making a survey of the camp. three minutes after he was climbing up the slope and she turned and looked downward upon him. "by heavens!" he said beneath his breath, "--what beauty!" the breeze was molding her dress upon her rounded form till she seemed like the statue of a goddess--a goddess of freedom, loveliness, and joy, sculptured in the living flesh--a figure vibrant with glowing health and youth, startlingly set in the desert's gray austerity. with the sunlight flinging its gold and riches upon her, what a marvel of color she presented!--such creamy white and changing rose-tints in her cheeks--such a wonderful brown in her hair and eyes--such crimson of lips that parted in a smile over even little jewels of teeth! and she smiled on the horseman, tall, and active, coming to find her on the hill. "good morning!" she cried. "oh, isn't it wonderful--so big, and bare, and _clean_!" van smiled. "it's a hungry-looking country to me--looks as if it has eaten all the trees. if it makes you think of breakfast, or just plain coffee and rolls, i've found a place i hope you'll like, with a friend i didn't know was here." "you are very kind, i'm sure," she said. "i'm afraid we're a great deal of trouble." "that's what women were made for," he answered her frankly, a bright, dancing light in his eyes. "they couldn't help it if they would, and i guess they wouldn't if they could." "oh, indeed?" she shot him a quick glance, half a challenge. "i _guess_ if you don't mind we won't go to the place you've found, for breakfast, this morning." "you'd better guess again," he answered, and taking her arm, in a masterful way that bereft her of the power of speech or resistance, he marched her briskly down the slope and straight towards mrs. dick's. "thank your stars you've struck a place like this," he said. "if you don't i'll have to thank them for you." "perhaps i ought to thank you first," she ventured smilingly. it would have seemed absurd to resent his boyish ways. "you may," he said, "when i get to be one of your stars." "oh, really? why defer mere thanks _indefinitely_?" "it won't be indefinitely, and besides, thanks will keep--and breakfast won't." he entered the house, with beth and her maid humbly trailing at his heels. mrs. dick came bustling from the kitchen like a busy little ant. van introduced his charges briefly. mrs. dick shook hands with them both. "well!" she said, "i like you after all! and it's lucky i do, for if i didn't i don't know's i should take you or not, even if van did say i had to." van took her by the shoulders and shook her boyishly. "you'd take a stick of dynamite and a house afire, both in one hand, if i said so," he announced. "now don't get hostile." "well--i s'pose i would," agreed mrs. dick. she added to beth: "ain't he the dickens and all? just regular brute strength. come right upstairs till i show you where you're put. i've turned off two men to let you have the best room in the house." beth had to smile. she had never felt so helpless in her life--or so amused. she followed mrs. dick obediently, finding the two-bed room above to be a bright, new-smelling apartment of acceptable size and situation. in answer to a score of rapid-fire questions on the part of mrs. dick, she imparted as much as van already knew concerning herself and her quest. mrs. dick became her friend forthwith, then hastened downstairs to the kitchen. van and beth presently took breakfast together, while elsa, with a borrowed needle and thread, was busied with some minor repairing of garments roughly used the day before. other boarders and lodgers of the house had already eaten and gone, to resume their swirl in the maelstrom of the camp. for a time the two thus left alone in the dining-room appeased their appetites in silence. van watched the face of the girl for a time and finally spoke. "i'll let you know whatever i hear about your brother, if there is any more to hear. meantime you'll have to remain here and wait." she was silent for a moment, reflecting on, the situation. "you took my suitcase away from mr. bostwick, you'll remember," she said, "and left it where we got the horses." "it will be here to-day," he answered. "i arranged for that with dave." "oh. but of course you cannot tell when mr. bostwick may appear." "his movements couldn't be arranged so conveniently, otherwise he wouldn't appear at all." she glanced at him, startled. "not come at all? but i need him! besides, he's my--- i expect him to go and find my brother. and the trunk checks are all in his pocket--wait!--no they're not, they're in my suitcase after all." "you're in luck," he assured her blandly, "for searle has doubtless lost all his pockets." "lost his pockets?" she echoed. "perhaps you mean the convicts took them--took his clothing--everything he had." "everything except his pleasant manner," van agreed. "they have plenty of that of their own." she was lost for a moment in reflection. "poor searle! poor mr. bostwick!" van drank the last of his coffee. "was searle the only man you knew in all new york?" she colored. "certainly not. of course not. why do you ask such a question?" "i was trying to understand the situation, but i give it up." he looked in her eyes with mock gravity, and she colored. she understood precisely what he meant--the situation between herself and bostwick, to whom, she feared, she had half confessed herself engaged. she started three times to make a reply, but halted each answer for a better. "you don't like mr. bostwick," she finally observed. van told her gravely: "i like him like the old woman kept tavern." she could not entirely repress a smile. "and how did she keep it--the tavern?" "like hell," said van. he rose to go, adding; "you like him about that way yourself--since yesterday." her eyes had been sparkling, but now they snapped. "why--how can you speak so rudely? you know that isn't true! you know i like--admire mr. bost--- you haven't any right to say a thing like that--no matter what you may have done for me!" she too had risen. she faced him glowingly. he suddenly took both her hands and held them in a firm, warm clasp from which there could be no escape. "beth," he said audaciously, "you are never going to marry that man." she was struggling vainly to be free. her face was crimson. "let me go!" she demanded. "mr. van--you let me go! i don't see how you dare to say a thing like that. i don't know why----" "you can't marry searle," he interrupted, "because you are going to marry me." he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them both. "be back by and by," he added, and off he went, through the kitchen, leaving beth by the table speechless, burning and confused, with a hundred wild emotions in her heart. he continued out at the rear of the place, where little mrs. dick was valiantly tugging at two large buckets of water. he relieved her of the burden. "say, priscilla," he drawled, "if a smoke-faced easterner comes around here while i'm gone, looking for--you know--miss kent, remember he can't have a room in your house if he offers a million and walks on his hands and prays in thirteen languages." little mrs. dick glanced up at him shrewdly. "have you got it as bad as that? snakes alive! all right, i guess i'll remember." "be good," said van, and off he went to the assayer's shop for which he had started before. the assayer glanced up briefly. he was busy at a bucking-board, where, with energetic application of a very heavy weight, on the end of a handle, he was grinding up a lot of dusty ore. "greeting, van," said he. "come in." van shook his outstretched hand. "i thought i'd like to see those results," he said, "--that rock i fetched you last, remember? you thought you could finish the batch last week. gold rock from the 'see saw' claim that i bought three weeks ago." "yes, oh yes. now what did i do with--- finished 'em up and put 'em away somewhere," said the assayer, dusting his hands and moving towards his desk. "such a lot of stuff's been coming in--here they are, i reckon." he drew a half dozen small printed forms from a cavity in the desk, glanced them over briefly and handed the lot to van. "nothing doing. pretty good rock for building purposes." "nothing doing?" echoed van incredulously, staring at the assay records which showed in merciless bluntness that six different samples of reputed ore had proved to be absolutely worthless. "the samples you assayed first showed from ten to one hundred and fifty dollars to the ton, in gold." "what's that got to do with this?" inquired the master of acids and fire. "you don't mean to say----" "do with it, man? it all came out of the same identical prospect," van interrupted. "these were later samples than the others, that's all." the assayer glanced over his shoulder at the hope-destroying slips. "the 'see saw' claim," he said perfunctorily. "you bought it, van, who from?" "from selwyn briggs." "sorry," said the assayer briefly. "h'm! that briggs!" "you don't mean--- it couldn't have been salted on me!" van declared. "i took my own samples, broke down a new face purposely, sacked it all myself--and sealed the sacks. no one touched those sacks till you broke the seals in this office. he couldn't have salted me, frank. what possible chance----" the assayer went to a shelf, took down a small canvas bag, glanced at a mark that identified it as one in which samples of "see saw" rock had arrived for the former assay, and turned it inside out. "once in a while i've heard of a cute one squirting a sharp syringe full of chloride of gold on worthless rock, through the meshes of the canvas, even after the samples were sealed," he imparted quietly. "this sack looks to me like some i've encountered before that were pretty rich in gold. i'll assay the cloth if you like." van took the sack in his hand, examined it silently, then glanced as before at his papers. "salted--by that lump of a briggs!" his lip was curved in a mirthless smile. "i guess i've got it in the neck all right. these last samples tell the real story." he slapped the papers across his hand, then tore them up in tiny bits and threw them on the floor." "sorry, old man," said the assayer, as before. "hope you didn't pay him much for the claim." "not much," said van. "all i had--and some of it borrowed money." the assayer puckered up his mouth. "briggs has skipped--gone east." "i know. well--all in a lifetime, i suppose. pay you, frank, when i can." "that's all right," his friend assured him. "forget it if you like." van started off, but returned. "say, frank," he said, "don't hawk this around. it's bad enough for me to laugh at myself. i don't want the chorus joining in." "i'm your clam," said frank. "so long, and better luck!" chapter x the laughing water claim a man who lives by uncertainties has a singular habit of mind. he is ever lured forward by hopes and dreams that overlap each other as he goes. while the scheme in hand is proving hopeless, day by day, he grasps at another, just ahead, and draws himself onward towards the gilded goal, forgetful of the trickery of all those other schemes behind, that were equally bright in their day. van had relinquished all hold on the golden dream once dangled before him by the monte cristo mine, to lay strong hands on the promise vouchsafed by the "see saw" claim which he had purchased. as he walked away from the assayer's shop he felt his hands absolutely empty. for the very first time in at least four years he had no blinding glitter before his vision to entice him to feverish endeavor. he was a dreamer with no dreams, a miner without a mine. he felt chagrined, humiliated. after all his time spent here in the world's most prodigious laboratory of minerals, he had purchased a salted mine! a sharper man, that sad-faced, half-sick selwyn briggs, had actually trimmed him like this! salted! and he was broke. well, what was the next thing to do? he thought of the fine large bill of goods, engaged for himself and partners to take to the "see saw" claim. it made him smile. but he would not rescind the order--for a while. his partners, with his worldly goods, the chinese cook and all the household, save cayuse, would doubtless arrive by noon. he and they had to eat; they had to live. also they had to mine, for they knew nothing else by way of occupation. they must somehow get hold of some sort of claim, and go on with their round of hopes and toil. they had never been so utterly bereft--so outcast by the goddess of fortune--since they had thrown their lots together. he dreaded the thought of meeting various acquaintances here in camp--the friends to whom he had said he was going that day to the "see saw" property, far over the mahogany range, near the indian reservation. he determined to go. perhaps the shack and the shaft-house on the claim, with the windlass and tools included by briggs in the bill of sale, might fetch a few odd dollars. slowly down the street he went to the hay-yard where his pony was stabled. he met a water man, halting on his rounds at the front of a neat canvas dwelling. the man had three large barrels on a wagon, each full of muddy, brackish water. a long piece of hose was thrust into one, its other end dangled out behind. from the tent emerged a woman with her buckets. the water man placed the hose-end to his mouth, applied a lusty suction, and the water came gushing forth. he filled both receptacles, collected the price, and then drove on to the next. sardonically van reflected that even the fine little stream of water on his claim, in a land where water was so terribly scarce, was absolutely worthless as an asset. it was over a mountain ridge of such tremendous height that it might as well have been in the forests of maine. despite the utter hopelessness of his present situation, his spirits were not depressed. gettysburg, he reflected, was a genius for bumping into queer old prospectors--relics of the days of forty-nine, still eagerly pursuing their _ignis fatuous_ of gold--and from some such desert wanderer he would doubtless soon pick up a claim. there was nothing like putting gettysburg upon the scent. van wrote a note to his partners. "dear fellow mourners: "have just discovered a joke. i was salted on the 'see saw' property. our pipe dream is defunct. have gone over to lay out remains. if you find any oldtimers who have just discovered some lost bonanza, take them into camp. don't get drunk, get busy. be back a little after noon." this he left with the hay-yard man where his partners would stop when they arrived. mounted on suvy, his outlaw of the day before, he rode from goldite joyously. after all, what was the odds? he had been no better off than now at least a hundred times. at the worst he still had his partners and his horse, a breakfast aboard, and a mountain ahead to climb. indeed, at the light of friendship in his broncho's eyes, as well as at the pony's neigh of welcome, back there at the yard, he had felt a boundless pleasure in his veins. he patted the chestnut's neck, in his rough, brusque way of companionship, and the horse fairly quivered with pleasure. for nearly two hours the willing animal went zig-zagging up the rocky slopes. the day was warming; the sun was a naked disk of fire. it was hard climbing. van had chosen the shorter, steeper way across the range. from time to time, where the barren ascent was exceptionally severe, he swung from the saddle and led the broncho on, to mount further up as before. thus they came in time to a zone of change, over one of the ridges, a region where rocks and ugliness gave way to a growth of brush and stunted trees. these were the outposts, ragged, dwarfed, and warped, of a finer growth beyond. fifteen miles away, down between the hills, flowed a tortuous stream, by courtesy called a river. it sometimes rose in a turgid flood, but more often it sank and delivered up its ghost to such an extent that a man could have held it in his hat. nevertheless some greenery flourished on its banks. when van at last could oversee the vast, unpeopled lands of the piute indian reservation, near the boundary of which his salted claim had been staked, he had only a mile or so to ride, and all the way down hill. he came to the property by eleven o'clock of the morning. he looked about reflectively. the rough board cabin and the rougher shaft-house were scarcely worth knocking down for lumber. there, on the big, barren dike, were several tunnels and prospects, in addition to the shaft, all "workings" that briggs had opened up in his labors on the ledge. they were mere yawning mockeries of mining, but at least had served a charlatan's requirements. a few tools lay about, abominably neglected. the location was rather attractive, on the whole. the clear stream of water had coaxed a few quaking aspens and alders into being, among the stunted evergreens. grass lay greenly along the bank, a charming relief to the eye. the sandy soil was almost level in the narrow cove, which was snugly surrounded by hills, except at the lower extremity, where the brook tumbled down a wide ravine. van, on his horse, gazed over towards the indian reservation idly. how vain, in all likelihood, were the wonderful tales of gold ledges lying within its prohibited borders. what a madness was brewing in the camps all around as the day for the reservation opening rapidly approached! how they would swarm across its hills and valleys--those gold-seeking men! what a scramble it would be, and all for--what? there were tales in plenty of men who had secretly prospected here on this forbidden land, and marked down wonderful treasures. van looked at his salted possessions. what a chance for an orgie of salting the reservation claims would afford! with his pony finally secured to a tree near at hand, the horseman walked slowly about. a gold pan lay rusting, half filled with rock and dirt, by a bench before the cabin. it was well worth cleaning and taking away, together with some of the picks, drills, and hammers. he carried it over to the brook. there he knelt and washed it out, only to find it far more rusted than it had at first appeared. he scooped it full of the nearest gravel and scoured it roughly with his hands. three times he repeated this process, washing it out in the creek. ready to rise with it, cleaned at last, he caught up a shallow film of water, flirted it about with a rotary motion, to sluice out the last bit of stubborn dross, then paused to stare in unbelief at a few bright particles down at the edge, washed free of all the gravel. incredulous and not in the least excited, he drew a small glass from has pocket and held it on the specks. there could be no doubt of their nature. they were gold. interested, but doubting the importance of his find, van pawed up half a pan full of gravel and dipped the receptacle full of water. then stirring the sand and stuff with his hand, he panned it carefully. the result at the end was such a string of colors as he had never washed in all his wide experience. to make a superficial prospect of the claim he proceeded to pan from a dozen different places in the cove, and in every instance got an exceptional showing of coarse, yellow gold, with which the gravel abounded. he knelt motionless at last, beside the stream, singularly unperturbed, despite the importance of his find. briggs had slipped up, absolutely, on the biggest thing in many miles around, by salting and selling a quartz claim here to a man with a modest sum of money. the cove was a placer claim, rich as mud in gold, and with everything needed at hand. then and there the name of the property was changed from the "see saw" to the "laughing water" claim. chapter xi algy stirs up trouble bostwick arrived in goldite at three in the afternoon, dressed in prison clothes. he came on a freight wagon, the deliberate locomotion of which had provided ample time for his wrath to accumulate and simmer. his car was forty miles away, empty of gasolene, stripped of all useful accessories, and abandoned where the convicts had compelled him to drive them in their flight. a blacker face than his appeared, with anger and a stubble of beard upon it, could not have been readily discovered. his story had easily outstripped him, and duly amused the camp, so that now, as he rode along the busy street, in a stream of lesser vehicles, autos, and dusty horsemen, arriving by two confluent roads, he was angered more and more by the grins and ribald pleasantries bestowed by the throngs in the road. to complicate matters already sufficiently aggravating, gettysburg, napoleon c. blink, and algy, the chinese cook, from the monte cristo mine, now swung into line from the northwest road, riding on horses and burros. they were leading three small pack animals, loaded with all their earthly plunder. the freight team halted and a crowd began to congregate. bostwick was descending just as the pack-train was passing through the narrow way left by the crowd. his foot struck one of the loaded burros in the eye. the animal staggered over against the wall of men, trampling on somebody's feet. somebody yelled and cursed vehemently, stepping on somebody else. a small-sized panic and melee ensued forthwith. more of the animals took alarm, and algy was frightened half to death. his pony, a wall-eyed, half-witted brute, stampeded in the crowd. then algy was presently in trouble. there had been no chinese in goldite camp, largely on account of race prejudice engendered and fostered by the working men, who still maintained the old californian hatred against the industrious celestials. in the mob, unfortunately near the center of confusion, was a half-drunken miner, rancorous as poison. he was somewhat roughly jostled by the press escaping algy's pony. "ye blank, blank chink--i'll fix ye fer that!" he bawled at the top of his voice, and heaving his fellow white men right and left he laid vicious hands on the helpless cook and, dragging him down, went at him in savage brutality. "belay there, you son of a shellfish!" yelled napoleon, dismounting and madly attempting to push real men away. "i'll smash in your pilot-house! i'll--- leave me git in there to algy!" gettysburg, too, was on the ground. he, bostwick, and a hundred men were madly crowded in together, where two or three were pushing back the throng and yelling to algy to fight. algy was fighting. he was also spouting most awful chinese oaths, sufficient to warp an ordinary spine and wither a common person's limbs. he kicked and scratched like a badger. but the miner was an engine of destruction. he was aggravated to a mood of gory slaughter. he broke the chinaman's arm, almost at once, with some viciously diabolical maneuver and leaped upon him in fury. in upon this scene of yelling, cursing, and fighting van rode unannounced. he saw the crowd increasing rapidly, as saloons, stores, hay-yard, bank, and places of lodging poured out a curious army, mostly men, with a few scattered women among them--all surging eagerly forward. algy, meantime, in a spasm of pain and activity, struggled to his feet from the dust and attempted to make his escape. van no more than beheld him that he leaped from his horse and broke his way into the ring. when he laid his hand on the miner's collar it appeared as if that individual would be suddenly jerked apart. algy went down in collapse. "why don't you pick on a man of your color?" van demanded, and he flung the miner headlong to the ground. a hundred lusty citizens shouted their applause. little napoleon broke his way to the center. gettysburg was just behind him. van was about to kneel on the ground and lift his prostrate cook when someone bawled out a warning. he wheeled instantly. the angered miner, up, with a gun in hand, was lurching in closer to shoot. he got no chance, even to level the weapon. van was upon him like a panther. the gun went up and was fired in the air, and then was hurled down under foot. two things happened then together. the sheriff arrived to arrest the drunken miner, and a woman pushed her way through the press. "van!" she cried. "van--oh, van!" he was busy assisting his partners to escort poor algy away. he noted the woman as she parted the crowd. he was barely in time to fend her off from flinging herself in his arms. "oh, van!" she repeated wildly. "i thought you was goin' to git it sure!" "don't bother me, queenie," he answered, annoyed, and adding to gettysburg, "take him to charlie's," he turned at once to his broncho, mounted actively, and began to round up the scattered animals brought into camp by his partners. he had barely ridden clear of the crowd when his glance was caught by a figure off to the left. it was beth. she was standing on a packing case, where the surging disorder had sent her. she had seen it all, the fight, his arrival, and the woman who would have clasped him in her arms. her face was flushed. she avoided his gaze and turned to descend to the walk. then bostwick, in his convict suit, stepped actively forward to meet her. van saw the look of surprise in her face, at beholding the man in this attire. she recoiled, despite herself, then held forth her hand for his aid. bostwick took it, assisted her down, and they hastily made their escape. chapter xii bostwick loses ground the one retreat for beth was the house where she was lodging. she went there at once, briefly explaining to bostwick on the way how it chanced she had come the day before. what had happened to himself she already knew. bostwick was a thoroughly angered man. he had seen the horseman in the fight and had hoped to see him slain. to find beth safe and even cheerful here annoyed him exceedingly. "have you lodged a complaint--done anything to have this fellow arrested?" he demanded, alluding to van. "have you reported what was done to me?" "why, no," said beth. "what's the use? he did it all in kindness, after all." "kindness!" "of a sort--a rough sort, perhaps, but genuine--a kindness to me--and elsa," she answered, flushing rosily. "he saved me from----" she looked at the convict garb upon him, "--from a disagreeable experience, i'm sure, and secured me the very best accommodations in the town." they had almost come to her lodgings. bostwick halted in the road, his gun-metal jaw protruding formidably. "you haven't already begun to admire this ruffian--glorify this outlaw?" he growled, "--after what he did to me?" "don't stop to discuss it here," she answered, beholding mrs. dick at the front of the house. "i haven't had time to do anything. you must manage to change your clothes." "i'll have my reckoning with your friend," he assured her angrily. "have you engaged a suite for me?" they had come to the door of the house. beth beheld the look of amazement, suspicion, and repugnance on the face of mrs. dick, and her face burned red once more. "oh, mrs. dick," she said, "this is mr. bostwick, of whom i spoke." she had told of bostwick's capture by the convicts. "do you think you could find him a room?" "a room? i want a suite--two rooms at least," said bostwick aggressively. "is this a first-class place?" "it ain't no regular heaven, and i ain't no regular mrs. saint peter," answered mrs. dick with considerable heat, irritated by bostwick's personality and recognizing in him van's "smoke-faced easterner." she added crisply: "so you might as well vamoose the ranch, fer i couldn't even put you in the shed." "but i've got to have accommodations!" insisted bostwick. "i prefer them where my fiancée--where miss kent is stopping. i'm sure you can manage it someway--let someone go. the price is no object to me." "i don't want you that bad," said mrs. dick frankly. "i said no and i'm too busy to say it again." she bustled off with her ant-like celerity, followed by bostwick's scowls. "you'll have to give up your apartments here," he said to beth. "i'll find something better at once." "thank you, i'm very well satisfied," said beth. "you'll find this town quite overcrowded." "you mean you propose to stay here in spite of my wishes?" "please don't wish anything absurd," she answered. "this is really no place for fastidious choosing--and i am very comfortable." a lanky youth, with a suitcase and three leather bags, came shuffling around the corner and dropped down his load. "van told me to bring 'em here with his--something i don't remember," imparted the youth. "that's all," and he grinned and departed. bostwick glowered, less pleased than before. "that fellow, i presume. he evidently knows where you are stopping." beth was beginning to feel annoyed and somewhat defiant. she had never dreamed this man could appear so repellant as now, with his stubble of beard and this convict garb upon him. she met his glance coldly. "he found me the place. i am considerably in his obligation." bostwick's face grew blacker. "obligation? why don't you admit at once you admire the fellow?--or something more. by god! i've endured about as much----" "mr. bostwick!" she interrupted. she added more quietly: "you've been very much aggravated. i'm sorry. now please go somewhere and change your clothing." "aggravated?" he echoed. "you ought to know what he is, by instinct. you must have seen him in a common street brawl! you must have seen that woman--that red-light night-hawk throwing herself in his arms. and to think that you--with glenmore in town--- why isn't your brother here with you?" beth was smarting. the sense of mortification she had felt at the sight of that woman in the street with van, coupled with the sheer audacity of his conduct towards herself that morning, had already sufficiently shamed her. she refused, however, to discuss such a question with bostwick. "glen isn't here," she answered coldly. "i trust you will soon be enabled to find him--then--we can go." "not here?" repeated bostwick. "where is he, then?" "somewhere out in another camp--or mining place--or something. now please go and dress. we can talk it over later." "this is abominable of glen," said bostwick. "is mccoppet in town?" she looked her surprise. "mccoppet?" "you don't know him, of course," he hastened to say. "i shall try to find him at once." he turned to go, beheld her luggage, and added: "is there anyone to take up your things?" she could not bear to have him enter her apartment in this awful prison costume. "oh, yes," she answered. "you needn't be bothered with the bags." "very well. i shall soon return." he departed at once, his impatience suddenly increased by the thought of seeking out mccoppet. beth watched him going. a sickening sense of revulsion invaded all her nature. and when her thoughts, like lawless rebels, stole guiltily to van, she might almost have boxed her own tingling ears in sheer vexation. she entered the house, summoned elsa from her room, and had the luggage carried to their quarters. then she opened her case, removed some dainty finery, and vaguely wondered if the horseman would like her in old lavender. van, in the meantime, had been busy at the hay-yard known as charlie's. not only had algy's arm been broken, by the bully in the fight, but he had likewise been seriously mauled and beaten. his head had been cut, he was hurt internally. a doctor, immediately summoned by the horseman, had set the fractured member. algy had then been put to bed in a tent that was pitched in the yard where the horses, mules, cows, pyramids of merchandise, and teamsters were thicker than flies on molasses. gettysburg and napoleon, quietly informed by van of the latest turn of their fortune, were wholly unexcited by the news. the attack on algy, however, had acted potently upon them. they started to get drunk and achieved half a load before van could herd them back to camp. napoleon was not only partially submerged when van effected his capture; he was also shaved. van looked him over critically. "nap," he said, "what does this mean?--you wasting money on your face?" napoleon drunk became a stutterer, who whistled between his discharges of seltzer. "wheresh that little g-g-g-(whistle) girl?" he answered, "--lit-tle d-d-d-d-(whistle) dutch one that looksh like--looksh like--quoth the r-r-r-r-(whistle) raven--never more!" van divined that this description was intended to indicate elsa. "gone back to china," said he. "that shave of yours is wasted on the desert air." gettysburg, whose intellect was top heavy, had the singular habit, at a time like this, of removing his crockery eye and holding it firmly in his fist, to guard it from possible destruction. he stared uncertainly at both his companions. "china!" said he tragically. "china?" "hold on, now, gett," admonished van, steering his tall companion as a man might steer a ladder, "you don't break out in the woman line again or there's going to be some concentrated anarchy in camp." "no, van, no--now honest, no woman," said gettysburg in a confidential murmur. "i had my woman eye took out the last time i went down to 'frisco." "you're a l-l-l-(whistle) liar!" ejaculated napoleon. "what!" gettysburg fairly shrieked. "metaphorical speakin'--meta phor-f-f-f-f-f-(whistle) phorical speakin'," napoleon hastened to explain. "metaphor-f-f-f-(whistle)-phorical means you don't really m-m-m-m-(whistle) mean what you say--means--quoth the r-r-r-r-r-(whistle) raven--never more!" van said: "if you two old idiots don't do the lion and the lamb act pretty pronto i'll send you both to the poor house." they had entered the hay-yard, among the mules and horses. gettysburg promptly reached down, laid hold of napoleon, and kissed him violently upon the nose. napoleon wept. "what did i s-s-s-s-(whistle) say?" he sobbed lugubriously. "oh, death, where is thy s-s-s-s-(whistle) sting?" evening had come. the two fell asleep in algy's tent, locked in each other's arms. chapter xiii a combination of forces bostwick effected a change of dress in the rear of the nearest store. a rough blue shirt, stout kahki garments and yellow "hiking" boots converted him into one of the common units of which the camp throng was comprised. he was then duly barbered, after which he made a strenuous but futile endeavor to procure accommodations for the night. there was no one with leisure to listen to his tirade on the shameful inadequacy of the attributes of civilization in the camp, and after one brief attempt to arouse civic indignation against van for his acts of deliberate lawlessness, he perceived the ease with which he might commit an error and render himself ridiculous. he dropped all hope of publicly humiliating the horseman and deferred his private vengeance for a time more opportune. wholly at a loss to cope with a situation wherein he found himself so utterly neglected and unknown, despite the influential position he occupied both in new york and washington, he resolved to throw himself entirely upon the mercies of mccoppet. he knew his man only through their correspondence, induced by beth's brother, glenmore kent. inquiring at the bank, he was briefly directed to the largest saloon of the place. when he entered the bar he found it swarming full of men, miners, promoters, teamsters, capitalists, gamblers, lawyers, and--the lord alone knew what. the air was a reek of smoke and fumes of liquor. a blare of alleged music shocked the atmosphere. men drunk and men sober, all were talking mines and gold, the greatness of the camp, the richness of the latest finds, and the marvel of their private properties. everyone had money, everyone had chunks of ore to show to everyone else. at the rear were six tables with layouts for games of chance. faro, "klondike," roulette, stud-poker, almost anything possibly to be desired was there. all were in full blast. three deep the men were gathered about the wheel and the "tiger." gold money in stacks stood at every dealer's hand. bostwick had never seen so much metal currency in all his life. he asked for mccoppet at the bar. "opal? somewhere back--that's him there, talkin' to the guy with the fur on his jaw," informed the barkeeper, making a gesture with his thumb. "what's your poison?" "nothing, thank you," answered bostwick, who started for his man, but halted for mccoppet to finish his business with his friend. the man on whom bostwick was gazing was a tall, slender, slightly stooped individual of perhaps forty-five, with a wonderful opal in his tie, from which he had derived his sobriquet. he was clean-shaved, big featured, and gifted with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes as lustreless as old buttons. he had never been seen without a cigar in his mouth, but the weed was never lighted. bostwick noted the carefulness of the man's attire, but gained no clue as to his calling. to avoid stupid staring he turned to watch a game of faro. its fascinations were rapidly engrossing his attentions and luring him onward toward a reckless desire to tempt the goddess of chance, when he presently beheld mccoppet turn away from his man and saunter down the room. a moment later bostwick touched him on the shoulder. "beg pardon," he said, "mr. mccoppet?" mccoppet nodded. "my name." "i'd like to introduce myself--j. searle bostwick," said the visitor. "i expected to arrive, as i wrote you----" "glad to meet you, bostwick," interrupted the other, putting forth his hand. "where are you putting up?" "i haven't been able to find accommodations," answered bostwick warmly. "it's an outrage the way this town is conducted. i thought perhaps----" "i'll fix you all right," cut in mccoppet. "are you ready for a talk? nothing has waited for you to come." "i came for an interview--in fact----" "private room back here," mccoppet announced, and he started to lead the way, pausing for a moment near a faro table to cast a cold glance at the dealer. "wonderfully interesting game," said bostwick. "it seems as if a man might possibly beat it." there might have been a shade of contempt in the glance mccoppet cast upon him. he merely said: "he can't." bostwick laughed. "you seem very positive." mccoppet was moving on again. "i own the game." he owned everything here, and had his designs on two more places like it, down the street. he almost owned the souls of many men, but gold and power were the goals on which his eyes were riveted. bostwick glanced at him with newer interest as they passed down the room, and so to a tight little office the walls of which were specially deadened against the transmission of sound. "have anything to drink?" inquired the owner, before he took a chair, "--whiskey, wine?" "thanks, no," said bostwick, "not just yet." he took the chair to which mccoppet waved him. "i must say i'm surprised," he admitted, "to see the numbers of men, the signs of activity, and all the rest of it in a camp so young. and by the way, it seems young kent is away." "yes," said the gambler, settling deeply into his chair and sleepily observing his visitor. "i sent him away last week." bostwick was eager. "on something good for the--for our little group?" "on a wild goose séance," answered mccoppet. "he's in the way around here." "oh," said bostwick, who failed to understand. "i thought----" "yes. i culled your thought from your letters," interrupted his host drawlingly. "we might as well understand each other first as last. bostwick--are you out here to work this camp my way or the kid's?" bostwick was cautious. "how does he wish to work it?" "like raising potatoes." "and your plan is----" "look here, do i stack up like a sunday-school superintendent? i thought you and i understood each other. i don't run no game the other man can maybe beat. didn't you come out here with that understanding?" "certainly, i----" "then never mind the kid. what have you got in your kahki?" "our syndicate to buy the hen hawk group----" started bostwick, but the gambler cut in sharply. "that's sold and cold. you have to move here; things happen. what did you do about the reservation permit?" bostwick looked about the room furtively, and edged his chair a bit closer. "i secured permission from government headquarters to explore all or any portions of the reservation, and take _assistants_ with me," he imparted in a lowered tone of voice. "i had it mailed to me here by registered post. it should be at the post-office now." "right," said mccoppet with more of an accent of approval in his utterance. "get it out to-day. i've got your corps of assistants hobbled here in camp. they can get on the ground to-morrow morning." bostwick's eyes were gleaming. "there's certainly gold on this reservation?" "now, how can anybody tell you that?" demanded mccoppet, who from his place here in goldite had engineered the plan whereby his and bostwick's expert prospectors could explore every inch of the government's forbidden land in advance of all competitors. "we're taking a flyer, that's all. if there's anything there--we're on." bostwick reflected for a moment. "there's nothing at present that our syndicate could do?" "there'll be plenty of chances to use ready money," mccoppet assured him, rising. "you're here on the ground. keep your shirt on and leave the shuffling to me." bostwick, too, arose. "how long will young kent be away?" "as long as i can keep him busy out south." "what is he doing out south?" "locating a second goldite," said the gambler. "keeps him on the move." he threw away his chewed cigar, placed a new one in his mouth, and started for the door. "come on," he added, "i'll identify you over at the postoffice and show you where you sleep." chapter xiv moving a shack less than a week had passed since bostwick's arrival in goldite, but excitement was rife in the air. despite the angered protests of half a thousand mining men, the easterner, with four of the shrewdest prospectors in the state, had traversed the entire mineral region of the reservation in the utmost security and assurance. five hundred men had been forced to remain at the border, at the points of official guns. a few desperate adventurers had crept through the guard, but nearly all were presently captured and ejected from the place, while bostwick--granted special privileges--was assuming this inside track. the day for the opening of the lands was less than two weeks off--and the news leaked out and spread like a wind that the "laughing water" claim had suddenly promised amazing wealth as a placer where van and his partners were taking out the gold by the simplest, most primitive of methods. the rush for the region came like a stampede of cattle. an army of men went swarming over the ridges and overran the country like a plague of ants. they trooped across the border of the reservation, so close to the "laughing water" claim, they staked out all the visible world, above, below, and all about van's property, they tore down each others' monuments, including a number where van had located new, protective claims, and they builded a tent town over night, not a mile from his first discovery. at the claim in the cove the fortunate holders of a private treasury of gold had lost no time. in the absence of better lumber, for which they had no money, van and his partners had torn down the shaft-house, made it into sluices, and turned in the water from the stream. that was all the plant required. they had then commenced to shovel the gravel into the trough-like boxes, and the gold had begun to lodge behind the riffles. the cove became a theatre of curiosity, envy, and covetous longings. men came there by motor, on horses, mules, and on foot to take one delirious look and rush madly about to improve what chances still remained. the fame of it swept like prairie fire, far and wide. the new-made town began at once to spread and encroach upon all who were careless of their holdings. lawlessness was rampant. at the cabin on the "laughing water" claim algy, the chinese cook, was still disabled. gettysburg was chief culinary artist. napoleon hustled for grub, the only supplies of which were over at goldite--and expensive. all were constantly exhausted with the labors of the day. despite their vigilance they awoke one morning to see a brand-new cabin standing on the claim, at the top of a hill. a man was on the rough pine roof, rapidly laying weather paper. van beheld him, watched him for a moment, then quietly walked over to the site. "say, friend," he called to the man on the roof, "you've broken into eden by mistake. this property is mine and i haven't any building lots to sell." the visiting builder took out a huge revolver and laid it on a block. he said nothing at all. van felt his impatience rising. "i'm talking to you, mr. carpenter," he added. "come on, now, i don't want any trouble with neighbors, but this cabin will have to be removed." "go to hell!" said the builder. he continued to pound in his nails. "if i go," said van calmly, "i'll bring a little back. are you going to move or be moved?" "don't talk to me, i'm busy," answered the intruder. "i'm an irritable man, and everything i own is irritable, understand?" and taking up his gun he thumped with it briskly on the boards. "if you're looking for trouble," van replied, "you won't need a double-barreled glass." he turned away and the man continued operations. when he came to the shack van selected a hammer and a couple of drills from among a lot of tools in the corner. to his partner's questions as to what the visitor intended he replied that only time could tell. "here, nap," he added, fetching forth the tools, "i want you to take this junk and go up there where the neighbor is working. just sit down quietly and drill three shallow holes and don't say a word to yonder busy bee. if he asks you what's doing, play possum--and don't make the holes too deep." napoleon went off as directed. his blows could presently be heard as he drilled in a porphyry dike. his advent puzzled the man intent on building. "say, you," said he, "what's on your programme?" napoleon drilled and said nothing. the carpenter watched him in some uneasiness. "say, you ain't starting a shaft?" no answer. "ain't this a placer? say, you, are you deef?" napoleon pounded on the steel. "go to hell!" said the builder, as he had before, "--a man that can't answer civil questions!" he resumed his labors, pausing now and then to stare at napoleon, in a steadily increasing dubiety of mind. in something less than twenty minutes he had done very little roofing, owing to a nervousness he found it hard to banish, while napoleon had all but completed his holes. then van came leisurely strolling to the place, comfortably loaded with dynamite, of which a man may carry much. with utter indifference to the man on the roof he proceeded to charge those shallow holes. as a matter of fact he overcharged them. he used an exceptional amount of the harmless looking stuff, and laid a short fuse to the cap. when he turned to the builder, who had watched proceedings with a sickening alarm at his vitals, that industrious person had taken on a heavy, leaden hue. "you see i went where you told me," said van, "and i've brought some back as i promised. this shot has got to go before breakfast--and breakfast is just about ready." "for god's sake give a man a chance," implored the man who had trespassed in the night. "i'll move the shack to-morrow." "you won't have to," van informed him, "but you'd better move your meat to-day." he took out a match, scratched it with quiet deliberation and lighted the end of the fuse. "for god's sake--man!" cried the carpenter, and without even waiting to climb from the roof he rolled to the edge in a panic, fell off on his feet, and ran as if all the fiends of hades were fairly at his heels. van and napoleon also moved away with becoming alacrity. three minutes later the charge went off. it sounded like the crack of doom. it seemed to split the earth and very firmament. a huge black toadstool of smoke rose up abruptly. something like a blot of yellowish color spattered all over the landscape. it was the shack. it had moved. the smoke cloud drifted rapidly away. on the hill was a great jagged hole, lined with rock, but there was nothing more. the cabin was hung in lumber shreds on the stunted trees for hundreds of feet in all directions. with it went hammers, saws and a barrel of nails whose usefulness was ended. gettysburg, aproned, and fresh from his labors at the stove, came hastening out of the cabin to where his partners stood, in great distress of mind. "holy toads, van!" he said excitedly, "it must have been the shot! i've dropped an egg--and what in the world shall i do?" "cackle, man, cackle," van answered him gravely. "that's a mighty rare occurrence." "and two-bits apiece!" almost wailed poor gettysburg, diving back into the cabin, "and only them four in the shack!" that was also the day that bostwick came out upon the scene. he came with his prospectors, all the party somewhat disillusionized as to all that fabled gold upon the indian reservation. some word of the wealth of the "laughing water" claim had come to searle early in the week. he did not visit the cabin or the owners of the cove. for fifteen minutes, however, he sat upon his horse and scanned the place in silence. then out of his newly-acquired knowledge of the boundaries of the reservation the hounds of his mind jumped up a half-mad plan. his cold eyes glittered as he looked across to where van and his partners were toiling. his lips were compressed in a smile. he rode to goldite hurriedly and sought out his friend mccoppet. when the two were presently closeted together where their privacy was assured, a conspiracy, diabolically insidious, was about to have its birth. chapter xv hatching a plot "you're back pretty pronto," drawled the gambler, by way of an opening remark. "found something too big to keep hidden?" "that reservation is a false alarm, as billy and the others will tell you," answered bostwick, referring to mccoppet's chosen prospectors. "the rush will prove a farce." "you've decided sudden, ain't you?" asked mccoppet. "there's a good big deck there to stack." "we've wasted time and money till to-day." bostwick rose from his chair, put one foot upon it, and leaned towards the gambler as one assuming a position of equality, if not of something more. "look here, mccoppet, you asked me the day i arrived what sort of a game i'd come to play. i ask you now if you are prepared to play something big--and--well, let us say, a trifle risky?" "don't insult my calling," answered the gambler. "i call. lay your cards on the table." bostwick sat down and leaned across the soiled green baize. "you probably know as much as i do about the 'laughing water' claim--its richness--its owners--and where it's located." mccoppet nodded, narrowing his eyes. "a good dog could smell their luck from here." "but do you know where it lies--their claim?" insisted bostwick significantly. "that's the point i'm making at present." "it's just this side of the reservation, from what i hear," replied the gambler, "but if there's nothing on the reservation even near the 'laughing water' ground----" bostwick interrupted impatiently: "what's the matter with _the 'laughing water' being on the reservation_?" mccoppet was sharp but he failed to grasp his associate's meaning. "but it ain't," he said, "and no one claims it is." bostwick lowered his voice and looked at the gambler peculiarly. "no one claims it _yet_!" mccoppet threw away his cigar and took out a new one. "well? come on. i bite. what's the answer?" bostwick leaned back in his chair. "suppose an accredited surveyor were to run out the reservation line--the line next the 'laughing water' claim--and make an error of an inch at the farthest end. suppose that inch, projected several miles, became about a thousand feet--wouldn't the 'laughing water' claim be discovered to be a part of the indian reservation?" mccoppet eyed him narrowly, in silence, for a moment. he had suddenly conceived a new estimate of the man who had come from new york. bostwick again leaned forward, continuing: "no one will be aware of the facts but ourselves--therefore no one will think of attempting to relocate the 'laughing water' ground, lawfully, at six o'clock on the morning of the rush. but we will be on hand, with the law at our backs, and quietly take possession of the property, on which--as it is reservation ground--the present occupants are trespassing." mccoppet heard nothing of what his friend was saying. all the possibilities outlined had flashed through his mind at bostwick's first intimation of the plan. he was busy now with affairs far ahead in the scheme. "culver, the government agent and surveyor is a dark one," he mused aloud, half to himself. "if only lawrence, his deputy, was in his shoes--- your frame-up sounds pretty tight, bostwick, but culver may block us with his damnable squareness." "every man has his price," said bostwick, "--big and little. culver, you say, represents the government? where is he now?" mccoppet replied with a question: "bostwick, how much have you got?" bostwick flushed. "money? oh, i can raise my share, i hope." "you hope?" repeated the gambler. "ain't your syndicate back of any game you open, with the money to see it started right?" bostwick was a trifle uneasy. the "syndicate" of which he had spoken was entirely comprised of beth and her money, which he hoped presently to call his own. he had worked his harmless little fiction of big financial men behind him in the certainty of avoiding detection. "of course, i can call on the money," he said, "but i may need a day or so to get it. how much shall we require?" mccoppet chewed his cigar reflectively. "culver will sure come high--if we get him at all--but--it ought to be worth fifty thousand to you and me to shift that reservation line a thousand feet--if reports on the claim are correct." it was a large sum. bostwick scratched the corner of his mouth. "that would be twenty-five thousand apiece." "no," corrected mccoppet, "twenty thousand for me and thirty for you, for equal shares. i've got to do the work underground." "perhaps i could handle what's his name, culver, myself," objected bostwick. "the fact that i'm a stranger here----" "and what will you do if he refuses?" interrupted the gambler. "will you still have an ace in your kahki?" bostwick stared. "if he should refuse, and tell the owners----" "right. can you handle it then?" bostwick answered: "can you?" "it's my business to get back what i've lost--and a little bit more. you leave it to me. keep away from culver, and bring me thirty thousand in the morning." bostwick was breathing hard. he maintained a show of calm. "the morning's a little bit soon for me to turn around. i'll bring it when i can." mccoppet arose. the interview was ended. he added: "have a drink?" "i'll wait," said bostwick, "till we can drink a toast to the 'laughing water' claim." mccoppet opened the door, waved bostwick into the crowded gaming room, and was about to follow when his roving gaze abruptly lighted on a figure in the place--a swarthy, half-breed piute indian, standing in front of the wheel and roulette layout. quickly stepping back inside the smaller apartment, the gambler pulled down his hat. his face was the color of ashes. "so long. see you later," he murmured, and he closed the door without a sound. bostwick, wholly at a loss to understand his sudden dismissal, lingered for a moment only in the place, then made his way out to the street, and went to the postoffice, where he found a letter from glenmore kent. intent upon securing the needed funds from beth with the smallest possible delay, he dropped the letter, unread, in his pocket and headed for the house where beth was living. he walked, however, no more than half a block before he altered his mind. pausing for a moment on the sidewalk, he turned on his heel and went briskly to his own apartments, where he performed an unusual feat. first he read the letter from kent. it was dated from the newest camp in the desert and was filled with glittering generalities concerning riches about to be discovered. it urged him, in case he had arrived in goldite, to hasten southward forthwith--"and bring a bunch of money." glenmore's letters always appealed for money--a fact which bostwick had remembered. the man sat down at his table and wrote a letter to himself. with young kent's epistle for his model, he made an amazingly clever forgery of the enthusiastic writer's chirography, and at the bottom signed the young man's name. this spurious document teemed with figures and assertions concerning a wonderful gold mine which glenmore had virtually purchased. he needed sixty thousand dollars at once, however, to complete his remarkable bargain. only two days of his option remained and therefore delay would be fatal. he expected this letter to find his friend at goldite and he felt assured he would not be denied this opportunity of a lifetime to make a certain fortune. he would, of course, appeal to beth--with certainty of her help from the wealth bequeathed her by her uncle--but naturally she was too far away, glenmore was unaware of the fact that his sister had come to the west. bostwick overlooked no details of importance. armed with this plausible missive, he went at once to mrs. dick's and found that beth was at home. chapter xvi involving beth goldite to the eastern girl, who had found herself practically abandoned for nearly a week, had proved to be a mixture of discomforts, excitements, and disturbing elements. fascinated by the maelstrom of the mining-camp life, and unwilling to retreat from the scene until she should see her roving brother, and gratify at least a curiosity concerning van, she nevertheless felt afraid to be there, not only on account of the roughness and uncertainty of the existence, but also because, despite herself, she had attracted undesirable attention. moreover, the house was full of "gentlemen" lodgers, with three of whom elsa was conducting most violent flirtations. there were few respectable women in the town. it was still too early for their advent. beth had been annoyed past all endurance. there was no possibility of even mild social diversions; there was no one to visit. while the street could be described as perfectly safe, it was nevertheless an uncomfortable place in which to walk. bostwick's car had been recovered and brought into camp, but skilled as she was at the steering wheel, she had hardly desired or dared to take it out. crime was frequent in the streets and houses. disturbing reports of marauding expeditions on the part of the convicts, still at large, came with insistent frequency. altogether the week had been a trial to her nerves. it had also been a vexation. no man had a right, she told herself, to do and say the things that van had said and done, only to go off, without so much as a little good-by and give no further sign. she told herself she had a right to at least some sort of opportunity to tender her honest congratulations. she had heard of his claim--the "laughing water"--and perhaps she wished to know how it chanced to have this particular name. if certain disturbing reflections anent that woman who had run to him wildly, out in the street, came mistily clouding the estimate she tried to place upon his character, she confessed he certainly had the right to make an explanation. in a purely feminine manner she argued that she had the right to some such explanation--if only because of certain liberties he had taken with her hands--on which memories still warmly burned. wholly undecided as to what she would do if she could, and impatient with bostwick for his sheer neglect in searching out her brother, she was thoroughly glad to see him to-day when he came so unannounced to the house. "well if you don't look like a mountaineer!" she said, as she met him in the dining-room, which was likewise the parlor of the place. "where in the world have you been, all this time? you haven't come back without glen?" he had gone away ostensibly to find her brother. "well, the fact is he wasn't where i went, after all," he said. "i hastened home, after all that trip, undertaken for nothing, and found a letter from him here. i've come at once to have an important talk." "a letter?" she cried. "let me see it--let me read it, please. he's--where? he's well? he's successful?" "sit down," answered bostwick, taking a chair and placing his hat on the table. "there's a good deal to say. but first, how have you been here, all alone?" "oh--very well--i suppose," she answered, restraining the natural resentment she felt at his patent neglect. "it isn't exactly the place i'd choose to remain in, alone all the time." "poor little girl, i've been thinking of that," he told her, reaching across the table to take her hands. "it's worried me, beth, worried me greatly--your unprotected position, and all that." "oh, you needn't worry." she withdrew her hands. someway it seemed a sacrilege for him to touch them--it was not to be borne--she hardly knew why, or since when. "i want to know about glen," she added. "never mind me." "but i do mind," he assured her. his hand was trembling. "beth, i--i can't talk much--i mean romantic talk, and all that, but--well--i've about concluded we ought to be married at once--for your sake--your protection--and my peace of mind. i have thought about it ever since i left you here alone." the brightness expressive of the gayety of her nature departed from her eyes. she looked fixedly at the man's dark face, with its gray, deep-set, penetrative eyes, its bluish jaw, and knitted brows. it frightened her, someway, as it never had before. he had magnetized her always--sometimes more than now, but his influence crept upon her subtly even here. "but i--i think i'd rather not--just yet," she faltered, crimsoning and dropping her gaze to the table. "you promised not to--to urge me again--at least till i've spoken to glen." "but i could not have known--forseen these conditions," he told her, leaning further towards her across the table. "why shouldn't we be married now--at once? a six months' engagement is certainly long enough. your position here is--well--almost dubious. you must see that. it isn't right of me--decent--not to make you my wife immediately. i wish to do so--i wish it very much." she arose, as if to wrench herself free from the spell he was casting upon her. "i'm all right--i'm quite all right," she said. "i'd rather not--just now. there's no one here who cares a penny who or what i am. if my position here is misunderstood--it can do no harm. i'd rather you wouldn't say anything further about it--just at present." her agitation did not escape him. if he thought of the horseman who had carried her off while sending himself to the convicts, his plan for vengeance only deepened. "you must have some reason for refusing." he too arose. "no--no particular reason," she answered, artlessly walking around the table, apparently to pick up a button from the floor, but actually to avoid his contact. "i just don't wish to--to be married now--here--that's all. i ask you to keep your promise--not to ask it while we remain." he had feared to lose her a score of times before. he feared it now more potently than ever. and there was much that he must ask. the risk of giving her a fright was not to be incurred. "very well," he said resignedly, "but--it's very hard to wait." "won't you sit down?" she asked him, an impulse of gratitude upon her. "now do be good and sensible, and tell me all about glen." she returned to the table and resumed her seat. bostwick sat opposite and drew his forged letter from his pocket. he had placed it in glenmore's envelope after tearing the young man's letter into scraps. "this letter," said he, "was sent from way down in the desert--from starlight, another new camp. it looks to me as if the boy has struck something very important. i'll read you what he says--or you can read it for yourself." "no, no--read it. i'd rather listen." he read it haltingly, as one who puzzles over unfamiliar writing. its effect sank in the deeper for the method. beth was open-eyed with wonder, admiration, and delight over all that glen had done and was about to accomplish. she rose to the bait with sisterly eagerness. "why, he _must_ have the chance--he's _got_ to have the chance!" she cried excitedly. "what do you think of it yourself?" bostwick fanned the blaze with conservatism. "it's quite a sum of money and glen might overestimate the value of the mine. i've inquired around and learn that the property is considered tremendously promising. if we--if he actually secures that claim it will doubtless mean a for--- i don't like to lose my sense of judgment, but i do want to help the boy along. frankly, however, i don't see how i can let him have so much. i couldn't possibly send him but thirty thousand dollars at the most." beth's eyes were blazing with excitement. she had never dreamed that searle could be so generous--so splendid. an impulse of gratitude and admiration surged throughout her being. "you'd _do_ it?" she said. "you'll do as much as that for glen?" "why, how can i do less?" he answered. "that claim will doubtless be worth half a million, maybe more--if all i hear is reliable--and i get it from disinterested parties. the boy has done a good big thing. i've got to help him out. it seems too bad to offer him only half of what he needs, but i'm not a very wealthy man. i can't be utterly quixotic. we've all got to help him all we can." "oh, thank you, searle--thank you for saying 'we,'" she said in a voice that slightly trembled. "i'm glad of the chance--glad to show dear glen that a sister can help a little, too." he stared at her with an excellent imitation of surprise in his gaze. "you'll--help?" he said in astonishment, masterfully simulated. "not with the other thirty thousand?" "why not?" she cried. "why not, when glen has the chance of his life? you don't really think i'd hesitate?" "but," said he, leading her onward, "he needs the money now--at once. you'd have to get it here by wire, and all that sort of trouble." "then we'd better get things started," she said. "you'll help me, searle, i'm sure." "if you wish it," said bostwick, "certainly." "dear glen!" she said. "dear boy! i'll write him a letter at once." bostwick started, alertly, as she ran in her girlish pleasure to a stand where she had placed her materials for writing. "good," he commented drily, "i'll mail it with one of my own." she dashed off a bright effusion with all her spontaneous enthusiasm. bostwick supplied her with the address, and presently took the letter in his hand. he had much to do at the bank, he informed her, by way of preparing for the deal. he promised to return when he could. on his way down street be deliberately tore the letter to the smallest of fragments and scattered them widely on the wind. chapter xvii unexpected complications on the following morning news arrived in goldite that temporarily dimmed the excitement attendant upon stories of the "laughing water" property and the coming stampede to the indian reservation. matt barger and three others of the convicts, still uncaptured, had pillaged a freight team, of horses, provisions, and arms, murdered a stage driver, robbed the express of a large consignment of gold, and escaped as before to the mountains. two separate posses were in pursuit. rewards aggregating ten thousand dollars were offered for barger, dead or alive, with smaller sums for each of his companions. their latest depredations had occurred alarmingly close to the mining camp, from which travel was becoming hazardous. the gold theft was particularly disquieting to the goldite mining contingent. dangers beset their enterprises in many directions at the very best. to have this menace added, together with worry over every man's personal safety in traveling about, was fairly intolerable. the inefficient posses were roundly berated, but no man volunteered to issue forth and "get" matt barger--either alive or as a corpse. the man who arrived with the news was one of van's cronies, dave, the little station man whom beth had met the morning of her coming. he was here in response to a summons from van, who thought he saw an opportunity to assist his friend to better things. everything dave owned he had fetched across the desert, including both the horses that beth and elsa once had ridden. the station itself he had sold. he had launched forth absolutely on van's new promises, burning all his bridges, as it were, behind him. van came down to meet him. he had other concerns in goldite, some with culver, the government representative, and others a trifle more personal, and intended to combine them all in one excursion. no sooner had he appeared on the street, after duly stabling "suvy" at the hay-yard, than a hundred acquaintances, suddenly transformed into intimate friends, by the change in his fortunes, pounced upon him in a spirit of generosity, hilarity, and comaraderie that cloyed not only his senses, but even his movements in the camp. he was dragged and carried into four saloons like a helpless, good-natured bear cub, strong enough to resist by inflicting injuries, but somewhat amused by the game. intelligence of his advent went the rounds. the local editor and the girl he had addressed as "queenie," on the day of the fight in the street, were rivals in another joyous attack as he escaped at last to proceed about his own affairs. the editor stood no chance whatsoever. van had nothing to say, and said so. moreover, queenie was a very persistent, as well as a very pretty, young person, distressingly careless of deportment. she clung to van like a bur. "gee, van!" she cried with genuine tears in her eyes, "didn't i always say you was the candy? didn't i always say i'd give you my head and breathe through my feet--day or night? didn't i tell 'em all you was the only one? you're the only diamonds there is for me--and i didn't never wait for you to strike it first." "no, you didn't even wait for an invitation," answered van with a smile. "everybody's got to hike now. i'm busy, trying to breathe." she clung on. unfortunately, down in an arizona town, van had trounced a ruffian once in queenie's protection--simply because of her gender and entirely without reference to her character or her future attitude towards himself. in her way she personified a sort of adoration and gratitude, which could neither be slain nor escaped by anything that he or anyone else could do. her devotion, however, had palled upon him early, perhaps more because of its habit of increasing. it had recently become a pest. "busy?" she echoed. "you said that before. when ain't you going to be busy?" "when i'm dead," he answered, and wrenching loose he dived inside a hardware store, to purchase a hunting knife for gettysburg, then went at once to a barber shop and shut out the torment of friends. he escaped at the rear, when his face had been groomed, and made his way unseen to mrs. dick's. beth was not at home. she and bostwick were together at the office of the telegraph company, where searle was assisting her, as she thought to aid her brother, to such excellent purpose that her thirty thousand dollars bid fair to repose in the bank at his call before the business day should reach its end. mrs. dick seemed to van the one and only person in the camp unaffected by the news of his luck. she treated him precisely as she always had and doubtless always should. therefore, he had no difficulty in getting away to culver at his office. the official surveyor was a fat-cheeked, handsome man, with a silky brown beard, an effeminate voice, and prodigious self-conceit. he was pacing up and down the inside office, at the rear of the rough board building, when van came in and found him. the horseman's business was one of maps and land-office data made essential to his needs by the new recording of the "laughing water" property as a placer instead of a quartz claim. he had drawn a crude outline of his holdings and in taking it forth from his pocket found the knife bought for gettysburg in the way. he removed the weapon and placed it on the table near at hand. "there's so much of this desert unsurveyed," he said, "that no man can tell whether he's just inside or just outside of purgatory." "so you come to me to find out?" culver demanded somewhat shortly. "do you tin-horn miners think that's all this office is for?" "well, in my instance, i had to come to some wiser spirit than myself to get my bearings," answered van drawlingly. "you can see that." "there are the maps." culver waved his hand towards a drawer in the office table, and moved impatiently over to a window, the view from which commanded a section of the street, including the bank. van was presently engrossed in a search for quarter sections, ranges, and townships. "look here," said culver, turning upon him aggressively, "what's this racket i hear about you taking the inside track with that stunning new petticoat in town?" van looked up without the least suspicion of the man's real meaning. "if you are referring to that reckless young woman called queenie----" "oh, queenie--rats!" interrupted culver irritably. "you know who i mean. i guess you call her beth." van's face took on a look of hardness as if it were chiseled in stone. he had squared around as if at a blow. for a moment he faced the surveyor in silence. "you are making some grave mistake," he said presently in ominous calm. "please don't make such an allusion as that again." "so, the shot went home," culver laughed unctuously, turning for a moment from the window. "i thought it would. you know you couldn't expect to keep anything like that all to yourself, van buren. you're not the only ladies' man on the beach. and as for this clod of a bostwick----" he had turned to look out as before, and grew suddenly excited. beth was in view at the bank. "by the gods!" he exclaimed with a sudden change of tone, "she is the handsomest bit of confectionery on earth. if i don't win her----" his utterance promptly ceased, together with his abominable activities and primping in the window. van, who did not know that this creature had been beth's particular annoyance, had crossed the room without a sound and laid his grip on culver's collar. "you cur!" he said quietly, and choking the man he flung him down against the floor and wall as if he had been the merest puppet. someone had entered the outside door. neither culver nor van heard the sound. culver rolled over, scrambled to his feet, and with his face and neck engorged with rage, came rushing at the horseman like a fury. "you blackguard!" he screamed, "i'll tear out your heart for that! i'll kill you like----" "shut up!" van commanded quietly, stopping the onrush of his angered foe by putting his hand against the surveyor's face and sending him reeling as before. "don't tell me what you'll do to me--or to anyone else in this camp! and if ever i hear of you opening your mouth again as you did here a moment ago, i'll tie a knot so hard in your carcass you'll have to be buried in a hat box!" he glanced towards the doorway. a stranger stood on the threshold. bowing, van passed him and left the place, too angered to think either of the maps or of his knife. culver, raging like a maniac, bowled headlong into the visitor, in his effort to overtake the horseman, but found himself baffled and took out his wrath in foul vituperation that presently drove the stranger from the place. chapter xviii wherein matters thicken the stranger who had witnessed the trouble at culver's office had come there at the instance of mccoppet. it was, therefore, to mccoppet that he carried the intelligence of what had taken place, so far as he had seen. the gambler was exceedingly pleased. that culver would now be ready, as never before, to receive a proposition whereby the owners of the "laughing water" claim could be deprived of their ground, he was well convinced. for reasons best known to himself and skillfully concealed from all acquaintances, mccoppet had remained practically in hiding since the moment in which he had beheld that half-breed piute indian in the saloon. he remained out of sight even now, dispatching a messenger to culver, in the afternoon, requesting his presence for a conference for the total undoing of van buren. culver, who in ordinary circumstances might have refused this request with haughty insolence, responded to the summons rather sooner than mccoppet had expected. he was still red with anger, and meditating personal violence to van at the earliest possible meeting. mccoppet, with his smokeless cigar in his mouth, and his great opal sentient with fire, received his visitor in the little private den to which bostwick had been taken. "how are you, culver?" he said off-handedly. "i wanted to have a little talk. i sent a man up to your shop a while ago, and he told me you fired van buren out of the place on the run." "that's nobody's business but mine," said culver aggressively. "if that is all you care to talk about----" "don't roil up," interrupted the gambler. "i don't even know what the fight was about, and i don't care a tinker's whoop either. i got you here to give you a chance to put van buren out of commission and make a lifetime winning." culver looked at him sharply. "it must be something crooked." "nothing's crooked that works out straight," said mccoppet. "what's life anyhow but a sure-thing game? it's stacked for us all to lose out in the end. what's the use of being finniky while we live--as long as even the almighty's dealing brace?" culver was impatient. "well?" "i won't beat around the chapparal," said mccoppet. "it ain't my way." nevertheless, with much finesse and art he contrived to put his proposition in a manner to rob it of many of its ugly features. however, he made the business plain. "you see," he concluded, "the old reservation line might actually be wrong--and all you'd have to do would be to put it right. that's what we want--we want the line put right." culver was more angered than before. he understood the conspiracy thoroughly. no detail of its cleverness escaped him. "if you thought you could trade on my personal unpleasantness with an owner of the 'laughing water' claim," he said hotly, "you have made the mistake of your life. i wish you good-day." he rose to go. mccoppet rose and stopped him. "don't get feverish," said he. "it don't pay. i ain't requesting this service from you for just your feelings against a man. there's plenty in this for us all." "you mean bribe money, i suppose," said culver no less aggressively than before. "is that what you mean?" "don't call it hard names," begged the gambler. "it's just a retainer--say twenty thousand dollars." culver burned to the top of his ears. he looked at mccoppet intently with an expression the gambler could not interpret. "just to change that line a thousand feet," urged the man of gambling propensities. "i'll make it twenty-five." still culver made no response. with all his other hateful attributes of character he was tempered steel on incorruptibility. he was not even momentarily tempted to avenge himself thus on van buren. mccoppet thought he had him wavering. he attempted to push him over the brink. "say," said he persuasively, lowering his voice to a tone of the confidential, "i can strain a little more out of one of my partners and make it thirty thousand dollars." he had no intention of employing a cent of his own. bostwick was to pay all these expenses. "thirty thousand dollars, cash," he repeated, "the minute you finish your work--and make it look like a government _correction_ of the line." culver broke forth on him with accumulated wrath. "you damnable puppy!" he said in a futile effort to be adequate to the situation. "you sneak! of all the accursed intrigues--insults--robberies that ever were hatched--- by god, sir, if you offered me a million of money you shouldn't alter that government line by a hair! if you speak to me again--i'll knock you down!" he flung the door wide open, went out like a rocket, and bowled a man half over in his blind haste to be quit the place. mccoppet was left there staring where he had gone--staring and afraid of what the results would probably be to all the game. he had no eyes to behold a man who had suddenly discerned him from the crowds. a moment later he started violently as a huge form stood in the door. "trimmer!" he said, "i'm busy!" "you're goin' to be busier in about a minute, if i don't see you right now," said the man addressed as trimmer, a raw, bull-like lumberman from the mountains. "been waitin' to see you some time." "come in," said the gambler instantly regaining his composure. "come in and shut the door. how are you, anyway?" he held out his hand to shake. trimmer closed the door. "ain't ready to shake, jest yet," he said. "i come here to see you on business." "that's all right, larry," answered mccoppet. "that's all right. sit down." "i'm goin' to," announced his visitor. he took a chair, pulled out a giant cigar, and lighting it up smoked like a pile of burning leaves. "you seem to be pretty well fixed," he added, taking a huge black pistol from his pocket and laying it before him on the table. "looks like money was easy." "i ain't busted," admitted the gambler. "have a drink?" "not till we finish." the lumberman settled in his chair. "that was the way you got me before--and you ain't goin' to come it again." mccoppet waited for his visitor to open. trimmer was not in a hurry. he eyed the man across the table calmly, his small, shifting optics dully gleaming. presently he said; "cayuse is here in camp." cayuse was the half-breed piute indian whose company mccoppet had avoided. partially educated, wholly reverted to his indian ways and tribal brethren, cayuse was a singular mixture of the savage, plus civilized outlooks and ethical standards that made him a dangerous man--not only a law unto himself, as many indians are, but also a strange interpreter of the law, both civilized and aboriginal. mccoppet had surmised what was coming. "yes--i noticed he was here." "know what he come fer?" asked the lumberman. "onto his game?" "you came here to tell me. deal the cards." trimmer puffed great lungfuls of the reek from his weed and took his revolver in hand. "opal," said he, enjoying his moment of vantage, "you done me up for a clean one thousand bucks, a year ago--while i was drunk--and i've been laying to git you ever since." mccoppet was unmoved. "well, here i am." "you bet! here you are--and here you're goin' to hang out till we fix things _right_!" the lumberman banged his gun barrel on the table hard enough to make a dent. "that's why cayuse is here, too. mrs. cayuse is dead." the gambler nodded coldly, and trimmer went on. "she kicked the bucket havin' a kid which wasn't cayuse's--too darn white fer even him--and cayuse is on the war trail fer that father." mccoppet threw away his chewed cigar and replaced it with a fresh one. he nodded as before. "cayuse is on that i know who the father was," resumed the visitor. "i told him to come here to goldite and i'd give up the name." he began to consume his cigar once more by inches and watched the effect of his words. there was no visible effect. mccoppet had never been calmer in his life--outwardly. inwardly he had never felt dearer to death, and his own kind of fright was upon him. "well," he said, "your aces look good to me. what do you want--how much?" "i ought to hand you over to cayuse--good riddance to the whole country," answered trimmer, with rare perspicacity of judgment. "you bet you're goin' to pay." "if you want your thousand back, why don't you say so?" inquired the gambler quietly. "i'll make it fifteen hundred. that's pretty good interest, i reckon." "your reckoner's run down," trimmer assured him. "i want ten thousand dollars to steer cayuse away." mccoppet slowly shook his head. "you ain't a hog, larry, you're a rockyfeller. five thousand, cash on the nail, if you show me you can steer cayuse so far off the trail he'll never get on it again." five thousand dollars was a great deal of money to trimmer. ten thousand was far in excess of his real expectations. but he saw that his power was large. he was brutally frank. "nope, can't do it, opal, not even fer a friend," and he grinned. "i've got you in the door and i'm goin' to jamb you hard. five thousand ain't enough." things had been going against the gambler for nearly an hour. he had been acutely alarmed by the presence of cayuse in the camp. his mind, like a ferret in a trap, was seeking wildly for a loophole of advantage. light came in upon him suddenly, with a thought of culver, by whom, subconsciously, he was worried. "how do you mean to handle the half-breed?" he inquired by way of preparing his ground. "you've promised to cough up a name." trimmer scratched his head with the end of his pistol. "i guess i could tell him i was off--don't know the father after all." "sounds like a kid's excuse," commented mccoppet. "like as not he'd take it out of you." the likelihood was so strong that trimmer visibly paled. "i've got to give him somebody's name," he agreed with alacrity. "has anyone died around here recent?" "yes," answered mccoppet with ready mendacity. "culver, who used to do surveying." "who?" asked trimmer. "don't know him." mccoppet leaned across the table. "yes you do. he stopped you once from stealing--from picking up a lot of timber land. remember?" trimmer was interested. his vindictive attributes were aroused. "was that the cuss? i never seen him. do you think cayuse would know who he was?--and believe it--the yarn?" "cayuse was once his chain-man." mccoppet was tremendously excited, though apparently as cold as ice, as he swiftly thought out the niceties of his own and fate's arrangements. "cayuse's wife once worked for mrs. culver, cooking and washing." "say, anybody'd swaller that," reflected the lumberman aloud. "but five thousand dollars ain't enough." "i'll make it seven thousand five hundred--that's an even split," agreed the gambler. he thought he foresaw a means whereby he could save this amount from the funds that bostwick would furnish. he rose from his seat. "a thousand down, right now--the balance when cayuse is gone, leaving me safe forever. you to give him the name right now." trimmer stood up, quenched the light on the stub of his cigar, and chewed up the butt with evident enjoyment. "all right," he answered. "shake." ten minutes later he had found cayuse, delivered up the name agreed upon, and was busy spending his money acquiring a load of fiery drink. chapter xix van and beth and bostwick van was far too occupied to retain for long the anger that culver had aroused in all his being. moreover, he had come to camp in a mood of joyousness, youth, and bounding emotions such as nothing could submerge. the incident with culver was closed. as for land-office data, it was far from being indispensable, and gettysburg's knife was forgotten. he had fetched down a nugget from the "laughing water" claim, a bright lump of virgin gold, rudely fashioned by nature like a heart. this he took at once to a jeweler's shop, where more fine diamonds were being sold than in all the rest of the state, and while it was being soldered to a pin he returned to the hay-yard for dave. his business was to purchase the mare on which, one beautiful morning when the wild peach was in bloom, beth kent had ridden by his side. dave would have given him the animal out of hand. van compelled him to receive a market price. even ponies here were valuable, and dave had been poor all his life. "say, van," he drawled, when at length the transaction was complete, "this camp has set me to thinkin'. it's full of these rich galoots, all havin' an easy time. if ever i git a wad of dough i'm comin' here and buy five dollars worth of good sardines and eat 'em, every one. never have had enough sardines in all my life." "i'd buy them for you now and sit you down," said van, "only why start a graveyard with a friend?" some woman who had come and gone from goldite had disposed of a beautiful side saddle, exposed in the hay-yard to the weather. van paid fifty dollars and became its owner. the outfit for beth was soon complete. he ordered the best of feed and attention for her roan--bills to be rendered to himself--and hastening off to the jeweler's, found his pin ready and reposing in a small blue box. avoiding a number of admiring friends, he slipped around a corner, and once more appeared at mrs. dick's. beth was in the dining-room, alone. her papers were spread upon the table. she was flushed with the day's excitements, van had entered unannounced. his active tread upon the carpet of the hall had made no sound. when he halted in the doorway, transfixed by the beauty of the face he saw reflected in the sideboard mirror opposite, beth was unconscious of his presence. she was busily gathering up her documents. her pretty hands were moving lightly on the table. her eyes were downcast, focused where she worked. only the wondrous addition of their matchless brown, thought van, was necessary to complete a picture of the most exquisite loveliness he had ever beheld. he had come there prepared to be sedate--at least not over-bold again, or too presumptuous. already, however, a riot of love was in his veins. he loved as he fought--with all his strength, with a tidal impetuosity that could scarcely understand resistance or imagine defeat. to restrain himself from a quick descent upon her position and a boyish sweeping of her up in his powerful arms was taxing the utmost of his self-control. then beth glanced up at the mirror. the light of her eyes seemed to liquify his heart. he felt that mad, joyous organ spread abruptly, throughout his entire being. she rose up suddenly and turned to greet him. "why--mr. van!" she stammered, flushing rosily. "i _heard_ you were in town." he came towards her quietly enough, the jeweler's box in his hand. "i called before," he answered in his off-hand way. "you must have been out with poor old searle." "oh," she said, "poor old searle? why poor?" "i told you why before," he said boldly, in spite of himself. he was standing before her by the table, looking fairly into her eyes, with that dancing boyishness amazingly bright in his own. "you remember, too--you can't forget." the flush in her cheeks increased. her glance was lowered. "you didn't give me time to--rebuke you for that," she answered, attempting to assume a tone of severity. "you had no right--it wasn't nice or like you in the least." "yes it was, nice, and like me," he corrected. "i've brought you a nugget from the claim." he opened the box and shook out the pin on the table. she had started to make a reply concerning his actions when leaving on that former occasion. the words were pushed aside. "oh, my!" she said in a little exclamation, instead. "a nugget!--gold!--not from the--not from your claim?" his hand slightly trembled. "from the 'laughing water' claim. named for the girl i'm going to marry." she gasped, almost audibly. the things he said were so wholly unexpected--so almost naked in their bluntness. "the girl--some girl you--isn't it beautiful?" she faltered helplessly. "of course i don't know--how any girl could have such a singular name." "yes you do," he corrected in his shockingly candid way. "you know when dave gave her the name." "do i?" she asked weakly, trying to smile, and feeling some wonderful, welcome sort of fear of the passion with which he fairly glowed. "you are--very positive." he moved a trifle closer, touching the pin, with a finger, as she held it in her hand. his voice slightly shook as he asked: "do you like it?" "the pin? of course. a genuine nugget! you were very kind, i'm sure." "i thought when you and i ride over to the claim, some day, you ought to have a horse of your own," he announced in his manner of finality. "so your horse and outfit are over at charlie's, at your order." she looked up at him swiftly. "my horse--over at charlie's?" "yes, charlie's--the hay-yard. i thought you liked a side-saddle best and i found a good one in the hay." "but--i haven't any horse," she protested, failing for a moment to grasp his meaning. "how could i have a horse in goldite?" "you couldn't help having him--that's all--any more than you can help having me." the light in his eyes was far too magnetic for her own brown glance to escape. she hardly knew what she was saying, or what she was thinking. she was simply aflame with happiness in his presence--and she feared he must read it in her glance. that the horse was his gift she comprehended all at once--but--what had he said--what was it he had said, that she must answer? her heart and her mind had coalesced. there was love in both and little of reason in either. she knew he was holding her eyes to his with the sheer force of overwhelming love. she tried to escape. "you--mean-----" he broke all control like a whirlwind. "i mean i can't hold it any longer! i love you!--i love you to death!" he took her in his arms suddenly, passionately, crushing her almost fiercely against his heart. he kissed her on the lips--once--twice--a dozen times in half a minute--feeling the warm, moist softness in the contact and holding her pliant figure yet more closely. she, too, was mad with it all, for a second. then she began to battle with his might. "van!--mr. van!" she said, pushing his face away with a hand he might have devoured. "let me go! let me go! how dare--- you shan't! you shan't! let me go!" her nature, in revolt for a moment against her better judgment, refused to do the bidding of her muscles. then she gathered strength out of the whirlwind itself and pushed him away like a tigress. "you shan't!" she repeated. "you ought to be ashamed! how dare you treat me----" he had turned abruptly, looking towards the door. her utterance was halted by his movement of listening. she had barely time to take up her papers, and make an effort at regaining her composure. bostwick was coming down the hall. he presently appeared at the door. for a moment there was silence. van was the first to speak. "how are you, searle?" he said cheerily. "got over your grouch?" bostwick looked him over with ill-concealed loathing. "you thought you were clever, i suppose," he said in a growl-like tone that certainly fitted his face. "what are you doing here, i'd like to know?" "tottering angels!" said van, "didn't that experience do you any good after all? no wonder the convicts wouldn't have you!" beth was afraid for what bostwick might have heard. she could not censure van for what he had done; she saw he would make no explanations. at best she could only attempt to put some appearance of the commonplace upon the horseman's visit. "mr. van buren came--to see mrs. dick," she faltered, steadying her voice as best she might. "they're--very old friends." "what's that?" demanded bostwick, coming into the room and pointing at the bright nugget pin, lying exposed upon the table. "some present, i suppose, for mrs. dick?" he started to take it in his hand. van interposed. "it's neither for mrs. dick nor for you. it's a present i've made to miss kent." bostwick elevated his brows. "indeed?" beth fluttered in with a word of defense. "it's just a little souvenir--that's all--a souvenir of--of my escape from those terrible men." "and searle's return," added van, who felt the very devil in his veins at sight of bostwick helpless and enraged. searle opened his lips as if to fling out something of his wrath. he held it back and turned to beth. "it will soon be night. we have much to do. i suppose i may see you, privately--even here?" beth was helpless. and in the circumstances she wished for van to go. "certainly," she answered, raising her eyes for a second to the horseman's, "--that is--if----" "certainly," van answered cordially. "good-by." he advanced and held out his hand. she gave him her own because there was nothing else to do--and the tingling of his being made it burn. she did not dare to meet his gaze. "so long, searle," he added smilingly. "better turn that grouch out to pasture." then he went. chapter xx queenie the shadows of evening met van, as he stepped from the outside door and started up the street. then a figure emerged from the shadows and met him by the corner. it was queenie. her eyes were red from weeping. a smile that someway affected van most poignantly, he knew not why, came for a moment to her lips. "you didn't expect to see me here," she said. "i had to come to see if it was so." "what is it, queenie? what do you mean? what do you want?" he answered. "what's the trouble?" "nothing," she said. "i don't want nothing i can git--i guess--unless--oh, _is_ it her, van? is it sure all over with me?" "look here," he said, not unkindly, "you've always been mistaken, queenie. i told you at the time--that time in arizona--i'd have done what i did for an indian squaw--for any woman in the world. why couldn't you let it go at that?" "you know why i couldn't," she answered with a certain intensity of utterance that gave him a species of chill. "after what you done--like the only real friend i ever had--i belonged to you--and couldn't even take myself away." "but i didn't want anyone to belong to me, queenie. you know that. i could barely support my clothes." her eyes burned with a strange luminosity. her utterance was eager. "but you want somebody to belong to you now? ain't that what's the matter with you now?" he did not answer directly. "i didn't think it was in you, queenie, to follow me around and play the spy. i've liked you pretty well--but--i couldn't like this." she stared at him helplessly, as an animal might have looked. "i couldn't help it," she murmured, repressing some terrible emotion of despair. "i won't never trouble you no more." she turned around and went away, walking uncertainly, as if from physical weakness and the blindness of pain. van felt himself inordinately wrung--felt it a cruelty not to run and overtake her--give her some measure of comfort. there was nothing he could do that would not be misunderstood. moreover, he had no adequate idea of what was in her mind--or in her homeless heart. he had known her always as a butterfly; he could not take her tragically now. "poor girl," he said as he watched her vanishing from sight, "if only she had ever had a show!" he looked back at mrs. dick's. bostwick had ousted him after all, before he could extenuate his madness, before he could ascertain whether beth were angry or not--before he could bid her good-by. now that the cool of evening was upon him, along with the chill of sober reflection, he feared for what he had done. he was as mad, as crude as queenie. yet his fear of beth's opinion was a sign that he loved her as a woman should be loved, sacredly, and with a certain awe, although he made no such analysis, and took no credit to himself for the half regrets that persistently haunted his reflections. it would be a moonlight night, he pondered. he had counted on riding by the lunar glow to the "laughing water" claim. would beth, by any possibility, attempt to see him--come out, perhaps, in the moonlight--for a word before he should go? he could not entertain a thought of departing without again beholding her. he wanted to know what she would say, and when he might see her again. after all, what was the hurry to depart? he might as well wait a little longer. he went to the hay-yard. dave had disappeared. half an hour of search failed to bring him to light. on the point of entering a restaurant to allay his sense of emptiness, van was suddenly accosted by a wild-eyed man, bare-headed and sweating, who ran at him, calling as he came. "hey!" he cried. "van buren! come on! come on! she's dyin' and all she wants is you!" "what's wrong with you, man?" inquired the horseman, halted by the fellow's words. "what are you talking about?" "queenie!" gasped the fellow, panting for his breath. "took poison--o, lord! come on! come on! she don't want nothing but you!" van turned exceedingly pale. "poison? what you want is the doctor!" "he's there--long ago!" answered the informant excitedly, and swabbing perspiration from his face. "she won't touch his dope. it's all over, i guess--only she wants to see you." "show me the way, then--show me the way. where is she?" van shook the man's shoulder roughly. "don't stand here trembling. take me to the place." the man was in a wretched plight, from fear and the physical suffering induced by what he had seen. he reeled drunkenly as he started down the street, then off between some rows of canvas structures, heading for a district hung with red. at the edge of this place, at an isolated cabin, comprising two small, rough rooms, the man seemed threatened with collapse. "may be too late," he whispered hoarsely, as he listened and heard no sounds from the house. "i'm goin' to stay outside--and wait." the door was ajar. without waiting for anything further, van pushed it open and entered. "there he is--i knew it!" cried queenie from the room at the rear. it was a cry that smote van like a stab. then he came to the room where she was lying. "i knew you'd come--i knew it, van!" said the girl in a sudden outburst of sobbing, and she tried to rise upon her pillow. agony, which she had fought down wildly, seized her in a spasm. she doubled on the bed. van glanced about quickly. the doctor--a young, inexperienced man--was there, sweating, a look of abject helplessness upon his face. the room was a poor tawdry place, with gaudy decorations and a litter of queenie's finery. in her effort to conquer the pains that possessed her body, the girl had distorted her face almost past recognition. van came to the bedside directly, placed his hand on her shoulder, and gave her one of his characteristic little shakings. "queenie, what have you done?" he said. "what's going on?" she tried to smile. it was a terrible effort. "it's nobody's fault--but what was the use, van?--what was there in it for me?" "she won't take anything--the antidote--anything! there isn't a stomach pump in town!" the doctor broke in desperately. "she's got to! it's getting too late! we'll have to force it down! maybe she'd take it for you." he thrust a goblet into van's nervous hand. it contained a misty drink. "for god's sake take this, queenie," van implored. "take it quick!" she shrank away, attempting with amazing force of will to mask her pain. "i'd take the stuff--for your sake--when i--wouldn't for god," she faltered, sitting up, despite her bodily anguish. "you don't ask me to--do it for you." "i do, queenie--take it for me!" he answered, wrung again as he had been at her smiles, an hour before, but now with heart-piercing poignancy. "take it for me, if you won't for anyone else." she received the glass--and deliberately threw it on the floor. the doctor cried out sharply. queenie shook her head, all the time fighting down her agony, which was fast making inroads to her life. she fell back on her pillow. "you didn't--ask me--van 'cause you love me. nobody--wants me to live. that's all right. do you s'pose you could kiss me good-by?" the look on her face was peculiarly childish, as she drove out the lines of anguish in a superhuman effort made for him. and the yearning there brought back again that thought he had voiced before, that night--why couldn't the child have had a chance? the doctor was feverishly mixing another potent drink. van bent down and kissed her, indulgently. "force her to take it!" cried the doctor desperately. "force her to take it!" "queenie," van said, "you've got to take this stuff." her hand had found his and clutched it with galvanic strength. "don't--make me," she begged, closing her eyes in a species of ecstacy that no man may understand. "i'd rather--not--van--please. only about a minute now. ain't it funny--that love--can burn you--up?" her grip had tightened on his hand. the doctor ran to the window, which he found already opened. he ran back in a species of frenzy. "make her take it, make her take it! god!" he said. "not to do anything--not to do a thing!" queenie smiled at van again--terribly. her fingers felt like iron rods, pressing into his flesh. as if to complete her renunciation she dropped his hand abruptly. she mastered some violent convulsion that left the merest flicker of her life. "good-by, van--good luck," she whispered faintly. "queenie!" he said. "queenie!" perhaps she heard. after an ordeal that seemed interminable her face was calm and still, a faint smile frozen on her marble features. van waited there a long time. someway it seemed as if this thing could be undone. the place was terribly still. the doctor sat there as if in response to a duty. he was dumb. when van went out, the man on the doorstep staggered in. the moon was up. it shone obliquely down into all that rock-lined basin, surrounded by the stern, forbidding hills--the ancient, burned-out furnace of gold that man was reheating with his passions. afar in all directions the lighted tents presented a ghostly unreality, their canvas walls illumined by the candles glowing within. a jargon of dance-hall music floated on the air. outside it all was the desert silence--the silence of a world long dead. van would gladly have mounted his horse and ridden away--far off, no matter where. goldite, bizarre and tragic--a microcosm of the world that man has fashioned--was a blot of discordant life, he felt, upon an otherwise peaceful world. as a matter of fact it had only begun its evening's story. he stood in the road, alone, for several minutes, before he felt he could begin to resume the round of his own existence. when he came at length to the main street's blaze of light, a deeply packed throng could be seen in all the thoroughfare, compactly blocked in front of a large saloon. culver, the government representative in the land-office needs, had been found in his office murdered. he had been stabbed. van's knife, bought for gettysburg, had been employed--and found there, red with its guilt. all this van was presently to discover. he was walking towards the surging mob when a miner he had frequently seen came running up and halted in the light of a window. then the man began to yell. "here he is!" he cried. "van buren!" the mob appeared to break at the cry. fifty men charged down the street in a species of madness and van was instantly surrounded. chapter xxi in the shadow of the rope mob madness is beyond explanation. cattle stampeding are no more senseless than men in such a state. goldite, however, was not only habitually keyed to the highest of tension, but it had recently been excited to the breaking point by several contributing factors. lawless thefts of one another's claims, ore stealing, high pressure over the coming rush to the indian reservation, and a certain apprehension engendered by the deeds of those liberated convicts--all these elements had aroused an over-revulsion of feeling towards criminality and a desire to apply some manner of law. and the primal laws are the laws that spring into being at such a time as this--the laws that cry out for an eye for an eye and a swiftness of legal execution. into the vortex of goldite's sudden revulsion van was swept like a straw. there was no real chance for a hearing. his friends of the morning had lost all sense of loyalty. they were almost as crazed as those whom his recent success had irritated. the story of his row with culver had spread throughout the confines of the camp. no link in the chain of circumstantial evidence seemed wanting to convict him. a bawling sea of human beings surrounded him with violence and menace. to escape the over-wrought citizens, the sheriff, assuming charge of van, dragged him on top of a stack of lumber, piled three feet high before a building. the cry for a rope and a lynching began with a promptness that few would have expected. in normal times it could scarcely have been broached. snatching new-made deputies, hit-or-miss from the mob, and summarily demanding their services, the sheriff exerted his utmost powers to stem the tide that was rising. something akin to a trial began then and there. a big red-faced drummer from chicago, a man that van had never seen, became his voluntary advocate, standing between him and the mob. he had power, that man, both of limb and presence. his voice, also, was mighty. he shoved men about like rubber puppets and shouted his demands for law and order. van, having flung off half a dozen citizens, who in the excitement had felt some fanatical necessity for clutching him, faced the human wolves about him in a spirit of angry resentment. the big man from chicago mowed his way to the pile of lumber and clambered up by the sheriff. the pile raised its occupants only well above the surging pack of faces. "stop your howling! stop your noise!" roared the drummer from his elevation. "don't you want to give this man a chance?" [illustration: "don't you want to give this man a chance?"] he was heard throughout the street. "he's got to prove his innocence or hang!" cried someone shrilly. "a murder foul as that!" another one bawled: "where was he then? make him tell where he was at six o'clock!" culver's watch had been shattered and stopped at precisely six o'clock, presumably by his fall against a table in his office, when he suddenly went down, at the hands of his assassin. this fact was in possession of the crowd. a general shout for van to explain where he was at the vital moment arose from all the crowd. the drummer turned to van. "there you are," he said. "there's your chance. if you wasn't around the surveyor's shack, you ought to be able to prove it." van could have proved his alibi at once, by sending around to queenie's residence. he was nettled into a stubbornness of mind and righteous anger by all this senseless accusation. he did not realize his danger--the blackness of the case against him. that a lynching was possible he could scarcely have been made to believe. nevertheless, as the queenie matter was one of no secrecy and the facts must soon be known, he was turning to the drummer to make his reply when his eye was caught by a face, far out in the mass of human forms. it was beth that he saw, her cheek intensely white in the light streaming forth from a store. bostwick was there at her side. beth had been caught in the press of the throng as they came from the telegraph office. he realized that at best his story concerning queenie would be sufficiently black. with beth in this theater of accusation the story of queenie must wait. "it's nobody's business where i was," he said. "this whole affair is absurd!" half a dozen of the men who were nearest heard his reply. one of them roared it out lustily. the mob was enraged. the cries for a violent termination to the scene increased in volume. men were shouting, swearing, and surging back and forth tumultuously, wrought to a frenzy of primal virtue. one near beth called repeatedly for a lynching. he had cut a long new piece of rope from a coil at a store of supplies and was trying to drag it through the crowd. the girl had heard and seen it all. she realized its full significance. she had never in her life felt so horribly oppressed with a sense of terrible things impending. impetuously she accosted a man who stood at her side. "oh, tell them he was with me!" she said. the man looked her over, and raising himself on his tip toes, shook his hat wildly at the mob. "say," he shouted at the top of his might, "here's a girl he was with at six o'clock." it seemed as if only the men near at hand either heard or paid attention. on the farther side, away from beth, the shouts for mob law were increasing. she turned to bostwick hotly. "can't you do anything? tell them he was there with us--down at mrs. dick's at six o'clock!" "he wasn't!" said searle. "he left there at five forty-five." the man who had shouted listened to them both. "five forty-five?" he repeated. "that makes a difference!" the drummer had caught the shout from out at the edge. "who's that?" he called. "who's got that alibi?" "all wrong!--no good!" yelled the man who stood by beth. the girl had failed to realize how her statement would sound--in such a place as goldite. van had turned sick when it reached him. he was emphatically denying the story. the gist of it went through the mass of maddened beings, only to be so soon impugned by the man who had started it from beth. the fury, at what was deemed an attempted deception, burst out with accumulated force. the sheriff had drawn a revolver and was shouting to the mob to keep away. "this man has got to go to jail!" he yelled. "you've got to act accordin' to the law!" he ordered his deputies to clear the crowd and make ready for retreat. three of them endeavored to obey. their efforts served to aggravate the mob. confusion and chaos of judgment seemed rising like a tide. in the very air was a feeling that suddenly something would go, something too far strained to hold, and some terrible deed occur before these people could ask themselves how it had been accomplished. the fellow with the rope was being boosted forward by half a dozen intoxicated fools. had the rope been a burning fuse it could scarcely have ignited more dangerous material than did its strands of manilla, in those who could lay their hands upon it. the drummer was shouting himself raw in the throat--in vain. van was courting disaster by the very defiance of his attitude. it seemed as if nothing could save him, when two separate things occurred. the doctor who had been with van at queenie's death arrived in the press, got wind of the crisis, and vehemently protested the truth. simultaneously, the lumberman, trimmer, drunk, and enjoying what he deemed a joke, hoarsely confided to some sober men the fact that cayuse had done the murder. even then, when two centers of opposition to the madness of the mob had been created, the menace could not at once be halted. the man with the rope had approached so near the lumber-pile that the sheriff could all but reach him. a furious battle ensued, and waged around the planks, between the deputies and lynchers. it lasted till fifty active men of the camp, aroused to a sense of reaction by the facts that were now becoming known, hurled the struggling fighters apart and dragged them off, all the while spreading the news they had heard concerning the half-breed indian. no less excited when at last they knew that van was innocent, the great crowd still occupied the street, hailing trimmer to the lumber-pile and demanding to know how he came by the facts, and where cayuse had gone. trimmer was frightened into soberness--at least into soberness sufficient to protect himself and mccoppet. he said he had seen the indian coming from culver's office, with blood upon his hands. the indian had gone straight westward from the town, to elude pursuit in the mountains. the fact that van had been at queenie's side at her death became town property at once. it came in all promptness to beth. with a feeling of sickness pervading all her being, she was glad to have bostwick take her home. it was late when at last the street was clear, and van could finally make his escape from danger and returning friends. dave by then had found himself; that is, he made his way, thus tardily, to the horseman's side--and the two went at length to their dinner. at half-past eight, with the moon well up, dave and van were ready for departure. their horses were saddled. one extra animal was packed with needed provisions for the crew on the "laughing water" claim. van had ordered all he could for queenie's final journey--the camp's best possible funeral, which he could not remain to attend. there was nothing to do but to mount and ride away, but--beth was down at mrs. dick's. resistance was useless. bidding dave wait with the horses at the yard. van made his way around through the shadows of the houses, and coming out upon a rocky hill, a little removed from the boarding place, was startled to see beth abruptly rise before him. the house had oppressed her--and the moon had called. bostwick, in alarm concerning possible disaster to the plans he had made with mccoppet, now that culver was dead, had gone to seek the gambler out and ascertain the status of affairs. chapter xxii two meetings after dark for a moment neither beth nor van could speak. the girl, like a startled moon-sprite, wide-eyed and grave, had taken on a mood of beauty such as the man had never seen. she seemed to him strangely fragile, a trifle pale, but wholly exquisite, enchanting. no signs were on her face, but she had wept--hot, angry tears, within the hour. and here was the cause of them all! she had wished he would come--and feared he would come, as conflicting emotions possessed her. now that he stood here, with moonlight on half of his face, her thoughts were all unmarshaled. van presently spoke. "i'm a kid, after all. i couldn't go away without--this." "i wish you had! i wish you had!" she answered, at his smile. "i wish i had never seen you in the world!" his heart was sore for jesting, but he would not change his way. "if not in the world, where _would_ you have wished to see me, then?" "i never wished to see you at all!" she replied. "your joke has gone too far. you have utterly mistaken my sense of gratitude." "guess not," he said. "i haven't looked for gratitude--nor wanted it, either." "you had no right!" she continued. "you have said things--done things--you have taken shameful advantage--you have treated me like--i suppose like--that other--that other--- you dared!" van's face took on an expression of hardness, to mask the hurt of his heart. "who says so?" he demanded quietly. "you know better." "it's true!" she answered hotly. "you had no right! it was mere brute strength! you cannot deny what you have been--to that miserable woman!" tears of anger sped from her eyes, and she dashed them hotly away. van stepped a little closer. "beth," he said, suddenly taking her hand, "none of this is true, and you know it. you're angry with that woman, not with me." she snatched her hand away. "you shan't!" she said. "don't you dare to touch me again. i hate you--hate you for what you have done! you've been a brute probably to her as well as to me!" "to you? when?" he demanded "all the time! to-day!--now!--when you say i'm angry at a--woman who is dead!--a woman who died for you!" it hit him. "poor queenie," he said, "poor child." "yes--poor queenie!" her eyes blazed in the moonlight. "to think that you dared to treat me like----" "beth!" he interrupted, "i won't permit it. i told you to-day i loved you. that makes things right. you love me, and that makes them sacred. i'd do all i've done over again--_all_ of it--queenie and the rest! i'm not ashamed, nor sorry for anything i've done. i love you--i say--i love you. that's what i've never done before--and never said i did--and that's what makes things right!" beth was confused by what he said--confused in her judgment, her emotions. weakly she clung to her argument. "you haven't any right--it isn't true when you say i love you. i don't! i won't! you can't deny that woman died of a broken heart for you!" "i don't deny anything about her," he said. "i tried to be her friend. god knows she needed friends. she was only a child, a pretty child. i'm sorry. i've always been sorry. she knew i was only a friend." she felt he was honest. she knew he was wrung--suffering, but not in his conscience. yet what was she to think? she had heard it all--all of queenie's story. "you kissed her," she said, and red flamed up in her cheeks. "it was all she asked," he answered simply. "she was dying." "and you're paying for her funeral." "i said i was her friend." "oh, the shamelessness of it!" she exclaimed as before, "--the way it looks! and to think of what you dared to do to me!" "yes, i kissed you without your asking," he confessed. "i expect to kiss you a hundred thousand times. i expect to make you my wife--for a love like ours is rare. whatever else you think you want to say, beth--now--don't say it--unless it's just good-night." with a sudden move forward he took her two shoulders in his powerful hands and gave her a rough little shake. then his palms went swiftly to her face, he kissed her on the lips, and let her go. "you!--oh!" she cried, and turning she ran down the slope of the hill as hard as she could travel. he watched her going in the moonlight. even her shadow was beautiful, he thought, but all his joy was grave. she disappeared within the house, without once turning to see what he had done. he could not know that from one of the darkened windows she presently peered forth and watched him depart from the hill. he was not so assured as he had tried to make her think, and soberness dwelt within his breast. half an hour later he and old dave were riding up the mountain in the moonlight. the night from the eminence was glorious, now that the town was left behind. goldite lay far below in the old dead theatre of past activities, dotting the barren immensity with its softened lights like the little thing it was. how remote it seemed already, with its vices, woes, and joys, its comedy and tragedy, its fevers, strifes, and toil, disturbing nothing of the vast serenity of the planet, ever rolling on its way. how coldly the moon seemed looking on the scene. and yet it had cast a shadow of a girl to set a man aflame. meantime bostwick had been delayed in securing mccoppet's attention. the town was still excited over all that had happened; the saloons were full of men. culver had been an important person, needful to many of the miners and promoters of mining. his loss was an aggravation, especially as his deputy, lawrence, was away. the more completely to allay suspicions that might by any possibility creep around the circle to himself, mccoppet had been the camp's most active figure in organizing a posse, with the sheriff, to go out and capture cayuse. his reasons for desiring the half-breed's end were naturally strong, nevertheless his active partisanship of law and justice excited no undesirable talk. he was simply an influential citizen engaged in a laudable work. it was late when at length he and bostwick could snatch a few minutes to themselves. the gambler's first question then was something of a puzzle to bostwick. "well, have you got that thirty thousand?" "got it? yes, i've got it," bostwick answered nervously, "but what is the good of it now?" it was mccoppet's turn to be puzzled. "anything gone wrong with van buren, or his claim?" "good heavens! isn't it sufficient to have things all gone wrong with culver? what could be worse than that?" the gambler flung his cigar away and hung a fresh one on his lip. "say, don't you worry on culver. don't his deputy take his place?" "his deputy?" "sure, his deputy--lawrence--a man we can get hands down." bostwick stared at him hopefully. "you don't mean to say this accident--this crime--is fortunate, after all?" "it's a godsend." mccoppet would have dared any blasphemy. bostwick's relief was inordinate. "then what is the next thing to do?" "wait for lawrence," said the gambler. then he suddenly arose. "no, we can't afford the time. he might be a week in coming. you'll have to go get him, to-morrow." "where is he, then?" "way out south, on a survey. you'd better take that car of yours, with a couple of men i'll send along, and fetch him back mighty pronto. we can't let a deal like this look raw. the sooner he runs that reservation line the better things will appear." bostwick, too, had risen. "will your men know where to find him?" "if he's still on the map," said the gambler. "you leave that to me. better go see about your car to-night. i'll hustle your men and your outfit. see you again if anything turns up important. meantime, is your money in the bank?" "it's in the bank." "right," said mccoppet. "good-night." chapter xxiii beth's desperation the following day in goldite was one of occurrences, all more or less intimately connected with the affairs of van and beth. bostwick succeeded in making an early start to the southward in his car. mccoppet had provided not only a couple of men as guides to the field where lawrence was working, but also a tent, provisions, and blankets, should occasion arise for their use. beth was informed by her fiancé that word had arrived from her brother, to whom searle said he meant to go. the business of buying glenmore's mine, he said, required unexpected dispatch. perhaps both he and glen might return by the end of the week. by that morning's train the body of culver was shipped away--and the camp began to forget him. the sheriff was after cayuse. early in the afternoon the body of the girl who had never been known in goldite by any name save that of queenie, was buried on a hillside, already called into requisition as a final resting place for such as succumbed in the mining-camp, too far from friends, or too far lost, to be carried to the world outside the mountains. half a dozen women attended the somewhat meager rites. there was one mourner only--the man who had run to summon van, and who later had waited by the door. at four o'clock the goldite _news_ appeared upon the streets. it contained much original matter--or so at least it claimed. the account of the murder of culver, the death of queenie, and the threatened lynching of van buren made a highly sensational story. it was given the prominent place, for the editor was proud to have made it so full in a time that he deemed rather short. on a second page was a tale less tragic. it was, according to one of its many sub-headings, "a humorous outcrop concerning two maids and a man." it related, with many gay sallies of "wit," how van had piloted mr. j. searle bostwick into the hands of the convicts, recently escaped, packed off his charges, miss beth kent and her maid, and brought them to goldite by way of the monte cristo mine, in time to behold the discomfited entrance of the said j. searle bostwick in prisoner's attire. mr. bostwick was described as having been "on his ear" towards van buren ever since. in the main the account was fairly accurate. gettysburg, napoleon, and old dave had over-talked, during certain liquifying processes. the matter was out beyond repair. mrs. dick was prompt in pouncing on the story, hence beth was soon presented with a copy. in the natural annoyance she felt when it was read, there was one consolation, at least: searle was away, to be gone perhaps two or three days. he might not see the article, which would soon be forgotten in the camp. to culminate the day's events, that evening elsa ran away. she went with a "gentleman" lodger, taking the slight precaution to be married by the justice of the peace. beth discovered her loss too late to interfere. she felt herself alone, indeed, with bostwick away, her brother off in the desert, and van--she refused to think of van. fortunately, mrs. dick was more than merely a friend. she was a staunch little warrior, protecting the champion, to anger whom was unhealthy. despite the landlady's attitude of friendliness, however, beth felt wretchedly alone. it was a terrible place. she was cooped up all day within the lodging house, since the street full of men was more than she cared to encounter; and with life all about her, and wonderful days spreading one after another across the wide-open land, her liberties were fairly in a cage. from time to time she thought of the horse, awaiting her order at the hay-yard. she tried to convince herself she would never accept or ride the animal. she was certain she resented everything van had done. she felt the warmest indignation at herself for breaking into bits of song, for glowing to the tips of her ears, for letting her heart leap wildly in her breast whenever she thought of the horseman. two days went by and she chafed under continued restraints. no word had come from bostwick, none from glen--and not a sign from the "laughing water" claim. from the latter she said to herself she wished no sign. but searle had no right to leave her thus and neglect her in every respect. the morning of the third long day mrs. dick brought her two thin letters. one had been mailed in goldite, by a messenger down from the "laughing water" claim. it came from van. he had written the briefest of notes: "just to send my love. i want you to wear my nugget." folded into the paper was a spray of the wild peach bloom. beth tried to think her blushes were those of indignation, which likewise caused the beat of her heart to rise. but her hand fluttered prettily up to her breast, where the nugget was pinned inside her waist. also his letter must have been hard to understand--she read it seventeen times. then she presently turned to the other. it was addressed in typewritten characters, but the writing inside she knew--her brother glen's. "dear old sis: say, what in the dickens are you doing out here in the mines, by all that's holey?--and what's all this story in the goldite _news_ about one bronson van buren doing the benevolent brigand stunt with you and your maid, and shunting searle off with the cons? why couldn't you let a grubber know you were hiking out here to the desert? why all this elaborate surprise--this newspaper wireless to your fond and lonesome? "what's the matter with your writing hand? is this van-brigand holding them both? what's the matter with searle? i wrote him two or three aeons ago, when he might have been of assistance. now i'm doing my eight hours a day in an effort to sink down to china. i'm on the blink, in a way, but not for long, for this is the land where opportunity walks night and day to thump on your door--and i'll grab her by the draperies yet. "but _me_!--working as a common miner!--though i've got a few days off to go and look at a claim with a friend of mine, so you needn't answer till you hear again. "if searle is dead, why don't he say so? i only touched him for a few odd dollars--i only needed a grub-stake--fifty would have done the trick--and he doesn't come through. and nobody writes. i guess it's me for the prodigal, but when i do get next to the fatted calf i'll get inside and eat my way out by way of his hoofs and horns. why couldn't you and searle and the maid come down and have a look at me--working? _it's worth it_. come on. maybe it's easier than writing. yours for the rights of labor, glen." astonished by the contents of this communication, beth read it again, in no little bewilderment, to make sure she had made no mistake. no letter from herself? no word from searle? no answer to glen's request for money? and he had only asked for a "few odd dollars?" there must be something wrong. he had sent the most urgent requirement for sixty thousand dollars. and she herself had written, at once. searle had assured her he had sent him word by special messenger. starlight was less than a long day's ride away. glen had already had time to see that account in the paper and write. she had no suspicions of bostwick. she had seen glen's letter and read it for herself. and searle had responded immediately with an offer to lend her brother thirty thousand dollars. there must be some mistake. glen might be keeping his news and plans from herself, as men so often will. searle might even have overlooked the importance of keeping glen fully posted, intending to go so soon to starlight. her own letter might have miscarried. she tried to fashion explanations--but they would not entirely fit. searle had been gone three days. he had gone before the goldite _news_ was issued. the paper had arrived at glen's while the man in his car had failed. for a moment she sickened with the reflection that searle might once more have fallen captive to the convicts, still at large--and with all the money! then she presently assured herself that news so sinister as this would have been very prompt to return. it was all too much to understand--unless glen were ill--or out of his reason. his two letters, the one to searle and this one to herself, were so utterly conflicting. it was not to be solved from such a distance. moreover, glen wrote that he was off on a trip, and asked her to wait before replying. it was irritating, all this waiting, alone here in goldite, but there seemed to be nothing else to do. the long morning passed, and she fretted. in the afternoon the goldite _news_ broke its record. it printed an extra--a single sheet, in glaring type, announcing the capture of the convicts. by a bold and daring coup, it said, the entire herd of criminals, all half starved and weakened by privations, had been rounded up and transported back to prison. unfortunately, the report was slightly inaccurate. matt barger, the leader in the prison delivery, and the most desperate man in the lot, had escaped the posse's vigilance. of this important factor in the welcome story of the posse's work goldite was ignorant, and doomed to be in ignorance a week. the news to beth was a source of great relief. but her troubles in other directions were fated to increase. that evening three men called formally--formally, that is to say, in so far as dressing in their best was concerned and putting on their "company manners." but beth and courtship were their objects, a fact that developed, somewhat crudely with the smallest possible delay. one of these persons, billy stitts by name, was fairly unobjectionable as a human being, since he was a quaint, slow-witted, bird-like little creature, fully sixty years of age and clearly harmless. the others were as frankly in pursuit of a mate as any two mountain animals. beth was frightened, when the purport of their visit flashed upon her. she felt a certain sense of helplessness. mrs. dick was too busy to be constantly present; elsa was gone; the ways of such a place were new and wholly alarming. she felt when she made her escape from the three that her safety was by no means assured. her room was her only retreat. except for mrs. dick, there was not another woman in the house. she was wholly surrounded by men--a rough, womanless lot whose excitements, passions, and emotions were subjected to changes constantly, as well as to heats, by the life all around them in the mines. that night was her first of real terror. every noise in the building, and some in the streets, made her start awake like a hunted doe, with imaginings of the most awful description. she scarcely slept at all. the following day old billy stitts called again, very shortly after breakfast. he proved such an amiable, womanly old chap that he was almost a comfort to the girl. she sent him to the postoffice, for a possible letter from glen. he went with all the pleasure and alacrity of a faithful dog, apologizing most exuberantly on his return for the fact that no letter had come. she remained in the house all day. the afternoon brought the two rough suitors of the night before, and two more equally crude. mrs. dick, to beth's intense uneasiness, regarded the matter as one to be expected, and quite in accord with reason and proper regulations. a good-looking girl in camp, with her men-folks all giving her the go-by--and what could you expect? moreover, as some of these would-be courtiers were husky and in line for fortune's smile, with chances as good as any other man's, she might do worse than let them come, and hear what they had to say. it was no girl's need to be neglected as searle and van were patently neglecting beth. this was the stage in which beth at length began to meditate on spartan remedies. the situation was not to be endured. no word had come from searle. the world might have swallowed him up. she was sick of him--sick of his ways of neglect. and as for van---there was no one to whom she could turn--unless it were glen. if only she could flee to her brother! she thought about it earnestly. she tried to plan the way. her horse was at the hay-yard. starlight was only one day off in the desert. the convicts were no longer about. if only she could ride there--even alone! an early start--a little urging of the pony--she could fancy the journey accomplished with the utmost ease; then scornful defiance, both of bostwick and of van. but a woman--riding in this lawless land alone! she was utterly disheartened, disillusionized at the thought. it would be no less than madness. and yet, it seemed as if she must presently go. searle's silence, coupled to conditions here, was absolutely intolerable. with plans decidedly hazy--nothing but a wild, bright dream really clear--she questioned billy stitts concerning the roads. he was familiar with every route in miles, whether roadway, trail, or "course by compass," as he termed trackless cruising in the desert. he gave her directions with the utmost minutae of detail as to every highway to starlight. he drew her a plan. she was sure that she could almost ride to starlight in the dark. what branches of the road to shun, which trails to choose, possibly, for gaining time, what places to water a famishing horse--all these and more she learned with feverish interest. "now a man would do this," and "a man would do that," said billy time after time, till a new, fantastic notion came bounding full-fledged into beth's anxious brain and almost made her laugh with delight. she could _dress as a man_ and ride as a man and be absolutely safe on the journey! she knew a dozen unusual arts for dying the skin and concealing the hair and making the hands look rough. make-up in private theatricals, at professional hands, she had learned with exceptional thoroughness. she would need a suit of kahki, miners' books, a soft, big hat, and flannel shirt. they were all to be had at the store. she could order her horse to be saddled for a man. she could readily dress and escape unseen from the house. in a word, she could do the trick! the plan possessed her utterly. it sent her blood bounding through her veins. her face was flushed with excitement. she loved adventure--and this would be something to do! nevertheless, despite all her plans, she had no real intention of attempting a scheme so mad. subconsciously she confessed to herself it was just the merest idle fancy, not a thing to be actually ventured, or even entertained. that night, when she was more beset, more worried than before, however, desperation was increasing upon her. the plan she had made no longer seemed the mere caprice of one in pursuit of pleasure--it appeared to be the only possible respite from conditions no longer to be borne. when the morning came, after a night of mental torture and bodily fear, her patience had been strained to the point of breaking, and resolve was steeling her courage. the word that should have come from searle was still delinquent. but old billy stitts brought her a letter from glen. "dear sis: i can only write a line or two. had a thump on the head, but it didn't knock off my block. don't worry. all right in a few days, sure. guess you couldn't come, or you'd be here, in response to my last. but searle might show up, anyhow. you can write me now. hope you're well and happy. is the brigand still on the job? can't really write. with love, glen." her heart stood still as she; read her brother's lines, in a scrawled hand indicative of weakness. she resolved in that instant to go. "mr. stitts," she raid in remarkable calm, for all that she felt, "my brother needs some clothing--everything complete, boots, shirts, and all. he's just about my size. i wish you'd go and buy them." "lord, i know the best and the cheapest in camp!" said billy eagerly. "i'll have 'em here before you can write him your letter--but the stage don't go back till friday." she had given no thought to the tri-weekly stage. she dismissed it now, with a wave of gratitude towards van for the horse--gratitude, or something, surging warmly in her veins. she almost wished he could ride at her side, but checked that lawlessness sternly. she would ride to glen alone! chapter xxiv a blizzard of dust at daylight beth was dressed as a man and surveying herself in the mirror. she had passed a sleepless night. she was fevered, excited, and nervous. her work had been admirably done. she looked no more rawly new or youthful than scores of young tenderfeet, daily in the streets of the camp. the stain on her face had furnished an astonishing disguise, supported as it was by male attire. her hair was all up in the crown of her hat, which was set on the back of her head. it was fastened, moreover, with pins concealed beneath the leather band. altogether the disguise was most successful. beth had disappeared: a handsome young man had been conjured in her place. her mare, which billy had ordered, came promptly to the door. she heard her arrive--and her heart stroked more madly than before. trembling in every limb, and treading as softly as a thief, she made her way downstairs. on the dining-room table was the package of lunch that mrs. dick had agreed to prepare. beth had told her she meant to take an early morning ride and might not be back in time for breakfast. with this bundle in hand she went out at the door, her courage all but failing at thought of the man with the horse at the threshold. she shrank from being seen in such an outfit. it was too late now to retreat, however, she told herself bravely, and out she went. "say, git a move, young feller," said the hostler with her pony. "i ain't got time to play horse-post here all day." "thank you for being so prompt," said beth, in a voice that was faint, despite her efforts to be masculine, and she gave him a coin. "i'll tie that there bundle on behind," he volunteered, less gruffly, and beth was glad of his assistance. a moment later she took a gasp of breath and mounted to the seat. collapse of all the project had seemed imminent, but an actual feeling of relief and security ensued when she was settled in the saddle. "so long," said the hostler, and beth responded manfully, "so long." she rode out slowly, towards the one main road. a feeling of the morning's chill assailed her, making her shiver. the noise of her pony's hoof-beats seemed alarmingly resonant. but nothing happened. the streets were deserted, save for a few half-drunken wanderers, headed for the nearest saloon. on the far-off peaks of the mountains the rosy light of sunrise faintly appeared. in the calm of the great barren spaces, even goldite was beautiful at last. a sense of exhilaration pervaded beth's youthful being. she was glad of what she had done. it was joyous, it was splendid, this absolute freedom in all this stern old world! the road wound crookedly up a hill, as it left the streets of the town behind. the scattered tents extended for a mile in this direction, the squares of silent canvas, like so many dice, cast on the slopes by a careless fate that had cast man with them in the struggle. beth and her pony finally topped the hill, to be met by a sea of mountains out beyond. up and down these mighty billows of the earth the highway meandered, leading onward and southward through the desert. the mare was urged to a gallop, down an easy slope, then once more she walked as before. all the mountains in the west were rosy now, till presently the sun was up, a golden coin, struck hot from the very mints of god, giving one more day with its glory. its very first rays seemed a comfort, suggesting a welcome warmth. beth could have called out songs of gladness well nigh uncontainable. she had all the big world to herself. even the strangely twisted clouds in the sky seemed made for her delight. they were rare in this wonderful dome of blue and therefore things of beauty. for an hour or more her way was plain, and to ride was a god-like privilege. her ease of mind was thoroughly established. what had been the necessity for all those qualms of fear? the matter was simple, after all. it was ten o'clock before she ate her breakfast. she had come to the so-called river, the only one in perhaps a hundred miles. it was quite a respectable stream at this particular season, but spread very thinly and widely at the ford. by noon she was half way of her distance. the sun was hot; summer baking of the desert had begun. her mare was sweating profusely. she had urged her to the top of her strength. nevertheless she was still in excellent condition. to the westward the sky was overcast in a manner such as beth had never seen, with a dark, copperous storm-head that massed itself prodigiously above the range. already she had come to three branchings of the road and chosen her way in confidence, according to billy stiff's directions. when she came to a fourth, where none had been indicated, she was sure, either in billy's instructions, or upon his drawing, she confessed herself somewhat uncertain. she halted and felt for the map. it was not to be found. she had left it behind at mrs. dick's. dimly she fancied she remembered that billy had said on the fourth branch, keep to the right. there could be no doubt that this branch was the fourth, howsoever out of place it appeared. she rode to the right, and, having passed a little valley, found herself enfolded in a rolling barrier of hills where it seemed as if the sun and rocks were of almost equal heat. at mid-afternoon beth abruptly halted her pony and stared at the world of desert mountains in confusion not unmixed with alarm. she was out at the center of a vast level place, almost entirely devoid of vegetation--and the road had all but disappeared. it branched once more, and neither fork was at all well defined, despite the fact that travel to starlight was supposed to be reasonably heavy. she had made some mistake. she suddenly remembered something that billy had said concerning a table mountain she should have passed no later than half-past one. it had not been seen along her way. she was tired. weariness and the heat had broken down a little of the bright, joyous spirit of the morning. a heart-sinking came upon her. she must turn and ride back to--she knew not which of the branches of the road, any one of which might have been wrongly selected. her mare could not be hurried now; she must last to get her to starlight. to add to other trifles of the moment, the bank of cloud, so long hung motionless above the western summits, moved out across the path of the sun and blotted out its glory with a density that would have seemed impossible. scarcely had beth fairly turned her back to the west when a wind storm swooped upon the desert. it came as a good stiff breeze, at first, flecking up but little of the dust. then a sudden, ominous change occurred. all the blue of the sky was overwhelmed, under a sudden expansion of the copperous clouds. an eclipse-like darkness enveloped the world, till the farthest mountains disappeared and the near-by ranges seemed to magnify themselves as they blended with the sky. with a sound as of an on-rushing cataclysm the actual storm, cyclonic in all but the rotary motion, came beating down upon the startled earth like a falling wall of air. in less than two minutes the world, the atmosphere, everything had ceased to be. it was a universe of dust and sand, hurtling--god knew whither. in the suddenness of the storm's descent upon her, beth became speechless with dismay. her mare dropped her head and slowly continued to walk. road, hills, desert--all had disappeared. to go onward was madness; to remain seemed certain death. despair and horror together gripped beth by the heart. there was nothing in the world she could do but to close her eyes and double low above the saddle, her hat bent down to shield her face. at the end of a few minutes only the frightfulness of the thing could no longer be endured. beth had been all but torn from her seat by the sheer weight and impact of the wind. all the world was roaring prodigiously. the sand and dust, driving with unimaginable velocity, smoked past in blinding fury. the mare had ceased to move. beth was aware of her inertia, dimly. she remembered at last to dismount and stand in the animal's shelter. at length on the raging and roaring of the air-sea, crashing onward in its tidal might, came a fearful additional sound. it was rushing onward towards the girl with a speed incredible--a sound of shrieking, or whistling, that changed to a swishing as if of pinions, titanic in size, where some monstrous winged god was blown against, his will in a headlong course through the tumult. then the something went by--the whole roof of a house--from twenty miles away. it scraped in the earth, not ten feet off from where the pony stood--and she bolted and ran for her life. down went beth, knocked over by the mare. with a hideous crash the flying roof was hurled against a nearby pinnacle of rock. the wooden wings split upon the immovable obstruction, and on they went as before. the pony had disappeared, in panic that nothing could have allayed. the storm-pall swallowed her instantly, beth could not have seen her had she halted a rod away. her eyes had been opened for half a moment only before she was flung to the earth. she was rolling now, and for the moment was utterly powerless to rise or to halt her locomotion. when she presently grasped at a little gray shrub, came to a halt, and tried to stand erect, she was buffeted bodily along by the wind with no strength in her limbs to resist. she was blown to the big rock pinnacle on which the roof had been divided. an eddy twisted her rudely around to the shelter, and she flung herself down upon the earth. chapter xxv a timely deliverance how long she lay there beth could never have known. it seemed a time interminable, with the horror of the storm in all the universe. it was certainly more than an hour before the end began to come. then clouds and the blizzard of sand and dust, together with all the mighty roaring, appeared to be hurled across the firmament by the final gust of fury and swept from the visible world into outer space. only a brisk half-gale remained in the wake of the huger disturbance. the sky and atmosphere cleared together. the sun shone forth as before--but low to the mountain horizon. when even the clean wind too had gone, trailing behind its lawless brother, the desert calm became as absolute as beth had beheld it in the morning. she crept from her shelter and looked about the plain. her eyes were red and smarting. she was dusted through and through. in all the broad, gray expanse there was not a sign of anything alive. her mare had vanished. beth was lost in the desert, and night was fast descending. deliverance from the storm, or perhaps the storm's very rage, had brought her a species of calm. the fear she had was a dull, persistent dread--an all-pervading horror of her situation, too large to be acute. nevertheless, she determined to seek for the road with all possible haste and make her way on foot, as far as possible, towards the starlight highway and its possible traffic. she was stiff from her ride and her cramped position on the earth. she started off somewhat helplessly, where she felt the road must be. she found no road. her direction may have been wrong. possibly the storm of wind had swept away the wagon tracks, for they had all been faint. it had been but half a road at best for several miles. her heart sank utterly. she became confused as to which way she had traveled. towards a pass in the hills whence she felt she must have come she hastened with a new accession of alarm. she was presently convinced that she had chosen entirely wrong. a realizing sense that she was hopelessly mixed assailed her crushingly. to turn in any direction might be a grave mistake. but to stand here and wait--do nothing--with the sun going down--this was preposterous--suicidal! she must go on--somewhere! she must find the road! she must keep on moving--till the end! till the end! how terrible that thought appeared, in such a situation! she almost ran, straight onward towards the hills. out of breath very soon, she walked with all possible haste and eagerness, all the time looking for the road she had left, which the storm might have wiped from the desert. she was certain now that the mountains towards which she was fleeing were away from the goldite direction. once more she changed her course. she realized then that such efforts as these must soon defeat themselves. at least she must stick to one direction--go on in a line as straight as possible, till she came to something! yet if she chose her direction wrong and went miles away from anything---she had to go on. she had to take the chance. she plodded southwestward doggedly, for perhaps a mile, then halted at something like a distant sound, and peered towards the shadows of the sunset. there was nothing to be seen. a hope which had risen for a moment in her breast, at thought of possible deliverance, sank down in collapse, and left her more faint than before. the sun was at the very rim of the world. its edge began to melt its way downward into all the solid bulk of mountains. it would soon be gone. darkness would ensue. the moon would be very late, if indeed it came at all. wild animals would issue from their dens of hiding, to prowl in search of food. perhaps the sound she heard had been made by an early night-brute of the desert, already roving for his prey! once more she went on, desperately, almost blindly. to keep on going, that was the one essential! she had proceeded no more than a few rods, however, when she heard that sound again--this time more like a shout. her heart pounded heavily and rapidly. she shaded her eyes with her hand, against the last, slanted sun-rays, and fancied she discerned something, far off there westward, in the purples flung eastward by the mountains. then the last bit of all that molten disk of gold disappeared in the summits, and with its going she beheld a horseman, riding at a gallop towards herself. the relief she felt was almost overwhelming--till thoughts of such an encounter came to modify her joy. she was only an unprotected girl--yet--she had no appearance of a woman! this must be her safeguard, should this man now approaching prove some rough, lawless being of the mines. she stood perfectly still and waited. a man would have hurried forward to meet this deliverance, so unexpectedly vouchsafed. but she was too excited, too uncertain--too much of a girl. then presently, when the horseman was still a hundred yards away, her heart abruptly turned over in her bosom. the man on the horse was van. she knew him--knew that impudent pose, that careless grace and oneness with his broncho! she did not know he was chasing that flying roof which had frightened her horse from her side; that he had bought an old cabin, far from his claim, to move it to the "laughing water" ground--only to see it wrenched from his hold by the mighty gale and flung across the world. she knew nothing of this, but she suddenly knew how glad was her whole tingling being, how bounding was the blood in her veins! and she also knew, abruptly, that now if ever she must play the man. she had all but forgotten she was angry with van. that, and a hundred reasons more, made it absolutely imperative now that he should not know her for herself! she made a somewhat wild attempt at a toilet of her hair--in case the wind had ripped the tell-tale strands from beneath her hat. then with utter faintness in her being, and weakness in her knees, she prepared to give him reception. he had slowed his horse to a walk. he rode up deliberately, scrutinizing in obvious puzzlement the figure before him in the sand. "hullo," he said, while still a rod away, "what in blazes are you doing here, man--are you lost?" beth nodded. "i'm afraid i am." her utterance was decidedly girlish, and quavering. "lost your voice somewhere, too, i reckon," said van. "where are you going? where are you from?" "starlight," answered beth, at a loss for a better reply, and making an effort to deepen her tones as she talked. "i lost my horse in the storm." van looked around the valley. "did, hey? didn't happen to see a stray roof, anywhere, did you? i lost one." "i--haven't seen anything," faltered both, whose only wish was to have him say something about her escape from this terrible place. "but something frightened my pony." "i was curious to see how far that roof would hike, that's all," he told her by way of explanation of his presence here on his horse, and he turned to look at her again. "didn't you know this so-called cut-off to starlight would take you more time than the road?" "no, i--i didn't know it," said beth, afraid he must presently penetrate her masquerade if he looked like that upon her. "what do you advise me to do?" he ignored her question, demanding: "say, is your name kent?--glenmore kent?" beth felt her heart begin new gymnastics. this was her cue. "why, yes. but--how did you know--know me?" "i've met your sister, in goldite. you can't get to starlight to-night." she had passed muster! a herd of wild emotions were upon her. but first here was her predicament--and what he said was not at all reassuring. certain alarms that his coming had banished returned in a vague array. she showed her dread in her eyes. "perhaps i could get to goldite." "how?" he was half unconsciously patting suvy, the horse, whose ecstasy thereat was not to be concealed. beth knew not how. she wished van would cease that study of her face. perhaps she could think more clearly. "why--i suppose i could walk--if i knew the way," she said. "is it very far? i admit i'm bewildered. i was lost." "it would be a long ride," he told her. "a lost man is hopeless. i couldn't even show you the way so you could keep it--especially at night." new fears came surging upon her in all their force and numbers. "but--what shall i do?" van reflected. "my claim is the nearest camp from here, since the wind took down that shack. and that was abandoned anyway. can you hike some twenty-odd miles?" twenty-odd miles!--on foot! for a second she was almost tempted to disclose herself, and beg him, for something a trifle more sympathetic than what he seemed to be offering another fellow man. but that could not be done. and night was descending rapidly. the twilight was brief--and on the wane. "why--perhaps so," she answered, attempting to smile. "i'll try." something in her smile went straight to his heart--he wondered why. to feel as he did towards this unknown man, even the brother of the girl he madly loved--this was certainly absurd. it was not to be explained; it was simply upon him, that was enough. he dismounted. "here, get on my horse and ride. i want to walk and stretch my legs." beth all but gasped. she!--ride on suvy!--the horse she had seen so nearly kill this man!--a horse that might perhaps permit no other living thing upon his back! yet she knew not how to refuse--and to walk very far would be impossible. "i'm--afraid i'm a very poor horseman," she admitted guardedly. "if your pony should happen----" van had thought that suvy might resent a stranger's liberties. he turned to the broncho peculiarly. "how about it, boy?" he asked the horse gravely. "i want you to stand for it, savvy?" he looked at the animal inquiringly. how he knew that suvy consented was only for him to comprehend. he squared about to beth, who was watching with wonder, and something far softer, in her heart. "get on," he said. "he was raised as a cradle for babies." beth was pale, but she had to be a man. she stepped to the broncho's side and mounted to the saddle. suvy trembled in every sinew of his being. van gave him a pat on the neck again, turned his back and started straight northward. the pony followed at his heels like a dog with a master he loves. chapter xxvi the night in the desert at ten o'clock that night the moon had not yet risen. its glow was on the eastern sky, however, and at length it appeared, a broken orb with its waning side lopped from its bulk. beth was still in the saddle. she was utterly exhausted; she could scarcely remain in her seat. for more than an hour van had plodded onward without even turning to speak. they had talked intermittently, and he had told her his name. far off in the dimness of the desert level--the floor of a second mighty valley--a lone coyote began his dismal howling. beth, on the horse, felt a chill go down her spine. van seemed not to hear. the howl was repeated from time to time intermittently, like the wail of a ghost, forever lost to hope. when the moon at last shone fairly on the broncho and the girl, van cast a glance at her face. he was startled. the young rider looked so much like beth--and looked so utterly tired! van halted, and so did the pony. the man looked up at his companion. "you're in no fit condition to go on," he said. "what's the use of our trying to make it? to camp right here is as good as going on all night, which don't suit my legs worth a cent." beth was wearied almost to collapse. but--to camp out here--all night!--they two! aside from the terrors that had crept to her soul at sound of the distant coyote, this present aspect of the situation was appalling. indeed, she began to see that whether they went on or remained, she must spend the night in this man's company. she was almost too tired to care how such a thing would appear. he thought her a man--it had been inescapable--there was nothing she could do to prevent the course of events. and come what might she must presently slip from that saddle, in her weakness, faintness, and hunger, if the penalty were all but life itself. "i'm--sure i can walk--and let you ride," she said. "i'd like to go on, but i know i can't sit here any longer." she tried to dismount by herself--as any man must do. in her stiffness she practically fell from the saddle, sinking on her side upon the ground. only for a second was she prostrate thus at his feet, but her coat fell back from her kahki vest--and a gleam of the moonlight fell upon a bright little object, pinned above her heart. van beheld it--and knew what it was--his nugget, washed from the "laughing water" claim! the truth seemed to pour upon him like the waters of an all-engulfing wave--the overwhelming, wonderful truth that was also almost terrible, in what it might mean to them both. there was one thing only the man could do--ignore this fact that he had discovered and treat her like a man. this he knew instantly. he turned with a man's indifference to one of his sex and vaulted to suvy's back. "come on," he said, "if you're anxious to get under cover." he could trust himself to say no more. he rode ahead. beth did her best to follow, and make no complaint. the broncho, however, was a rapid walker. this she had not realized while van was striding on in the lead. she fell behind repeatedly, and van was obliged to halt his horse and wait. she began to be lame. it had been a torture to ride; it was agony to walk. van now became strangely urgent. he had never loved her more. his love had taken on a sacredness, out here in the night, with beth so weary and helpless. more than anything he had ever desired in his life he wished to keep her sacred--spared from such a complication as their night out here alone might engender. yet he saw the first little limp when she began to falter. he was watching backward constantly, his whole nature eager to protect her--save her from hurt, from this merciless toil across the desert. he longed to take her in his arms and carry her thus, securely. he was torn between the wish to hasten her along, for her own greater ease of mind, and the impulse to halt this hardship. he knew not what to do. they had gone much less than a mile when he brought up his pony at her side. "here, kent," he said, "you walk like a bride-groom going up the aisle. you'll have to get up here and ride." he dismounted actively. beth could have dropped in her tracks for weariness. she was tired to the marrow of her bones. "i can't," she answered. "perhaps--we'd better camp." a hot flush rushed upward to her very scalp, fortunately, however, unseen. van regarded her sternly. "i've changed my mind. i haven't time to camp out here to-night. you'll have to ride." it seemed to beth that, had it been to save her life, she could scarcely have climbed to that saddle. to remain on the horse would, she knew, be far beyond her strength. she continued on her feet only by the utmost exertion of her will. someway since van had found her in this dreadful place she had lost strength rapidly--perhaps for the leaning on him. with van's ultimatum now to confront, she could summon no nerve or resolution. her face paled. "you'd better go on, if you have to be at your claim," she said, aware that she could offer no argument, no alternative plan to his wish for an onward march. "i'm--not used to riding--much. i can't ride any more tonight." he knew she told the truth, knew how gladly she would have continued riding, knew what a plight of collapse she must be approaching to submit to a thought of remaining here till morning. he could not go and leave her here. the thought of it aroused him to something like anger. he realized the necessity of assuming a rougher demeanor. "damn it, kent," he said, "you're no less lost than you were before. you know i can't go off and leave you. and i want to get ahead." she only knew she could not ride, come what might. "you didn't say so, a little while ago," she ventured, half imploringly. "i'm sorry i'm so nearly dead. if you must go on----" that cut him to the heart. how could he be a brute? "i ought to go!" he broke in unguardedly. "i mean i've got to think--i've got work to do in the morning. don't you suppose you could try?" the moonlight was full on his face. all the laughter she knew so well had disappeared from his eyes. in its place she saw such a look of yearning and worry--such a tenderness of love as no woman ever yet saw and failed to comprehend. she divined in that second that he knew who she was--she felt it, through all her sense of intuition and the fiber of her soul. she understood his insistence on the march, the saving march, straight onward without a halt. she loved him for it. she had loved him with wild intensity, confessed at last to herself, ever since the moment he had appeared in the desert to save her. if a certain reckless abandon to this love rocked her splendid self-control, it was only because she was so utterly exhausted. her judgment was sound, unshaken. nevertheless, despite judgment and all--to go on was out of the question. god had flung them out here together, she thought, for better or for worse. that van would be the fine chivalrous gentleman she had felt him to be at the very first moment of their accidental acquaintance, she felt absolutely assured. she accepted a certain inevitable fatality in the situation---perhaps the more readily now that she knew he knew, for she seemed so much more secure. his question remained unanswered while she thought of a thousand things. could she try to go on? she shook her head. "what's the use of my riding--perhaps another mile? you might go on and send a man to guide me in the morning." what an effort it cost her to make such a harsh suggestion not even van could know. a terrible fear possessed her that he might really act upon her word. to have him stay was bad enough, but to have him go would be terrible. "hell!" he said, keeping up his acting. "you talk like a woman. haven't i wasted time enough already without sending someone out here to-morrow morning? what makes you think you're worth it?" he turned his back upon her, hung the stirrup of the saddle on the horn, and began to loosen the cinch. like the woman that she was, she enjoyed his roughness, his impudence, and candor. it meant so much, in such a time as this. after a moment she asked him: "what do you mean to do?" he hauled off the saddle and dropped it to the ground. "make up the berths," he answered. "here's your bedding." he tossed the blanket down at her feet. it was warm and moist from suvy's body. he then uncoiled his long lasso, secured an end around the pony's neck, and bade him walk away and roll. the broncho obeyed willingly, as if he understood. van took up the saddle, carried it off a bit, and dropped it as before. beth still remained there, with the blanket at her feet. van addressed her. "got any matches?" "no," she said. "i'm afraid----" "neither have i," he interrupted. "no fire in the dressing-room. good-night. no need to set the alarm clock. i'll wake you bright and early." once more he took up his saddle and started off in the ankle-high brush of the plain. beth watched him with many misgivings at her heart. "where--where are you going?" she called. "to bed," he called in response. "want room to kick around, if i get restless." she understood--but it was hard to bear, to be left so alone as this, in such a place. he went needlessly far, she was sure. grateful to him, but alarmed, made weaker again by having thus to make her couch so far from any protection, she continued to stand there, watching him depart. he stooped at last, and his pony halted near him, like a faithful being who must needs keep him always in sight. even the pony would have been some company for beth, but when van stretched himself down upon the earth, with the saddle for a pillow, she felt horribly alone. there was nothing to do but to make the best of what the fates allowed. she curled herself down on the chilly sand with the blanket tucked fairly well around her. but she did not sleep. she was far too tired and alarmed. half an hour later three coyotes began a fearsome serenade. beth sat up abruptly, as terrified as if she had been but a child. she endured it for nearly five minutes, hearing it come closer all the while. then she could bear it no more. she rose to her feet, caught up her blanket, and almost ran towards the pony. more softly then she approached the place where van lay full length upon the ground. she beheld him in the moonlight, apparently sound asleep. as closely as she dared she crept, and once more made her bed upon the sand. there, in a child-like sense of security, with her fearless protector near, she listened in a hazy way to the prowling beasts, now cruising away to the south, and so profoundly slept. van had heard her come. into his heart snuggled such a warmth and holy joy as few men are given to feel. he, too, went to sleep, thinking of his nugget on her breast. chapter xxvii tall stories daylight had barely broadened into morning when van was astir from his bed. the air was chill and wonderfully clean. above the eastern run of hills the sun was ready to appear. beth still lay deep in slumber. she had curled up like a child in her meager covering. van watched her from his distance. a little shiver passed through her form, from time to time. her hat was still in place, but how girlish, how sweet, how helpless was her face--the little he could see! how he wished he might permit her to sleep it out as nature demanded. for her own sake, not for his, he must hasten her onward to goldite, by way of the "laughing water" claim. he walked off eastward where a natural furrow made a deep depression in the valley. his pony followed, the lasso dragging in the sand. once over at the furrow edge, the man took out his pistol and fired it off in the air. beth was duly aroused. van saw her leap to her feet, then he disappeared in the hollow, with his broncho at his heels. the girl was, if possible, stiffer than before. but she was much refreshed. for a moment she feared van was deserting, till she noted his saddle, near at hand. then he presently emerged upon the level of the plain and returned to the site of their camp. "first call for breakfast in the dining-car," he said. "we can make it by half-past eight." "if only we could have a cup of good hot coffee first, before we start," said beth, and she smiled at the vainness of the thought. "we won't get good coffee at the claim," van assured her dryly. "but near-coffee would lure me out of this." he was rapidly adjusting the blanket and saddle on his horse. "you'll have to ride or we can't make speed," he added. "as a walker you're sure the limited." she appreciated thoroughly the delicacy with which he meant to continue the fiction of her sex. but he certainly was frank. "thank you," she answered amusedly. "i'd do better, perhaps, if i weren't so over-burdened with flattery." "you'll have to do better, anyhow," he observed, concluding preparations with suvy. "there you are. get on. father time with hobbles on could beat us getting a move." he started off, leaving her to mount by herself. she managed the matter somewhat stiffly, suppressing a groan at the effort, and then for an hour she was gently pummeled into limberness as the pony followed van. they came at the end of that time to one of the upper reaches of that same river she had forded the previous day. to all appearances the wide shallow bed was a counterpart of the one over which her horse had waded. but the trail turned sharply down the stream, and followed along its bank. they had halted for the pony to drink. van also refreshed himself and beth dismounted to lie flat down and quench her long, trying thirst. "right across there, high up in the hills, is the 'laughing water' claim," said van, pointing north-eastward towards the mountains. "only three miles away, if we could fly, but six as we have to go around." "and why do we have to go around?" beth inquired. "aren't we going to cross the river here?" "looks like a river, i admit," he said, eying the placid stream. "that's a graveyard there--quicksand all the way across." beth's heart felt a shock at the thought of what could occur to a traveler here, unacquainted with the treacherous waters. "good gracious!" she said. she added generously: "couldn't i walk a little now, and--share the horse?" "when you walk it gets on suvy's nerves to try to keep step," he answered. "fall in." they went two miles down the river, then, across on a rock-and-gravel bottom, at a ford directly opposite a jagged rift in the mountains. this chasm, which was short and steep, they traversed perspiringly. the sun was getting warm. beyond them then the way was all a rough, hard climb, over ridges, down through canyons, around huge dykes of rock and past innumerable foldings of the range. how van knew the way was more than beth could understand. she was already growing wearied anew, since the night had afforded her very little rest, and she had not eaten for nearly a day. van knew she was in no condition for the ride. he was watching her constantly, rejoicing in her spirit, but aching for her aches. he set a faster pace for the broncho to follow, to end the climb as soon as possible. at length, below a rounded ridge, where stunted evergreens made a welcome bit of greenery, he came to a halt. "we're almost there," he said. "you'll have to remain at the claim till somewhere near noon, then i'll show you the way down to goldite." "till noon?" she looked at him steadily, a light of worry in her eyes as she thought of arriving so late at mrs. dick's, with what consequences--the lord alone knew. "i can't get away much earlier," he said, and to this, by way of acting his part, he added: "do you want to wear me out?" she knew what he meant. he would wait till noon to give her time to rest. she would need all the rest he could make possible. and then he would only "show her the way to goldite." he would not ride with her to town. she might yet escape the compromising plight into which she had been thrust. his thoughtfulness, it seemed, could have no end. "very well," she murmured. "i'm sorry to have made you all this trouble." she was not--someways; she was lawlessly, inordinately glad. the "trouble" for van had been the most precious experience in all his life. "it has been one wild spasm of delight," he said in his dryest manner of sarcasm. "but between us, kent, i'm glad it's no continuous performance." he went over the ridge, she following. a moment later they were looking down upon the "laughing water" claim from that self-same eminence from which searle bostwick had seen it when he rode one day from the indian reservation. "this," said van, "is home." "oh," said the girl, and tears sprang into her eyes. and a very home, indeed, it presently seemed, when they came to the shack, where gettysburg, napoleon, old dave, and even algy, the chinese cook, came forth to give them cordial welcome. beth was introduced to all as glenmore kent--and passed inspection. "brother of miss beth kent," said van, "who honored us once with a visit to the monte cristo fiasco. he's been lost on the desert and he's too done up to talk, so i want him to be fed and entertained. and of the two requirements, the feed's more important than the vaudeville show, unless your stunts can put a man to sleep." algy and gettysburg got the impromptu breakfast together. the placer sluices outside were neglected. nobody wished to shovel sand for gold when marvelous tales might be exchanged concerning the wind storm that had raged across the hills the day before. indeed, as van and beth sat together at the board, regaling themselves like the two famished beings they were, their three entertainers proceeded to liberate some of the tallest stories concerning storms that mortal ever heard. napoleon and gettysburg became the hottest of rivals in an effort to deliver something good. gettysburg furnished a tale of a breeze in the unpeopled wilds of nebraska where two men's farms, fully twenty miles apart, had undergone an astounding experience whereby a complete exchange of their houses, barns, and sheds had been effected by a cyclone, without the slightest important damage to the structures. when this was concluded, napoleon looked pained. "i think you lie, gett--metaphorical speakin'!" he hastened to add. "but shiver my bowsprit if i didn't see a ship, once, ten days overdue, jest snatched up and blowed into port two days ahead of time, and never touched nothing all the way, i remember the year 'cause that was the winter ma had twins and pa had guinea pigs." "wal," drawled dave, who had all this time maintained a dignified silence, "i've saw some wind, in my time, but only one that was really a leetle mite too obstreperous. yep, that was a pretty good blow--the only wind i ever seen which blew an iron loggin' chain off the fence, link by link." napoleon paid dave a compliment. he said: "you old son of a gun!" van thought the storms had raged sufficiently. "is work unpopular, or did the wind blow the water from the creek?" "i like to work," admitted gettysburg, "but it's fun to watch you epicures eatin'." beth felt embarrassed. "epicures?" echoed napoleon. "you don't know what an epicure is? that's a vulgar remark when you don't know no meaning of a word." "epicure? me not know what an epicure is?" replied old gettysburg aggressively. "you bet i do. an epicure's a feller which chaws his fodder before he swallers it." napoleon subsided. then he arose and sauntered out to work, dave and gettysburg following. van hastily drank his cup of coffee, which, as he had predicted, was not particularly good, and started for the others. he halted in the door. "make yourself comfortable, if you can here, kent," he said. "you had an exhausting experience yesterday. perhaps you had better lie down." beth merely said: "thank you." but her smile was more radiant than sunshine. chapter xxviii work and song having presently finished her breakfast, beth joined the group outside, curious to behold the workings of a placer mine in actual operation. there was not much to see, but it was picturesque. in their lack of funds the partners had constructed the simplest known device for collecting the gold from the sand. they had built a line of sluices, or troughs of considerable length, propped on stilts, or supports about knee high, along the old bed of the canyon. the sluices were mere square flumes, set with a fairly rapid grade. across the bottom of all this flume, at every yard or less of its length, small wooden cleats had been nailed, to form the "riffles." into the hoses the water from the creek was turned, at the top. the men then shoveled the sand in the running stream and away it went, sluicing along the water-chute, its particles rattling down the wooden stairway noisily. the gold was expected to settled behind the riffles, owing to its weight. all the flume-way dripped from leakages. the sun beat down upon the place unshaded. water escaped into all the pits the men were digging as they worked, so that they slopped around in mud above their ankles. dave wore rubber boots and was apparently protected. as a matter of fact the boots promptly filled with water. napoleon and gettysburg made no effort to remain dry shod, but puddled all day with soused footgear. van rode off to the "reservation town," a mile below the hill, to bargain for a tent reported there for sale. sleeping quarters here on the claim were far too crowded. until lumber for a cabin could be purchased they must make what shifts they might. it had taken but the briefest time for the miners to go at their work. beth stood near, watching the process with the keenest interest. it seemed to her a back-breaking, strenuous labor. these sturdy old fellows, grown gray and stooped with toil--grown also expectant of hardship, ill-luck, and privations--were pathetic figures, despite their ways of cheer. that van had attached them to himself in a largeness of heart by no means warranted by their worth was a conviction at which anyone must promptly arrive. they were lovable old scamps, faithful, honest, and loyal to the man they loved--but that was all that could be stated. perhaps it was enough. as partners with whom to share both life and fortune they might have seemed impossible to many discerning men. beth sat down on a rock, near gettysburg. someway she, too, liked the three old chaps of whom work had made three trademarks. old gettysburg began to sing. the words of his song, halted by grunts as he shoveled, were, to say the least, unexpected: the frog he swore he'd have a ride, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo; sword and pistols by his side, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. for lunch he packed a beetle bug, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo; tucked inside his tummy snug, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. kimo, karo, pito, garo, kimo, bolly mitty kimo. (shovel) shing-shang hammyriddle, allibony, ringtang, folderolli bolly mitty kimo. (three shovelings and some meditation) the frog he rode a slimy eel, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. the sun made his complexion peel, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. the frog's legs went to join a fry, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. the eel became a juicy pie, (shovel) with a rinktum bolly kimo. (chorus) napoleon looked up at the end of the song and spat upon his hands. "gett," he said placidly, "i think that's a lie--metaphorical speakin'. ain't mad, are you?" gettysburg made no response. he merely shoveled. one of the sluices, weakened by a leak that had undermined its pinning, fell from place, at the farther end of the line. old dave went down to repair it. napoleon took advantage of his absence to come to beth, with an air of imparting something confidential. "splice my main brace," said he, with his head on one side, quaintly, "wasn't that a blasphermous yarn old dave was givin' us about the wind blowing that log chain away a link at a time? old son of a gun!" beth was inquisitive. "why do you call him a son of a gun?" napoleon scratched his head. "well, you see, dave's mother held up his father with a colt forty-five and makes him marry her. then along comes dave. i reckon that makes him a sure enough son of a gun." beth said: "oh." she turned a little red. "yep, good old cuss, dave is, though. no good for a seafearing man, however. he could never learn to swear--he ain't got no ear for music." he returned to his shovel. he and gettysburg worked in silence for fifteen minutes. old dave returned and joined them. gettysburg tuned up for another of his songs, the burden of which was the tale of a hen-pecked man. once more at its end napoleon looked up and spat on his hands. "there ain't nothing that can keep some women down 'cept a gravestone--and i've seen some gravestones which was tilted." despite the interest and amusement she felt in it all, beth was becoming sleepy as she sat there in the sun. she shook off the spell and arose, approaching closer to the bank and flume where gettysburg was toiling. he labored on, silently, for several minutes, then paused, straightened up by degrees, as if the folds in his back were stubborn, and looked at their visitor steadily, his glass eye particularly fixed. one of his hands pulled down his jaw, and then it closed up with a thump. "guess this kind of a racket is sort of new to you, mr. kent," he ventured. "ever seen gold washin' before?" "no," beth confessed, "and i don't see where the gold is to come from now." gettysburg chuckled. "holy toads! miners do a heap of work and never see it neither. me and van and napoleon has went through purg and back, many's the time, and was lucky to git out with our skeletons, sayin' nuthin' about the gold." "oh." she could think of nothing else to say. "in fact van was all that got me out onct--napoleon, too. we wasn't worth it, prob'ly. that's the joke on van. since then us three cusses has starved, and froze, and clean roasted, chasin' gold." "oh." "we was lost in the snow, one winter, with nuthin' to eat but a plug of tobacker, a can of vasolene, and a porous plaster. we lived on that menu fer a week--that and snow-soup. but van got us out all right--packed napoleon about five miles on his back. nap was so thin there wasn't enough of him to die." his one good eye became dreamily focused on the past. he smiled. "but someways the desert is worse than the snow. we got ketched three times without no water. never did know, nap or me, how van got our two old dried-up carcasses out the last time, down to death valley. he's a funny cuss, old van." once more beth merely answered: "oh." "you bet!" resumed gettysburg. "he never quits. it ain't in him. he works his hands off and his soul out of its socket, every time." he laughed heartily. "lord! we have done an awful lot of fool work fer nuthin'! we've tackled tunnels and shafts, and several games like this, and pretty near died a dozen different styles--all uneasy kinds of dyin'--and we've lived when it was a darn sight uneasier than croakin', and kept on tryin' out new diggin's, and kept on bein' busted all the time. 'nuff to make a lemon laugh, the fun we've had. but now, by jupe! we've struck it at last--and it ain't a-goin' to git away!" "oh, i'm glad--i'm glad!" said beth, winking back a bit of suspicious moisture that came unbidden in her eyes as she looked on this weather-beaten, hardship-beaten old figure, still sturdily ready for the fates. "i'm sure you all deserve it! i'm sure of that!" "wal, that's a question fer god almighty," gettysburg replied. "but there's the gold, the good yellow gold! and i'm awful glad fer van!" into the water he dipped his crooked old fingers, and scratching down behind a riffle he fetched up a small amount of gold, doubly bright with the water and the sunlight upon it. "gold--and we git it easy," he added, repeating: "i'm awful glad fer van. you ought to see him shovel!" he dropped the gold back into the water carelessly. "it ain't a-goin' to do us old jack-legged cusses much good, at our age, but i would like to go to san francisco this summer once, and shoot the chutes!" chapter xxix suspicious answers beth and van rode away from the claim just after lunch; she on a borrowed horse. the girl had not slept, but she had rested well and was far more fit for the journey back to town than either she or van had expected. he went with her part way only--far enough to put her safely on a trail from which she could not wander. they talked but little as they rode--perhaps because they had so much to say that could not be approached. never for a moment did van relax his vigilance upon himself, or treat her otherwise than as a man for whom he had conceived a natural liking. when they came to the place of parting he pulled up his broncho and faced about in the trail. "well, kent," he said, "so long. you'll have no trouble now." he held forth his hand. beth gave him hers--and all her heart. nevertheless, his clasp was as brief as he would give to one of his sex. "so long," she answered. "good luck. i am under many obligations." "they won't make you very round shouldered," he said. "see you again." that was their parting. he rode back at once--and beth continued on her way. she turned three times in her saddle to watch him as he went, but she did not catch him glancing back. about sundown she rode into goldite, went at once to mrs. dick's, and tied her horse to a post. mrs. dick she met in the hall. "snakes alive!" exclaimed that lively little person. "if you ain't back as natural as life!" the garb had not deceived her for a moment. "where in the world have you been, in such a rig?" beth's answer was ready. "i went to see my brother, and had to spend the night on the desert." mrs. dick stared at her in wonder. "talk to me about the eastern women being mollycuddles! you don't mean his cabin was blown down by the storm?" beth was ill-prepared for this, but she met it. "i wish you could have seen that roof go by!" "are you hungry?" the hostess demanded. "you look all wore out." "i am," beth admitted. "has mr. bostwick been here in my absence?" "he ain't been here in anything--nope." beth's relief was inexpressible. she was safe, with everything behind her! no one knew, or would ever need to know, the secret in possession of herself and van. "if anyone comes that you can send, will you kindly have my horse taken over to the stable?" she said. "i must go upstairs and rest." "here's billy stitts a-comin' now," replied the housewife, moving towards the door. "he's been worried to death about you bein' gone!" beth ran at once for the stairs, and later, from the window, saw the faithful old billy leading her pony away. she closed her door, darkened the light, and soon clambered wearily into bed, where she dropped off to sleep like a child, lost to the world through the dinner hour and till something like three in the morning. she awaked then for a moment, long enough to think of van, then sighed in absolute comfort and turned to sleep again. it was nine o'clock in the morning when at last she appeared on the scene. "land snakes!" said mrs. dick, who had heard her coming down. "ain't you the sleeper! well, i've kept your breakfast, but i couldn't keep last night's supper. your friend, mr. bostwick, was here about eight, but i told him he'd have to wait if it took you a week to come to." "you didn't tell him i'd been away, i hope," said beth, suddenly alarmed at the thought of searle's presence in the town. "i'd rather no one knew but you." "lord! i wouldn't tell him if a rat was dead in his pocket!" mrs. dick expostulated. "i can't abide the man, and you might as well know it, even if it does hurt your feelings." beth sat down to her breakfast. "you're as good as you can be." "well, the breakfast ain't--'taint fresh," said mrs. dick. "but i'll see you git a decent lunch." she bustled off into the kitchen. beth had barely finished eating when bostwick again appeared. the man was tanned from his trip in the desert. he seemed alert, excited, keen over prospects rapidly coming to a head. "well, well, beth," he said as he came inside the dining-room, "i'm back, you see, but i've certainly had a time of it! the car broke down, and glen had left starlight when at last i arrived, and i hunted for him all through the mountains and only found him four days ago, and we've been going ever since. i couldn't write, but i did feel cut up, i assure you, about leaving you here alone for so long a time." he advanced as if to kiss her, but beth avoided his caress. she was calm and possessed. she meant to ascertain just how far the man was trying to deceive her. "won't you sit down, and tell me all about it," she said. "you saw glen four days ago?" she resumed her place in her chair. "three or four days ago--i'm mixed in my dates," he said, as he also took a seat. "he's looking fine, and sent his love, of course." that the man was lying, in every particular, she began to feel convinced. "you left him well? he was feeling strong and well?" "never better," he assured her. "you can see what this wonderful sunlight does, even to me." "yes, i see. and you left starlight yesterday?" "yesterday afternoon. i had trouble running back. otherwise we'd have been here in the evening." she glanced at him quickly. "we? glen didn't come along? he isn't here?" "oh, no, no, certainly not," he hastened to say. "i brought in a man who--who is interested in the purchase we have made." that served to arouse her sense of wonderment at what he had really been doing with her money. he was attempting to deceive her concerning glen, and perhaps his entire story was a fabrication. "oh," she said. "then you have purchased the mine--you and glen?" "well--a few minor details remain to be concluded," he said off-handedly. "we are not yet in actual possession of the property. there will be no further hitches, however--and the claim is certainly rich." for the life of her she could not tell what lay at the bottom of the business. the strange conflicts and discrepancies between glen's very own letters made the riddle utterly obscure. she felt that searle was fashioning falsehoods in every direction. that he had not visited glen at all was her fixed conviction. a sudden distrust, almost a loathing for this heavy-browed man, was settling down upon her, inescapably. someway, somehow she must know about glen for herself. her own attempted trip to starlight had discouraged all thought of further adventure, and no reliance whatsoever could be placed on searle's reports. perhaps the reputed mining property was likewise a myth--or if such a property existed, glen might never have heard of it at all. but glen's letter--she was always forgetting that letter--the one he had written to searle. she said: "where is this mine that glen has found?" he colored slightly. "we have all agreed not to talk too much about it yet. it's not very far from here--i can tell you that. precautions are necessary where a hundred men follow every prospector about, night and day, if he happens to have found a bit of valuable ore. a thousand men would be after this property if they knew the way to secure it." perhaps, after all, glen, had purposely concealed this matter from herself. bostwick sounded plausible. her mind reverted to her brother's illness, for glen to her was of far more importance than all the mines in nevada. "i am glad to hear that glen is _well_," she said, determined on another tack. "he hasn't answered my letter." once more bostwick colored, beneath his tan and the gun-metal tint of his jaw. "i suppose he's been too busy," he answered. "have you written again?" "not yet," she answered honestly. "i wasn't sure of his whereabouts. you are sure he's in starlight now?" "yes--but you needn't write," he hastened to say. "he said he might come, perhaps to-morrow." he rose from his chair. "i've got to hurry off, little girl. these negotiations cannot wait. i'll run in when i can--this afternoon at the latest. i'm glad to see you looking so well." he approached her with lover-like intent. "my heart has been empty and forlorn, away from you, beth. surely you have a little--a little something for me, pet? you know how starved----" "oh--mrs. dick is coming!" she interrupted desperately. "you must have a great deal to do." mrs. dick was making a large and lively noise in the kitchen. bostwick listened for a second, his deep-set eyes keenly fixed on the girl, like very orbs of suspicion and jealousy. he lowered his voice. "has that ruffian, van buren, been here recently?" she raised her brows in well-feigned astonishment, "i haven't heard of any ruffian being in town." bostwick studied her face for a moment in silence. "i'll be around this afternoon," he repeated. "good-by." he departed hurriedly, glancing at his watch as he went. not a block from the house he met old billy stitts, who, though quite unknown to the new york man, knew bostwick in a way of his own. "morning, uncle.--howdy?" he said, blocking bostwick's path. "back, i see. welcome home. i guess you don't know me as well as i know you. my name is stitts--billy stitts--and i'm gittin' on fine with your niece. i'm the one which runs her errands and gits the inside track." bostwick, staring at billy ominously, and about to sweep him aside as a bit of old rubbish, too familiar and impudent for tolerance, paused abruptly in his impulse, at a hint which billy had supplied. "oh," he said. "how are you? so you are the friend who runs miss kent's errands? you must be the one she asked me to befriend." "did she?" said old billy, inordinately pleased. "what did i tell you about the inside track?" "i'm glad if you have been of use," bostwick told him insidiously. "you didn't say what your services have been. just a few little errands, i suppose?" "never you mind," said billy, with a profoundly impressive wink. "that's between her and me. that ain't even fer you, uncle bostwick," and he winked again. "of course, of course," agreed bostwick, half consumed with rage at the old fellow's abominable manners and familiarity. "i'll keep you in mind and add some reward of my own on the next occasion." he bowed and hastened on his way, boiling with curiosity to know what it was that beth had been doing to require this old tattler's services. he meant to ascertain. his suspicions went at once to van, at thought of whom he closed down his jaw like a vise. filled with a turmoil of thoughts that seethed in his brain, like a brew in a witch's cauldron--some of them dark and some golden bright, and some of them red with lust for many things--he proceeded down street to mccoppet's place, to find himself locked out of the private den, where the gambler was closeted with lawrence. chapter xxx beth's one expedient bostwick had told beth partial truths. his journey had been hard. his car had been twice disabled on the desert; lawrence had been difficult to find; delays had confronted him at every turn, and not until midnight of the day before this had he come with his quarry to goldite--barely in time to save the situation, with the reservation opening less than forty-eight hours away. he had not seen glen, nor approached the town of starlight closer than fifteen miles. he had not yet expended beth's money, which only that morning had been practically placed at mccoppet's disposal. but having finally landed the government surveyor in camp, he had achieved the first desirable end in the game they were playing, and matters were moving at last with a speed to suit the most exacting. during the interim between searle's departure and return affairs had been a trifle complicated in another direction--affairs that lay between the gambler and his friend, the lumberman, big trimmer. trimmer had been paid one thousand dollars only of the sum agreed upon when he gave the name of culver to the half-breed indian, cayuse. he had since spent his money, demanded the balance due, and threatened mccoppet with exposure, only to be met with a counter threat of prison for life as the half-breed's accomplice in the crime. mccoppet meant to pay a portion of the creature's price, but intended to get it from bostwick. indeed, to-day he had the money, but was far too much engrossed with lawrence to give the lumberman a thought. trimmer, waxing greedy through the ease with which he had blackmailed mccoppet, had developed a cunning of his own. convinced that the gambler was accustomed to incubating plans in his private office, the lumberman made shift to excavate a hole beneath the floor of that particular den of privacy, and, after having spent half a night in vain, in this place of concealment, was at last being duly rewarded as he listened to mccoppet and lawrence. with his ear to a knot-hole he gathered in everything essential to a knowledge of the plot. he became aware that lawrence "fell" for twenty thousand dollars; he overheard the details of the "survey" about to be made; but to save his very life he could not have fathomed the means that were about to be employed to "jump" the mining property belonging to van buren and his partners. equipped with this latest means of squeezing mccoppet, the creature emerged from his hole in time to meet the gambler at the bar, during a moment of bostwick's temporary absence. "opal," he said significantly, "i need to see you fer a minute. it won't be no healthier to refuse me now than it was the first time i come." the gambler looked at him coldly. "i haven't got time to talk now, larry, but some of your money is at your order any time you want it, in gold, or poker chips, or gin." trimmer was placated. "all right," he said, and cunningly resolved, upon the spot, to keep his latest secret on the ice. lawrence had already disappeared to hasten arrangements for getting out upon his work. bostwick had waited half an hour in the utmost impatience. with a hundred things to increase his restlessness of mind and body, he had finally gone to the postoffice and there discovered a letter from glenmore kent. it was short, and now no longer fresh. it had been composed just after the young man's accident, and after relating how he had received a not inconsiderable injury, requested searle to come to starlight at once, if possible, and not to divulge any needless facts to beth. "i'm broke, and this knock puts me down and out," the letter concluded. "come down, like a good old chap, and cheer me up." bostwick destroyed the letter promptly, lest it fall by some accident into other hands than his own. not without a slight feeling of guilt, the man shut out all thought, for the present, of deserting goldite and the plot. that beth would learn nothing from himself as to glen's condition was a certainty. he was glad of this wisdom in the boy--this show of courage whereby he had wished his sister spared. but the more he thought upon beth's attitude towards himself, and the mystifying confessions old billy stitts had made, concerning the errands he was running for the girl, the more bostwick fretted and warmed with exasperation, suspicion, and jealousy. he returned to mccoppet's. the door to the den was still barred. impatiently he started again for mrs. dick's. he was not in the least certain as to what he meant to do or say, but felt obliged to do something. meantime, beth had written to her brother. bostwick's evasions and lies had aroused more than merely a vague alarm in her breast. she had begun to feel, perhaps partially by intuition, that something was altogether wrong. searle's anxiety to assure her she need not write to glen--that he was coming to goldite--had provided the one required element to excite a new trend in her thought. she knew that glen would not come soon to town. she knew she must get him word. she had thought of one way only to insure herself and glen against deceit--ask van to go in person with her letter, and bring her glen's reply. had she felt the affair to be in the slightest degree unimportant she might have hesitated to think of making this request, but the more she dwelt upon it the more essential it seemed to become. her brothers very life might be dependent upon this promptness of action. a very large sum of money was certainly involved in some sort of business of which, she felt, both she and glen were in ignorance. bostwick had certainly not seen glen at all. his deceptions might mean anything!--the gravest of dangers to them all! it had taken her the briefest time only to resolve upon her course--and then old billy came upon the scene, as if in answer to a question she had asked--how to get her request and the letter to glen across the hills to van, at the "laughing water" claim? three letters she wrote, and tore to scraps, before one was finally composed to express all she felt, in the way that she wished it expressed. old billy went off to wait and returned there duly, enormously pleased by his commission. he knew the way to the "laughing water" claim and could ride the borrowed pony. as pleased as a dog with a parcel of meat, entrusted to his keeping by a confident master, he finally started for the hay-yard, with two dainty letters in his keeping. one was to van, with beth's request; the other was, of course, to her brother. bostwick met the proud old beau at the corner of the street. "say, uncle, what did i tell you," said billy at once. "this time it's the biggest errand yet." bostwick had wondered if he might not catch mr. stitts in some such service as he boasted now, and his wit was worthy of his nature. "yes," he said readily, "miss kent was saying she thought perhaps she could get you to carry a note to mr. van buren." it was a hazardous coup but he dared it with the utmost show of pleasure in his smile. for a second, however, as he watched the old man's face, he feared he had overshot the mark. old billy was pleased and disappointed together. however, his wish to prove his importance greatly outweighed his chagrin that beth should have taken even "uncle" bostwick into her confidence. "that ain't all she give me," he announced, as foolishly as a child. "i've got her letter to her brother, over to starlight, too, and nothin' couldn't stop me from takin' it up to the 'laughing water' claim. you bet i'll see van buren gits it right into his hand from me!" if bostwick had contemplated making an attempt to bribe the old beau into permitting him a glance at the letters, he abandoned the thought with sagacious alacrity. he must think of something safer. a letter to van buren and one to glen was more than he had counted on discovering. it made him decidedly uneasy. "i'm sure you'll deliver everything safely," he said, masking his annoyance with a smile. "before you go, perhaps, you'd take something to drink." the suggestion in his mind was crude, but at least it was something. "huh!" said old billy, "me!--drink and git a jag when she's expectin' me to hike right out of camp? guess you don't know me, uncle, not worth a mice! didn't i say nuthin' couldn't stop me? and i'm goin' right now." he clapped his bony old hand over his pocket, where the two precious letters reposed, and winking prodigiously at bostwick, departed forthwith from the scene. bostwick could have run him down, beaten him to the ground and snatched the letters from him, but he did not dare. instead, he merely continued to grin while billy remained in sight. then instead of going on to beth's, he circled a building and returned down street towards mccoppet's. chapter xxxi mccoppet busies his mind unfortunately for bostwick he knew no ruffians in the camp--none of the trimmers who would, perhaps, accept a sum of money to waylay a man, bash him over the head, and filch required letters from his pocket. he was not precisely willing, moreover, to broach such an undertaking to the gambler. this, after all, was his private affair, to be shared with no one he knew. the man had arrived at the truth concerning the letters with commendable skill in deduction. he had himself destroyed beth's earlier letter to her brother, for reasons of policy. he had found her conduct cold, if not suspicious, this morning. how far she had been excited to distrust himself or the mails he could not estimate. he was certain, however, she had sent a request to van buren to carry a letter to glen. her reasons for taking precautions so extraordinary were undoubtedly significant. he was galled; his anger against van buren was consuming. but first and foremost he must block the harm beth's letter to her brother might accomplish. for two days more young kent and beth must remain in ignorance of what was being done through the use of her money--of the fact that no mine of glen's discovery was the object of the scheme he was working, and that none of his own alleged money was being employed in the game. he made up his mind to go to starlight himself--to be on hand when van buren should arrive. with glenmore ill, or injured, in his bed, the case might offer simple handling, further neglect of glenmore might, indeed, be fatal, at a juncture so delicate. from every possible viewpoint the thing to do was to intercept van buren. he found mccoppet just returned from launching lawrence forth upon his work. three of the gambler's chosen men had accompanied the government's surveyor. they had taken bostwick's car. instructions had been simple enough. push over the reservation line to cover the "laughing water" claim, by night of the following day. searle was taken to the private den. mccoppet imparted his information with the utmost brevity. "nothing for us to do but to wait till six o'clock, day after to-morrow morning," he concluded, "then play our cards--and play 'em quick." "you've taken my car?" said bostwick, whose personal plans were thrown into utter confusion, for the moment. "i wanted that car for my own use. i've got to go to starlight to-morrow." "sit down," said mccoppet, throwing away his unsmoked cigar and taking another from his pocket. "what's going on at starlight?" bostwick had no intention of divulging his personal affairs, but there was something in this that trenched upon "company" concerns. "van buren's going over there, to see young kent," he admitted. "i've got to see him first." mccoppet looked up at him sharply. "young kent ain't next to anything?" he demanded. "not yet." "look here," said the gambler, whose wits were inordinately keen, "is anything leaking, bostwick? what about the girl--the young chump's sister? you're not putting her wise to the layout?" "certainly not!" said bostwick. "she knows nothing. but it wouldn't be safe for this mix-up to occur. at any rate, i propose to be there when van buren arrives." mccoppet arose, plunged his hands in his pockets, and paced up and down reflectively. "someways i'm glad van buren's going," he said. "i've been trying to figure how i could play the game to have him away when we come to take the trick. he's hostile in a fight. i guess it's all right. don't need you here. you can copper any possible harm down there at starlight, and meantime i'll see if there's any known way of delaying van buren's return." "but how am i going to get down there and back?" said bostwick, intent upon the need for haste. "i can't get around without a car." "don't get tropical," said mccoppet calmly. "i can get you a car in fifteen minutes. it ain't as good as yours, but we needed the one that was surest to keep on its legs. if you ain't got anything more on your mind, i want to chase around for a lumberman--a friend of mine--before he gits any drunker." bostwick arose. "arrange for that car to take me to-night, after dinner. i think that's all." he repaired to his room to attend to a dozen small affairs, then went once more to beth's. she was not in the least surprised to hear him say he meant to return to starlight and to glen that night, on business of importance to them all, but she did not believe him in the least. he remained in the hope of entrapping her into some sort of self-betrayal as to what she had recently done, but without avail. the hour that he spent at mrs. dick's was dull for them both--dull and distasteful to the girl, growing so rapidly to hate and distrust him, dull and aggravating to bostwick, with jealousy increasing upon him. his one consolation lay in the fact that in less than two days van buren would be no better off than a pauper at best with scarcely a shelter for his head. one of the interesting and vital chapters in the whole affair was meanwhile in mccoppet's hands and receiving his attention. trimmer had been captured, far more sober than the gambler could have hoped. the two were in the den once more, the lumberman smoking an excellent cigar as if it had been a stick of candy. mccoppet came to his subject promptly. "look here, larry," he said, "you know van buren when you see him." trimmer glanced up sharply, ready in an instant to resent what he felt to partake of the nature of a personal affront. "don't git funny, opal. if ever i fight van buren when i'm sober i'll eat him alive. i was drunk when he licked me, and you know it!" mccoppet leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes. "i didn't know but what you'd like to sober up and lick him." trimmer stared, shifted uneasily in his seat, and demanded: "where? where is he at?" "he's going to starlight to-morrow--from up by the reservation--from his claim. if he don't git back for a couple of days--i could make it worth your while; and you could cash in for that time he licked you when you wasn't in condition." again trimmer fidgeted. "i guess he licked me fair enough. i admit he's all right in a scrap. i ain't holdin' nuthin' agin him. goldite's good enough fer me." mccoppet knew the creature was afraid to meet his man--that trimmer's attack on van buren, once before, had been planned with much deliberation, had amounted to an ambush, in point of fact, resulting in disaster to the bully. "i counted on you to help me, larry," he said, drumming on the table with his fingers. "you're the only man of your kind with brains in all the camp." trimmer had smoked his cigar to within an inch of his mouth. he extinguished the fire and chewed up the stump voraciously. "say!" he suddenly ejaculated, leaping to his feet and coming around the table, "i can fix him all right," and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "barger would give up a leg to git a show at van buren!" "barger?" echoed mccoppet. "matt? but they got him! got 'em all." "got nuthin'," the lumberman ejaculated. "what's the good of all these lyin' papers when i seen matt myself, readin' the piece about him goin' back to the pen?" mccoppet rose, went to the window, and returned again. "larry, you're all right," he said. "where's barger now?" trimmer winked. "that's his business, and mine." "all right--that's all right," agreed the gambler. "wouldn't he take it as a favor if you passed him some money and the word about van buren's hike to starlight?" trimmer got out a new cigar, lit up, and began to smoke as before. "i was goin' to pass him some of mine," he confessed. "yours will suit me just as good." "five hundred ought to help him some," said the gambler. "come out to the bar." at dark the lumberman left the camp on foot, heading for the mountains. bostwick departed in the borrowed car at eight. the whole town was ablaze with light, and tumultuous with sound. glare and disturbance together, however, only faintly symbolized the excitement and fever in the camp. a thousand men were making final preparations for the rush so soon to come--the mad stampede upon the reservation ground, barely more than a day removed. miners with outfits, gamblers with their paraphernalia, saloon men with case on case of liquors, assayers, lawyers, teamsters, cooks--even a half dozen women--comprised the heterogeneous army making ready for the charge. the streets were filled with horses, men, and mules. the saloons were jammed to suffocation. musical discord filled the air. only the land, the silent old hills, the ancient, burned-out furnace of gold, was absolutely calm. overhead a few clouds blurred the sky. beyond them the eternal march of the stars proceeded in the majesty of space, with billions of years in which to fulfil the cosmic cycle of existence. chapter xxxii the hardships of the trail in the night, far out to the northward, a storm descended like a cataclysm. torrential rains were poured upon the hills from a cloudburst exceptionally savage. only the scattered outposts, as it were, of the storm were blown as far as goldite. a sprinkle of rain that dried at once was the most those mountains received. van made an early start from the "laughing water" claim, to deliver beth's letter in starlight. her note to himself he read once more as his pony jogged down the descent. "dear mr. van: i wonder if i dare to ask a favor--from one who has done so much already? my brother, in starlight, is ill. he has hurt himself, i do not know how badly. a letter i sent has never been received, and i am worried. the effort i made to see him--well--at least, i'm glad i made the effort. but meantime, what of poor glen? some little fear i have may be groundless. i shall therefore keep it to myself--but i have it, perhaps because i am a woman. i must know the truth about my brother--how he is--what has been happening. it is far more important than i dare confess. i have written him a letter and sent it to you in the hope you may not find it impossible to carry it to glen in person. if i am asking too much, please do not hesitate to say so. i am sure you will be friendly enough for that--to say 'no' if need be to another friend--_your_ friend, beth kent." she did not regret that desert experience--that was almost enough for him to know! he had lived in a glow since that wonderful night--and this letter provided another. he rode like a proud young crusader of old, with his head in a region of sunshine and gold, his vision transfixed by a face. her love had become his holy grail--and for that he would ride to death itself. his way he shortened, or thought to shorten, by dropping down from the reservation heights to the new-made town a mile below. he came upon the place abruptly, after dipping once into a canyon, and looked with amazement on the place. in the past twelve hours it had doubled in size and increased twenty-fold in its fever. the face of the desert was literally alive with men and animals. half of goldite and practically all of a dozen lesser camps were there. confusion, discomfort, and distraction seemed hopelessly enthroned. the "rush" was written in men's faces, in their actions, in their baggage, words, and rising temperature. a dozen stalwart stampeders pounced upon van like wolves. they wanted to know what he thought of the reservation, where to go, whether or not there was any more ground like that of the "laughing water" claim, what he had heard from his indian friends, and what he would take for his placer. the crowd about him rapidly increased. men in a time of excitement such as this flock as madly as sheep whenever one may lead. anything is news--any man is of interest who has in his pocket a piece of rock, or has in his eye a wink. no man is willing to be left outside. he must know all there is to be known. it was utterly useless for van to protest his ignorance of the reservation ground. he owned a deposit of placer gold. success had crowned his efforts. it was something to get in touch with success, rub shoulders with a man who had the gold. his friends were there in the red-faced mob. they said they were his friends, and they doubtless knew. some were, indeed, old acquaintances whom van would gladly have assisted towards a needed change of fortune. he was powerless, not only to aid these men, but also to escape. despite his utmost endeavors they held him there an hour, and to make up the time, he chose the hottest, roughest trail through the range, when at last he was clear of the town. the climb he made on his pony to slice a few miles from his route was over a mountain and through a gulch that was known as the devil's slide. it was gravel that moved underfoot with never-failing treachery, gravel made hot by the rays of the sun, and flinging up a scorching heat while it crawled and blistered underfoot. on midsummer days men had perished here, driven mad by the dancing of the air and the dread of the movement where they trod. the last two miles of this desolate slope van walked and led his broncho. he entered "solid canyon" finally, and mounting once more let suvy pick the way between great boulders, where gray rattlesnakes abounded in exceptional numbers. these were the hardships of the ride, all there were that van felt worth the counting. he had reckoned without that far-off storm, which had raged in the darkness of the night. he came to the river, the ford between the banks where he and beth had found a shallow stream. for a moment he stared at it speechlessly. a great, swiftly-moving flood was there, tawny, roiled with the mud torn down and dissolved in the water's violence, and foaming still from a plunge it had taken above. it was ten to twenty feet deep. this van realized as he sat there on his sweating horse, measuring up the banks. the depth had encroached upon the slope whereon he was wont to ascend the further side. there was one place only where he felt assured a landing might be achieved. "well, suvy," he said to the animal presently, "it looks more like a swim than a waltz quadrille, and neither of us built web-footed." without further ado he placed beth's letter in his hat, then rode his pony down the bank and into the angry-looking water. suvy halted a moment uncertainly, then, like his master, determined to proceed. five feet out he was swimming, headed instinctively up the stream and buried deep under the surface. van still remained in the saddle. he was more than waist under, loosely clinging to his seat and giving the pony the reins. suvy was powerful, he swam doggedly, but the current was tremendous in its sheer liquid mass and momentum. van slipped off and swam by the broncho's side. together the two breasted the surge of the tide, and now made more rapid progress. it required tremendous effort to forge ahead and not be swept headlong to a choppy stretch of rapids, just below. "up stream, boy, up stream," said van, as if to a comrade, for he had noted the one likely place to land, and suvy was drifting too far downward. they came in close to the bank, as van had feared, below the one fair landing. despite his utmost efforts, to which the pony willingly responded, they could not regain what had been lost. the broncho made a fine but futile attempt to gain a footing and scramble up the almost perpendicular wall of rock and earth by which he was confronted. time after time he circled completely in the surge, to no avail. he may have become either confused or discouraged, whichever it was, he turned about, during a moment when van released the reins, and swam sturdily back whence he come. van, in the utmost patience, turned and followed. suvy awaited his advent on the shore. "try to keep a little further up, boy, if you can," said the man, and he mounted and rode as before against the current. the broncho was eager to obey directions, eager to do the bidding of the man he strangely loved. all of the first hard struggle was repeated--and the current caught them as before. again, as formerly, van slipped off and swam by his pony's side. he could not hold his shoulder against the animal, and guide him thus up the stream, but was trailed out lengthwise and flung about in utter helplessness, forming a drag against which the pony's most desperate efforts could not prevail. they came to the bank precisely as they had before, and once again, perhaps more persistently, suvy made wild, eager efforts to scramble out where escape was impossible. again and again he circled, pawed the bank, and turned his eyes appealingly to van, as if for help or suggestions. at last he acknowledged defeat, or lost comprehension of the struggle. he swam as on the former trial to the bank on the homeward side. there was nothing for van but to follow as before. when he came out, dripping and panting, by the animal, whose sides were fairly heaving as he labored for breath, he was still all cheer and encouragement. "suvy," said he, "a failure is a chap who couldn't make a fire in hell. we've got to cross this river if we have to burn it up." he took the broncho's velvety nose in his hands and gave him a rough little shake. then he patted him smartly on the neck. "for a pocket-size river," he said as he looked at the flood, "this is certainly the infant prodigy. well, let's try it again." had the plunge been straight to sudden death that broncho would have risked it unswervingly at the urging of his master. suvy was somewhat exhausted by the trials already made, in vain. but into the turgid down-sweep he headed with a newly conjured vigor. van now waited merely for the pony to get started on his way, when he lifted away from the saddle, with the water's aid, and clung snugly up to the stirrup. he swam with one hand only. to keep himself afloat and offer no resistance to the broncho was the most that he could do, and the best. the struggle was tremendous. suvy had headed more obliquely than before against the current, and having encountered a greater resistance, with his strength somewhat sapped, was toiling like an engine. inch by inch, foot by foot, he forged his way against the liquid wall that split upon him. van felt a great final quiver of muscular energy shake the living dynamic by his side, as suvy poured all his fine young might into one supreme effort at the end. then he came to the landing, got all his feet upon the slope, and up they heaved in triumph! chapter xxxiii the clouds of trouble gather by the route beyond the river that van was obliged to choose, the distance from his claim to starlight was more than forty miles. his pony had no shoes, and having never been ridden far, was a trifle soft for a trip involving difficulties such as this mountain work abundantly afforded. when they came to phonolite pass, the last of the cut-offs on the trail, van rode no more than a hundred yards into its shadows before he feared he must turn. phonolite is broken shale, a thin, sharp rock that gives forth a pleasant, metallic sound when struck, like shattered crockery. for a mile this deposit lay along the trail across the width of the pass. for the bare-footed pony there was cruelty in every step. the barrier of rock was far more formidable than the river in its flood. van was not to be halted in his object. he had a letter to deliver; he meant to take it through, though doom itself should yawn across his path. the hour was late; the sun was rapidly sinking. van pulled up his broncho and debated. absolute silence reigned in the world of mountains. but if the place seemed desolate, it likewise seemed secure. nevertheless, death lurked in the trail ahead. barger was there. he was lying in the rocks, concealed where the chasm was narrow. he had ridden four hours--on the mare beth had lost--to arrive ahead of van buren. the muzzle of a long black revolver that he held in hand rested upon a shattered boulder. his narrow eyes lay level with a rift in the group of rocks that hid him completely from view. van was in sight, and the convict's breath came quickly as he waited. van dismounted from his pony's back and picked up one of his hoofs. "worn down pretty flat," he told the animal. "perhaps if i walk we can make it." he started on foot up the tinkling way, watching the broncho with solicitude. suvy followed obediently, but the pointed rocks played havoc with his feet. he lurched, in attempting to right his foot on one that turned, and the long lassoo, secured to the saddle, flopped out, fell back, and made him jump. van halted as before. the convict was barely fifty yards away. his pistol was leveled, but he waited for a deadlier aim, a shorter shot. "nope! we'll have to climb the hill," van decided reluctantly. "you're a friend of mine, suvy, and even if you weren't, you'd have to last to get back." he turned his back on death, unwittingly, to spare the horse he loved. delayed no less than an hour by this enforced retreat, he patiently led the broncho back to the opening of the pass, and, still on foot, led the steep way up over the mountain. barger rose up and cursed himself for not having risked a shot. he dared not attempt a dash upon his man; he could not know where van might again be intercepted; he was helpless, baffled, enraged. half starved, keenly alive only in his instinct to accomplish his revenge, the creature was more like a hunted, retaliating animal than like a man. he had sworn to even the score with van buren; he was not to be deflected from his course. but to get his man here was no longer possible. the horse beth had lost, now in the convict's possession, was all but famished for water, not to mention food. there was nothing to choose but retreat towards the river, to the northward, where the mountains might yet afford an ambush as van was returning home. far away in the mountains, at the "laughing water" claim, while the sun was setting on a scene of labors, all but concluded for the day, the group of surveyors, with lawrence in charge, appeared along the southern ridge. gettysburg, napoleon, and dave were still in the water by the sluices. they were grimed, soiled with perspiration, wearied by the long, hard day of toil. shovel in hand old gettysburg discovered the men with an instrument who trekked along the outside edge of the claim. chain-man, rod-man, and lawrence with his shining theodolite, set on its three slender legs, they were silhouetted sharply against the evening sky. their movements and their presence here were beyond the partners' comprehension. it was gettysburg who climbed up the slope, and anchored himself in their path. "what you doin'?" he said to the rod-man presently, when that tired individual approached and continued on his way. "what does it look like--playing checkers?" said the man. "can't the government do nuthin'--run no county line ner nuthin' without everybody sittin' up to notice?" no less than fifty men they had met that day had questioned what the government was doing. the "county line" suggestion had been the only hint vouchsafed--and that had sufficed to allay the keenest suspicion. "that all?" said gettysburg, and, watching as he went, he slowly returned to his partners. his explanation was ample. the surveyors proceeded on. meantime, in absolute ignorance of all that was happening on his property, van continued towards starlight unmolested. an hour after sundown he rode to the camp, inquired his way to the rough-board shack, where kent was lying ill, and was met at the door by a stranger, whom glen had employed as cook and "general nurse." bostwick was there. he remained unseen. his instructions were imperative--and the "nurse" had no choice but to obey. "of course, kent's here," he admitted, in response to van's first question. "he can't see no one, neither--no matter who it is." "i've brought a letter from his sister," van explained. "he's got to have it, and have it now. if he wishes to send any answer back, i'm here to take it." the "nurse" looked him over. "the orders from the doctor is no visitors!" he said. "and that goes. if you want to leave the letter, why you kin." van produced the letter. "if the man's as ill as that, i have no desire to butt in for an interview," he said. "oblige me by ascertaining at your earliest convenience whether or not i may be of service to mr. kent in returning his reply." the man looked bewildered. he received the letter, somewhat dubiously, and disappeared. van waited. the reception was not precisely what he might have expected, but, for the matter of that, neither had the trip been altogether what he might have chosen. it was fully twenty minutes before the nurse reappeared. "he was just woke up enough to say thank you and wants to know if you'll oblige him with the favor of takin' his hand-write back to his sister in the mornin'?" van looked him over steadily. after all, the man within might be utterly sick and weak. his request was natural. and the service was for beth. "certainly," he said. "i'll be here at seven in the morning." starlight was nearly deserted. gratified to discover sufficient food and bedding for himself and his pony, van made no complaint. at six in the morning he was rousing up the blacksmith, fortunately not yet gone to join the reservation rush. suvy was shod, and at seven o'clock he and van were again at glenmore's cabin. his man was in waiting. in his hand he held an envelope, unsealed. "mr. kent's asleep, but here's his hand-write to his sister," he said. "he wants you to read it out before you hike." van received the envelope, glanced at the man inquiringly, and removed a single sheet of paper. it was not a note from glen; it appeared to be the final page of beth's own letter to her brother. van knew the strong, large chirography. his eye ran swiftly over all the lines. "--so i felt i ought to know about things, and let you know of what is going on. there is more that i cannot tell you. i wrote you much in my former letter--much, i mean, about the man who will carry this letter, so unsuspiciously--the man i shall yet repay if it lies within my power. for the things he has done--and for what he is--for what he represents--this is the man i hate more than anything or anyone else in the world. you would understand me if you knew it all--all! let him carry some word from you to your loving sister, beth." van had read and comprehended the full significance of the lines before he realized some error had been made--that this piece of beth's letter had been placed by mistake in the envelope for him to take, instead of the letter glen had written. he did not know and could not know that bostwick, within, by the sick man's side, had kept glen stupid and hazy with drugs, that the one word "hate" had been "love" on the sheet he held in his hand till altered by the man from new york, or that something far different from an utterly despicable treachery towards himself had been planned in beth's warm, happy heart. the thing, in its enormity, struck him a blow that made him reel, for a moment, till he could grasp at his self-control. he had made no sign, and he made none now as he folded the sheet in its creases. "i'm afraid you made some mistake," he said. "this is not the note from mr. kent. perhaps you will bring me the other." "what?" said the man, unaware of the fact that bostwick had purposely arranged this scheme for putting the altered sheet in van buren's hands. "what's that?" he glanced at the sheet in genuine surprise. "keerect," he said. "i'll go and git you the letter." van mounted his horse. his face had taken on a chiseled appearance, as if it had been cut in stone. he had ridden here through desert heat and flood, for this--to fetch such a letter as this, to a man he had never seen nor cared to see, and whose answer he had promised to return. he made no effort to understand it--why she should send him when the regular mail would have answered every purpose. the vague, dark hints contained in her letter--hints at things going on--things she could not tell--held little to arouse his interest. a stabbed man would have taken more interest in the name of the maker of the weapon, stamped on the dagger's blade, than did van in the detail of affairs between glenmore kent and his sister. beth had done this thing, and he had fondly believed her love was welded to his own. she had meant it, then, when she cried in her passion that she hated him for what he had done. her anger that night upon the hill by mrs. dick's had not been jealousy of queenie, but rage against himself. she was doubtless in love with bostwick after all--and would share this joke with her lover. he shrugged his shoulders. luck had never been his friend. by what right had he recently begun to expect her smile? and why had he continued, for years, to believe in man or in fate? all the madness of joy he had felt for days, concerning beth and the "laughing water" claim, departed as if through a sieve. he cared for nothing, the claim, the world, or his life. as for beth--what was the use of wishing to understand? the "nurse" came out at the door again, this time with a note which bostwick had written, with a few suggestions from glen, in an unsealed cover as before. "i told young kent you didn't take no time to read the other," he said, holding up the epistle. "if you want to read this----" "thank you," van interrupted, taking the letter and thrusting it at once in his pocket. "thank mr. kent for his courtesies, in my behalf." he turned and rode away. chapter xxxiv the taking of the claim before six o'clock that morning, while van was arousing the blacksmith, the reservation madness broke its bounds. twenty-five hundred gold-blinded men made the rush for coveted grounds. the night had been one long revel of drinking, gambling, and excitement. no one had slept in the reservation town--for no one had dared. bawling, singing, and shouting, the jollier element had shamed the coyotes from the land. half a thousand camp fires had flared all night upon the plain. the desert had developed an oasis of flowing liquors, glaring lights, and turmoil of life, lust, and laughter. good nature and bitter antagonism, often hand in hand, had watched the night hours pale. by daylight the "dead line" of the reservation boundary--the old, accepted line that all had acknowledged--resembled a thin, dark battle formation, ready for the charge. it was a heterogeneous array, where every unit, instead of being one of an army mobilized against a common foe, was the enemy of all the others, lined up beside him. there were men on foot, men on horses, mules, and burros, men in wagons, buckboards, and buggies, and men in automobiles. at half-past five the pressure of greed became too great to bear. a few unruly stragglers, far down the line, no longer to be held in check, bent portions of the long formation inward as they started out across the land. the human stampede began almost upon the instant. keepers on their horses, riding up and down, were swept away like chips before a flood. scattering wildly over hill and plain, through gulches, swales, and canyons, the mad troop entered on the unknown field, racing as if for their lives. gettysburg, napoleon, and dave had watched for an hour the human hedge below the "laughing water" claim. they, too, had been up since daylight, intent upon seeing the fun. they had eaten their breakfast at half-past four. at a quarter of six they returned, to their shack and began at their daily work. the cold mountain stream, diverted to the sluices, went purling down over the riffles. the drip from countless negligible leaks commenced in its monotony. into the puddles of mud and water the three old miners sloshed, with shovels and picks in hand. they were tired before their work began. gettysburg, at sixty-five, had been tired for twenty-five years. nevertheless, he began his day with song, his cheery, rinktum bolly kimo. they were only fairly limbered up when four active men appeared abruptly on the property, at the corners of the claim, and began the work of putting up white location posts, after knocking others down. they were agents employed by mccoppet, in behalf of bostwick and himself. napoleon was the first to note their presence. he was calling attention to the nearest man when a fifth man appeared by the cabin. he, too, had a new location post, or stake, to be planted at the center of the claim. he was not only armed as to weapons, but protruding from his pocket was a wad of "legal" documents, more to be feared than his gun. he came straight towards gettysburg, walking briskly. "morning," he said. "i've come to notify you men to get off of this here claim. this ground belongs to me and my partners, by right of prior location--made right now." he thrust his stake a little into the yielding sand and had posted a notice, made out in due form, before the wet old workers by the sluice could conclude that the man had lost his wits. "what you givin' us, anyway?" said gettysburg, remaining ankle-deep in the mud. "don't you know this here is the 'laughin' water' claim, which was located proper----" "this claim on the reservation," interrupted mccoppet's agent. "the line was run out yesterday, according to government instructions, and the line takes in this ground." he continued at his work. napoleon got stirred up then and there. "you're a liar!" he cried out recklessly, "--metaphorical speakin'. belay there, my hearty. you and your dog-gone pirate craft----" mccoppet himself, on horseback, came riding down the slope. "that's enough from you!" interrupted the gambler's agent. "you and your crowd is liable for trespass, or government prosecution, getting on the reservation land ahead of date. this ground belongs to me and my company, understand, with everything on it--and all the gold you've took out! and all you take away is your personal effects--and you take 'em and git, right now!" "now hold on," said gettysburg, dazed by what he heard. "i seen that government surveyor cuss. he said he was only running out a county line." mccoppet took the case in hand, as he halted by the boxes. "now, boys, don't waste your time in argument," he said. "you've made a mistake, that's all. take my advice and hike to the reservation now, before the gang stakes everything in sight. you can't go up against the law, and you've done too much illegal work already." "illegal?" cried napoleon. "you're a liar, opal. ain't mad, are you? i've drunk at your saloon, and you know this claim belongs to van and us!" "don't i say you've made a mistake?" repeated the gambler. "i don't hold any feelings about it. nobody was on for a sure thing about the reservation line till lawrence run it out. we had suspicions, from a study of the maps, but it took the government surveyor to make the matter certain. it's a cinch you're on the reservation land. you can copper all your rights, and play to win the bet this claim belongs to me--and everything else that's any good. now don't stop to talk. go to lawrence for government facts--and git a-going pronto." gettysburg was pulling down his sleeves. old age had suddenly claimed him for its own. the song had dried from his heart, and the light of his wonderful youth and hope departed from his eye. dave was too stunned to think. all three felt the weight of conviction sink them in the chilling mire. the survey of the day before made doubt impossible. gettysburg looked at the boxes, the pits they had dug, the water running over the riffles, behind which lay the gold. "i wish van was to home," he said. "he'd know." their helplessness without the absent van was complete. in the game of life they were just old boys who would never become mature. "van buren couldn't do no good," mccoppet assured them. "this ain't a matter of wrangling or fighting; it's a matter of law. if the law ain't with us you'll get the property back. van buren would tell you the same. he didn't know the ground was reservation. we give him the benefit of that. but all the gold you've got on the place you'll have to leave with me. you never had no rights on the government preserves, and i'm here ahead of all the bunch in staking it out at six o'clock, the legal opening hour." napoleon started to speak again, but glanced at gettysburg instead. a bluff was useless, especially with gettysburg looking so utterly defeated. from his tall, old partner, napoleon looked at dave. "can't we tack somewhere?" he said. "couldn't we hold the wheel and wait fer van?" gettysburg repeated: "i wish van was to home." "come on, come on," mccoppet urged, beginning to lose his patience. "if you think you've got any rights, go to lawrence and see. you're trespassing here. i don't want to tell you harsh to pack your duds and hunt another game, but you can't stay here no longer." gettysburg hesitated, then slowly came out of the water. he looked at the sluices hazily. "just gittin' her to pay," he said. "the only easy minin' i ever done." napoleon, suddenly dispirited--utterly dispirited--had nothing more to say. slowly and in broken order the three old cronies wended towards the cabin. less than an hour later, with all their meager treasure in worldly goods roped to the last of dave's horses, they quitted the claim, taking algy, the chinese cook, along. they were homeless wanderers with no place in all the world to turn. without van they were utterly lost. they expected him to come that day to the cove. therefore, on a desert spot, not far from the new reservation line, taking possession of a bit of hill so poor that no one had staked it, they made their camp in the sand and rocks, to await van's pleasure in returning. chapter xxxv the meetings of two strong men matt barger, riding in the night, intent upon nothing save the chance to deal out his vengeance to van buren, had camped beside the river, at the turn where van and beth had skirted the bank to the regular fording below. the convict's horse, which beth had lost, was tethered where the water-way had encouraged a meager growth of grass. barger himself had eaten a snake and returned to a narrow defile in the range, where his ambush could be made. to insure himself against all misadventure he rolled a mass of boulders down the hill, to block the trail. his barrier was crude but efficient. neither man nor horse could have scaled it readily, and the slopes on either side were not only well-nigh perpendicular, they were also built of crumbling stone that broke beneath the smallest weight. he labored doggedly, persistently, despite his half-starved condition, and when he had finished he looked to his gun, proceeded down the trail some fifty yards or more, climbed the slope, and there in the rocks, where the walls gave way to a sandy acclivity, concealed himself to wait. the sun at noon found van a mark for punishment. the day was the hottest of the season. the earth and rocks irradiated heat that danced in the air before him. all the world was vibrant, the atmosphere a shimmer, as if in very mockery of the thoughts that similarly rose and gyrated in his brain. his horse was suffering for water. the river was still an hour away, so steep was the climb through the range. the trail he would gladly have avoided, had such a course been practical. he had ridden here with beth, and therefore the mockery was all the more intense. his inward heat and the outward heat combined to make him savage. there was nothing, however, on which to vent his feelings. suvy he loved. perhaps, he reflected, the horse was his one faithful friend. certainly the broncho toiled most willingly across the zone of lifelessness to bear him on his way. up through the narrowing walls of sand and adamant they slowly ascended. barger saw them once, far down the trail, then lost them again as they rounded a spur of the shimmering hillside, coming nearer where he lay. he was up the slope a considerable distance--farther than he meant to risk a shot. his breath came hard as he presently beheld van buren fairly entering the trap. van's head had fallen forward on his breast. he looked at nothing. his face was set and hard. barger raised his pistol, sighted down the barrel--and repressed the impulse to fire as the horseman came onward, unsuspiciously. no sooner was van around the turn, where in less than a minute he would find his progress blocked, than barger arose and ran with all his might down the slope. he let out a yell of exultation as he came to the trail. van turned in his saddle instantly, beholding the man in the pass. he knew that sinister form. his pony had bounded forward, frightened by the cry. down went van's hand to his own revolver, and the gun came up cocked for action. one glance he cast up the trail ahead--and saw through barger's trick. the _cul de sac_ was perfect, and the convict had halted to fire. it made a singular picture on van buren's retina--that gaunt, savage being, hairy, wild of eye, instinct with hatred and malice, posing awkwardly, and the sun-lit barrel of polished steel, just before its yawning muzzle belched lead and a cloud and a roaring detonation. the bullet went wide, and barger fired again, quickly, but more steadily. that one landed. it got van just along the arm, burning in a long, shallow wound that barely brought the blood. van's gun was down, despite suvy's panic of cavortings. he pulled the trigger. the hammer leaped two ways, up and back--but the gun made no report, no buck, no cloud to answer barger's. the cartridges, subjected to all that water of the day before, were worthless. the third of barger's shots was fired from a closer range, as the eager creature closed in upon his enemy. it let the daylight enter van's hat, near the top. van had snapped every shell in his weapon, with amazing rapidity--to no avail. the cylinder had flung around like a wheel, but the sounds were those of a toy. barger was steadied in his tracks for better marksmanship. he had heard that succession of metallic snaps; he knew he had van buren at his mercy. three of his shots remained unfired, and a second, unused pistol in his belt, with more ammunition. the fellow even smiled as he was aiming. there was one thing to do--and van did it. he leaped his broncho clean against the wall, then spurred him straight for barger. the shot that split the air again was splattered on the rocks. before the convict could make ready to avoid the charge, suvy was almost upon him. he partially fell and partially leaped a little from the broncho's path, but was struck as the pony bounded by. he yelled, for his leg was trampled and hurt by the pressure of suvy's shoe, nevertheless he scrambled to his feet at once, and fired wildly at his man. he emptied his gun, drew the other, and ran, too eager for his deed of revenge to halt and take a steady aim. a bullet punctured the broncho's ear, and the blood flew back upon van. they were past the walls in the briefest time, and van attacked the slope. barger came after, yelling in rage. he tripped, and his hurt leg dropped him down. already wearied, and famished for drink, suvy nevertheless rose to the needs of the moment with a strength incredible. he scaled that sandy, treacherous slope like an engine built for the purpose. it was love, pure love for the master on his back, that steeled the mighty sinews in his body. two shots and two bullets from below proclaimed renewed activities where barger was once more on his feet. but the man had lost too much ground to recover his advantage. he knew that van buren, with a horse like that, could win the high ridge and escape. he raged; he cursed himself and his god, for this second failure of his deed. then once again he abruptly thought of a chance whereby to redeem his galling failures. his man on the horse would be more than an hour in reaching the river by the slopes. a man on foot could beat him there, and beat him across to the farther side, from which to attack with surer aim--from the cover of the willows by the ford. the flood had subsided. this barger knew. the water was hardly knee high on a man, and better than all, van buren would scarcely dream of such a plan as within the range of possibilities. laboriously, in a fever of impatience, barger made shift, after strenuous work, to climb his barrier of rock. then up to the summit of the trail he sped, and down on the farther side. meantime van, disgusted with himself for riding away from a fight, could only revile his useless gun and excuse himself a trifle because of his defenselessness. the skirmish had served to arouse him, however, and for that he was thankful to the convict who had waited in the pass. then he wondered how it came at all that matt should have thus been lying there in wait. the fellow must have been informed, to prepare so elaborate a trap. it hardly seemed as if a plot against his life could explain this trip that beth had desired him to take. he could scarcely credit a thing so utterly despicable, so murderous, to her, yet for what earthly reasons had she sent him on the trip with a letter the stage could have carried? the thing was preposterous! no woman on earth could have sanctioned an alliance with barger. but--what of bostwick--the man who had spent a portion of his time with the liberated convicts? a revenge like this would appeal to him, would seem to him singularly appropriate. beth could have lent her assistance to the plan without guilty knowledge of an outcome such as this, and bostwick--beth knew that barger was van's enemy. he had told her so himself. facts were facts. her letter to glen revealed her state of mind--and here was this attack, a planned attack, proving conclusively that barger had been prepared beforehand with knowledge of the trip. from having been depressed before, van was made thoroughly angry. the whole thing was infamous, dastardly--and beth could not be acquitted. strangely enough, against the convict, barger, the horseman felt no wrath. barger had a grievance, howsoever mistaken, that was adequate. he was following his bent consistently. he had made his threat in the open; he must plan out his work according to his wits. he was simply a hunted beast, who turned upon his hunters. it was bostwick on whom van concentrated a rising heat--and he promised the man would find things warm in camp, and the fight only well under way. even when the summit was achieved, the broncho slacked off nothing of his pace. sweat glistened wetly upon him. his bleeding ear was going backward and forward tremulously, as he listened for any word from van, and for anything suspicious before them. van noted a certain wistfulness in the pony's demeanor. "take it easy, boy," he urged in a voice of affection that the broncho understood. "take it easy." he dismounted to lead the animal down the slope, since a steep descent is far more trying on a ridden horse than climbing up the grade. he halted to pat the pony on the neck, and give his nose a rough caress, then on they went, the shadow they cast the only shade upon the burning hill. it was fully an hour after leaving the pass, where barger had piled in the rock, before the horseman and his broncho dropped again in the trail that led onward to the river. van was again in the saddle. alert for possible surprises, but assured that his man could find no adequate cover hereabouts, he emerged from behind the last of the turns all eagerness to give his horse a drink. a yell broke suddenly, terribly, on the desert stillness. it came from barger, out in the river, on the bar--strangely anchored where he stood. van saw him instantly, saw a human fantastic, struggling, writhing, twisting with maniacal might, the while the horrible quicksand held him by the legs, and swallowed him, inch by inch. "fer christ's sake--help!" the creature shrilled in his plight. he had flung away revolvers, cartridges, even his coat, reducing his weight when the stuff only gripped him by the ankles. he was half to his thighs. he was sinking to his waist, and with all of his furious efforts, the frightful sand was shuddering, as if in animal ecstacy--some abominable ecstacy of hunger, voracious from long denial, as it sucked him further down. "fer christ's sake, van buren--fer christ's sake, man! i'm a human being," shrieked the victim of the sand. "_i'm a human being_, man!" van had not hesitated by so much as a moment as to what he meant to do. he was off his horse in a leap. he paused for a second to looked about for any accidental means of assistance the place might afford. it afforded none. the man in the quicksand continued to yell, to struggle hopelessly, to sink in that shivering pool of life-engulfing stuff. then the horseman thought of his rope, the raw-hide lasso, always secured upon his saddle. he snatched at the knots to tear it loose. "don't move--don't struggle!" he shouted at the man, and down toward the edge he came running, the rope-noose running out as he sped. he dared not step beyond the bank, and so involve himself. barger was well out from the edge. the throw at best was long and difficult. "hold up your hands, above your head!" he called. "don't thrash around!" the convict obeyed. his haggard, bearded face was turned to van like a mask of horror. the eyes were blazing fearfully. the fellow's attitude, as he held his hands above his head, and continued to sink, was a terrible pose of supplication--an awful eloquence of prayer. van threw--and the cast fell short. barger groaned. he had ceased to yell. he remained mutely holding up his hands, while the cold abyss crept upward to his waist--the wet lips swallowing, swallowing in silence. van jerked in the rope with one impatient gesture. he coiled it swiftly, but with nicety. then round and round he swung the gaping loop--and threw with all his strength. for a second the loop hung snake-like in the air, above the convict's head. then it fell about him, splashed the curdled sand, and was pulled up taut, embracing barger's waist. "hoist it up under your arms!" called van. "try to move your legs when i pull!" he wasted no time in attempting to haul the convict out himself. he led his pony quickly to the edge, took two half hitches of the rope about the pommel of the saddle, then shouted once more to his man. "ready, barger. try to kick your feet." to the horse he said: "now, suvy, a strong, steady pull." and taking the pony's bit in hand he urged him slowly forward, it was wonderful, the comprehension in the broncho's mind. but the pull was an awful thing. the rope came taut--and began to be strained, and suvy was sweating as he labored. out on the end of it, bitten by the loop, that slipped ever tighter about him, the human figure was bent over sharply, between the two contending forces. he let out one yell, for the pain about his chest--then made no further sound. the rawhide rope was like a fiddle-string. it seemed absurd that an anchor so small, so limber, in the sand, could hold so hard against the horse. van urged a greater strain. he knew that the rope would hold. he did not know how much the man could bear before something awful might occur. there was nothing else to do. it seemed a time interminable. no one made a sound. the queer, distorted figure out in the stream could have uttered no sound to save his life. the silence was beginning to be hideous. then an inch of the rope came landward, as the broncho strained upon it. the anchor had started from its hold. "now! now!" said van, and with quick, skillful urging he caught at the slight advantage. like an old, half-buried pile, reluctant to budge from its bed in sand and ooze, the human form was slowly dragged from the place. no corpse, rudely snatched from its grave, could have been more helplessly inert--more stretched out of all living semblance to a man. [illustration: no corpse snatched from its grave could have been more helplessly inert.] across the firmer sand, and through a lagoon of water, barger was hurriedly drawn. the pony was halted when the man was at the bank, and back to the convict van went running, to loosen the bite of the noose. barger lay prostrate on the earth, his eyes dully blinking in the sun. his feet were bare. they had slipped from his boots, which were buried beyond in the sand. his face had taken on a hue of death. from hair to his ankles he was shockingly emaciated--a gaunt, wasted figure, motionless as clay. van fetched a pint of water in his hat. he sprinkled it roughly in the convict's face, and, propping up his head, helped him to take a drink. barger could not lift a hand, or utter a word. van recoiled the rope, secured it on the saddle, then sat down to await the man's recovery. it was slow. barger's speech was the first returning function. it was faint, and weak, and blasphemous. "it's hell," he said, "when god almighty turns agin a man. ain't the sheriff's enough--_without a thing like that_?" his thumb made a gesture towards the river, which he cursed abominably--cursing it for a trap, a seeming benefit, here in the desert, ready to eat a man alive. van made no reply. he rather felt the man was justified--at least in some opinions. towards barger he felt no anger, but rather a pity instead. after a time the convict moved sufficiently to prop himself up against the bank. he looked at van dully. this was the man who had "sent him up"--and saved him from the sand. there was much that lay between them, much that must always lie. he had no issues to dodge. there was nothing cowardly in barger, despite his ways. "i nearly got you, up yonder," he said, and he jerked his thumb towards the mountains, to indicate the pass where he and van had met an hour before. van nodded. "you sure did. who told you to look for me here?" barger closed his eyes. "nothing doing." he could not have been forced to tell. van smiled. "that's all right." there was no resentment in the tone. barger looked at him curiously. "what for did you pull me out?" "don't know," van confessed. "perhaps i hated to have the quicksand cheat the pen." "must have had some good reason," agreed the prostrate man. he was silent for a moment, and then he added: "i s'pose i'm your meat." as before, van nodded: "i reckon you are." barger spat. it was his first vigorous indication of returning strength. "someways," he said, "i'd rather you'd shoot me here, right now, than send me back to the pen. but i couldn't stand fer that!" he made his characteristic gesture towards the river. as van made no comment the fellow concluded: "i s'pose you need the reward." van was aware there was ten thousand dollars as a price on the convict's head, a fact which he someway resented. to-day, more than at any time within his life, he felt out of sympathy with law--with man's law, made against man. he began to pull off his boots. "no," he said, "i don't want any state's reward, much less express company money. maybe if it wasn't for those rewards i'd take you into camp." he inverted his boots and shook out a few grains of sand. barger glanced at him suspiciously. "what are you goin' to do with me, then, now you've got me to rights?" "nothing," said van, "nothing this afternoon." he stood up. "you and i break even, barger, understand? don't take me wrong. i'm not turning you loose entirely. you belong to me. whenever i call for the joker, matt, i want you to come." he would never call, and he knew it. he merely left the matter thus to establish a species of ownership that barger must acknowledge. there is law of the state, and law of god, and law of man to man. the latter it was that concerned van buren now, and upon it he was acting. laboriously, weakly, barger arose to his feet. he looked at van peculiarly, with a strange light dully firing in his eyes. "i agree to that," he answered slowly. "i agree to that." he put out his hand to shake--to bind his agreement. it was almost like offering his oath. van took it, and gave it his usual grip. "so long, barger," he said. "i reckon you need these boots." he waved his hand loosely at the boots that lay upon the ground, went at once to his horse, and mounted to his seat. "the regular ford of this river's down below," he added to the speechless convict, standing there gaunt and wondering upon the marge. "so long." barger said nothing. van rode away on the trail by the stream, and was presently gone, around the bend. chapter xxxvi van runs amuck instead of turning northward in the mountain range and riding on to the "laughing water" claim, van continued straight ahead to goldite. the letter to beth was heavy in his pocket. until he should rid himself of its burden he knew he should have no peace--no freedom to act for himself. he had been delayed. the sun was setting when at last he rode his broncho to the hay-yard in the camp, and saw that he was fed with proper care. then he got some boots and walked to mrs. dick's. beth, from her window, looking towards the sun, discovered him coming to the place. she had never in her life felt so wildly joyous at beholding any being of the earth. she had watched for hours, counting his steps across the desert's desolation one by one, tracing his course from starlight "home" by all the signs along the trail which she and he had traveled together. she ran downstairs like a child. she had momentarily forgotten even glen. nothing counted but this sight of van--his presence here with herself. when she suddenly burst from the door into all the golden glory of the sunset, herself as glorious with color, warmth, and youth as the great day-orb in the west, van felt his heart give one tumultuous heave in his breast, despite the resentment he harbored. there had never been a moment when her smile had been so radiant, when the brown of her eyes had been so softly lighted and glowing, when her cheeks had so mirrored her beauty. how superb she was, he said to himself--how splendid was her acting! he could almost forgive himself for having played the fool. his helplessness, his defenselessness had been warranted. but--her smile could befuddle him no more. he took off his hat, with a certain cold elegance of grace. his face still wore that chiseled appearance of stone-like hardness. "oh!" she cried, in her irrepressible happiness of heart. "you're home! you're safe! i'm glad!" it was nothing, her cry that he was safe. she had worried only for the desert's customary perils, but this he could not know. he thought she referred to a possible meeting with barger. he was almost swept from his balance by her look, for a bright bit of moisture had sprung in her eyes and her smile took on a tenderness that all but conquered him anew. "i delivered your letter in starlight," he said. "i return your brother's reply." he had taken the letter from his pocket. he held it forth. she took it. if memories of glen started rushingly upon her, they were halted by something she felt in the air, something in the cold, set speech of the man she loved as never she had thought to love a creature of the earth. she made no reply, but stood looking peculiarly upon him, a question written plainly in her glance. "if there is nothing more," he added, "permit me to wish you good-day." he swept off his hat as he had before, turned promptly on his heel, and departed the scene forthwith. she tried to cry out, to ask him what it meant, but the thing had come like a blow. it had not been what he had said, so much as the manner of its saying--not so much what she had heard as what her heart had felt. a deluge of ice water, suddenly thrown upon her, could scarcely have chilled or shocked her more than the coldness that had bristled from his being. wholly at a loss to understand, she leaned in sudden weakness against the frame of the door, and watched him disappearing. her smile was gone. in its place a dumb, white look of pain and bewilderment had frozen on her face. had not that something, akin to anger, which her nature had felt to be emanating from him remained so potently to oppress her, she could almost have thought the thing a joke--some freakish mood of playfulness after all the other moods he had shown. but no such thought was possible. the glitter in his eyes had been unmistakable. then, what could it mean? she almost cried, as she stood there and saw him vanish. she had counted so much upon this moment. she had prayed for his coming safely back from the desert. she had so utterly unbound the fetters from her love. confession of it all had been ready in her heart, her eyes, and on her lips. reaction smote her a dulling blow. her whole impulsive nature crept back upon itself, abashed--like something discarded, flung at her feet ingloriously. "oh--van!" she finally cried, in a weak, hurt utterance, and back along the darkening hall she went, her hand with glen's crushed letter pressed hard upon her breast. van, for his part, far more torn than he could have believed possible, proceeded down the street in such a daze as a drunken man might experience, emerging from liquor's false delights to life's cold, merciless facts. the camp was more emptied than he had ever known it since first it was discovered. only a handful of the reservation stragglers had returned. the darkness would pour them in by hundreds. half way down the thoroughfare van paused to remember what it was his body wanted. it was food. he started again, and was passing the bank when someone called from within. "hello, there--van!" came the cry. "hello! come in!" van obeyed mechanically. the cashier, rickart, it was who had shouted the summons--a little, gray-eyed, thin-faced man, with a very long moustache. "how are you, rick?" said the horseman familiarly. "what's going on?" "haven't _you_ heard?--_you_?" interrogated rickart. "i thought it was funny you were loafing along so leisurely. didn't you know to-day was the day for the rush?" "i did," said van. "what about it?" "not much," his friend replied, "except your claim has been jumped by mccoppet and one j. searle bostwick, who got on to the fact that the reservation line included all your ground." van looked his incredulity. "what's the joke?" he said. "i bite. what's the answer?" "joke?" the cashier echoed. "joke? they had the line surveyed through, yesterday, and lawrence confirmed their tip. your claim, i tell you, was on reservation ground, and mccoppet had his crowd on deck at six o'clock this morning. they staked it out, according to law, as the first men on the job after the government threw it open--and there they are." van leaned against the counter carelessly, and looked at his friend unmoved. "who told you the story?" he inquired. "who brought it into camp?" "why a dozen men--all mad to think they never got on," said rickart, not without heat. "it's an outrage, van! you might have fought them off if you'd been on deck, and made the location yourself! where have you been?" van smiled. the neatness of the whole arrangement began to be presented to his mind. "oh, i was out of the way all right," he said. "my friends took care of that." "i thought there was something in the wind, all along," imparted the little cashier. "bostwick and mccoppet have been thicker than thieves for a week. but the money they needed wasn't bostwick's. i wired to new york to get his standing--and he's got about as much as a pin. but the girl stood in, you bet! she's got enough--and dug up thirty thousand bucks to handle the crowd's expenses." van straightened up slowly. "the girl?" "miss kent--engaged to bostwick--you ought to know," replied the man behind the counter. "she's put up the dough and i guess she's in the game, for she turned it all over like a man." van laughed, suddenly, almost terribly. "oh, hell, rick, come out and git a drink!" he said. "here," as he noted a bottle in the desk, "give me some of that!" rickart gave him the bottle and a glass. he poured a stiff amber draught and raised it on high, a wild, fevered look in his eyes. "here's to the gods of law and order!" he said. "here's to faith, hope, and charity. here's to friendship, honor, and loyalty. here's to the gallant little minority that love their neighbors as themselves. give me perfidy or give me death! hurray for treason, strategy, and spoils!" he drank the liquid fire at one reckless gulp, and laughing again, in ghastly humor, lurched suddenly out at the open door and across to the nearest saloon. rickart, in sudden apprehension for the "boy" he genuinely loved, called out to him shrilly, but in vain. then he scurried to the telephone, rang up the office of the sheriff, and presently had a deputy on the wire. "say, friend," he called, "if bostwick or mccoppet should return to camp to-night, warn them to keep off the street. van buren's in, and i don't want the boy to mix himself in trouble." "all right," came the answer, "i'm on." in less than an hour the town was "on." men returning by the scores and dozens, nineteen out of every twenty exhausted, angered with disappointment, and clamorous for refreshments, filled the streets, saloons, and eating houses, all of them talking of the "laughing water" claim, and all of them ready to sympathize with van--especially at his expense. his night was a mixture of wildness, outflamings of satire on the virtues, witty defiance of the fates, and recklessness of everything save reference to women. not a word escaped his lips whereby his keenest, most delighted listener could have probed to the heart of his mood. to the loss of his claim was attributed all his pyrotechnics, and no one, unless it was rickart, was aware of the old proverbial "woman in the case," who had planted the sting that stung. rickart, like a worried animal, following the footsteps of his master, sought vainly all night to head van off and quiet him down in bed. at two in the morning, at mccoppet's gambling hall, where van perhaps expected to encounter the jumpers of his claim, the little cashier succeeded at last in commanding van's attention. van had a glass of stuff in his hand--stuff too strong to be scathed by all the pure food enactments in the world. "look here, boy," said rickart, clutching the horseman's wrist in his hand, "do you know that gettysburg, and nap, and dave are camping on the desert, waiting for you to come home?" van looked at him steadily. he was far from being dizzied in his brain. since the blow received at the hands of beth had not sufficed to make him utterly witless, then nothing drinkable could overcome his reason. "_home_?" he said. "waiting for me to come _home_." suddenly wrenching his hand from rickart's grip he hurled the glass of liquor with all his might against the mirror of the bar. the crash rose high above the din of human voices. a radiating star was abruptly created in the firmament of glass, and van was starting for the door. the barkeeper scarcely turned his head. he was serving half a dozen men, and he said: "gents, what's your poison?" a crowd of half-intoxicated revelers started for van and attempted to haul him back. he flung them off like a lot of pestiferous puppies, and cleared the door. he went straight to the hay-yard, saddled his horse, and headed up over the mountains. he had eaten no dinner; he wanted none. the fresh, clean air began its work of restoration. it was daylight when he reached the camp his partners had made on the desert. napoleon and gettysburg were drunk. discouraged by his long delay, homeless, and utterly disheartened, they had readily succumbed to the conveniently bottled sympathy of friends. no sooner had the horseman alighted at the camp than napoleon flung himself upon him. he was weeping. "what did i sh-sh-sh-sh-(whistle) shay?" he interrogated brokenly, "home from a foreign--quoth the r-r-r-r-r-(whistle) raven--never more!" gettysburg waxed apologetic, as he held his glass eye in his hand. "didn't mean to git in thish condition, van--didn't go to do it," he imparted confidentially. "serpent that lurks in the glash." van resumed his paternal rôle with a meed of ready forgiveness. "let him who hath an untainted breath cast the first bottle," he said. even old dave, thought sober, was disqualified, and algy was asleep. chapter xxxvii the primitive law bostwick and mccoppet had made ample provision against attack at the claim. their miners, who set to work at once to enlarge the facilities for extracting the gold from the ground, were gun-fighters first and toilers afterward. the place was guarded night and day, visitors being ordered off with a strictness exceptionally rigid. van and his partners were down and out. they had saved almost nothing of the gold extracted from the sand, since the bulk of their treasure had fallen, by "right of law" into the hands of the jumpers. bostwick avoided van as he would a plague. there was never a day or night that fear did not possess him, when he thought of a possible encounter; yet van had planned no deed of violence and could not have told what the results would be should he and bostwick meet. in his customary way of vigor, the horseman had begun a semi-legal inquiry the first day succeeding the rush. he interviewed lawrence, the government representative, since culver's removal from the scene. lawrence was prepared for the visit. he expressed his regrets at the flight van's fortunes had taken. bostwick had come, he said, with authority from washington, ordering the new survey. no expectation had been entertained, he was sure, that the old, "somewhat imaginary" and "decidedly vague" reservation line would be disturbed, or that any notable properties would be involved. naturally, after the line was run, establishing the inclusion of the "laughing water" claim, and much other ground, in the reservation tract, mr. bostwick had been justified in summary action. it was the law of human kind to reach for all coveted things. van listened in patience to the exposition of the case. he studied the maps and data as he might have studied the laws of confucius written in their native tongue. the thing looked convincing. it was not at all incredible or unique. it bore government sanction, if not its trademark. and granting that the reservation tract did actually extend so far as to lap across the "laughing water" claim, the right of an entrant to locate the ground and oust all previous trespassers after the legal opening was undeniable. much of the natural fighting spirit, welded by nature into van's being, had been sickened into inactivity by the blow succeeding blow received at the hands of beth kent. the case against her was complete. her letter to her brother was sufficient in itself. the need for its delivery in person to her brother he thought undoubtedly a ruse to get himself out of the way. if she had not planned with the others to warn the convict, barger, of his trip, she had certainly loaned her money to bostwick for his needs--and her letter contained the threat, "i will repay!" at the end of three days of dulling disgust and helplessness, van and his "family" were camping in a tent above the town of goldite, on a hill. they were all but penniless: they had no occupation, no hope. they were down once more at the ladder's bottom rung, depleted in spirit, less young than formerly, and with no idea of which way to turn. van meant to fight, if the slightest excuse could be discovered. his partners would back him, with their lives. but he and they, as they looked their prospects fairly in the face, found themselves utterly disarmed. except for the credit, extended by friends of van, starvation might have lurked about their tent. all delayed seeking for outside work while the prospect of putting up a fight to regain their property held forth a dim glimmer of hope. the last of van's money went to meet a debt--such a debt as he would not disregard. the account was rendered by a cutter of stone, who had carved upon a marble post the single legend: queenie. this post was planted where a small earth mound was raised upon the hill--and word of the tribute went the rounds of the camp, where everyone else had forgotten. the town's excitement concerning the rush had subsided with greater alacrity as reports came back, in rapid procession--no gold on the reservation. the normal excitements of the mining field resumed where the men had left them off. news that matt barger was not only still at large, but preying on wayside travelers, aroused new demands for the sheriff's demonstrations of his fitness to survive. the fact was recalled that cayuse, the half-breed murderer of culver, was as yet unreported from the hills. the sheriff, who had ridden day and night, in quest of either of the "wanted" men, came back to goldite from a week's excursion, packed full of hardships, vigilance, and work, to renew his force and make another attempt. he offered a job to van. "there's ten thousand dollars in barger," he said. "and i guess you could use the money. there's nothing but glory in gittin' cayuse, but i'll give you your pick of the pair." that some half-formed notion of procuring a secret survey of the reservation line, in his own behalf, had occupied van's thoughts somewhat insistently, was quite to be expected. that the work would prove expensive was a matter of course. money was the one particular thing of which he stood in need. nevertheless, at the sheriff's suggestion he calmly shook his head. "thanks, old man. blood-money wouldn't circulate worth a whoop in my system. but i think i could land cayuse." he held no grudge against culver now. perhaps he regretted the fuss he had made on the day of culver's death. "i'll take ten dollars a day," he added, "and see what i can do about the indian." "i knew it! i knew you'd do more than all the gang--myself in the count," the sheriff exclaimed in profound relief. "i'm beat! i own it! i ain't seen a trace of that black-headed devil since i started. if you'll fetch him in----" "don't promise more than ten dollars a day," van interrupted. "if you do you can get him yourself. i haven't said i'll fetch him in. i merely said perhaps i could get him." "all right," said the sheriff, bewildered. "all right. i don't care what happens, if you git him." glad, perhaps, to escape the town--to flee from the air that beth was breathing, van rode off that afternoon. he did not seek the indian murderer, nor for traces of his place of concealment. he went due west, to the nearest indian camp, on the now diminished reservation. he called upon a wise and grave piute, as old as some of the hills. "captain sides," he said, when the due formalities of greeting had been gratified, "i want you to get cayuse. he stabbed a white man, culver, government man--and you piutes know all about it. indians know where an indian hides. this man has broken the law. he's got to pay. i want your men to get him." old captain sides was standing before his house. he was tall and dignified. "yesh--he's broke the law," he agreed. "mebbe my boys, they's get him." [illustration: "yesh--he's broke the law."] that was all, but a strange thing happened. on the following night four grim piutes brought cayuse from his mountain retreat. they were all his kinsmen, uncles, brothers, and cousins. he was taken to a council in the brush, a family council with captain sides as chieftain, magistrate, and father of the tribe. and a solemn procedure followed. cayuse was formally charged with infraction of the law and asked for his defense. he had no defense--nothing but justification. he admitted the killing, and told of why it had been done. he had taken an eye for an eye. "i have broken the white man's law," he said. "the white man first broke mine. i'm ready to pay. the indian stands no show to get away. i broke the law, and i am glad. they want my life. that's all right. that's the law. but i don't want the white man to hang me. that ain't good indian way. my people can satisfy this law. they can shoot me like a man. no white is going to hang cayuse, and that's all i've got to say." to an anglo saxon mind this attitude is not to be readily comprehended. to the indian members of cayuse's clan it addressed itself as wisdom, logic, and right. the council agreed to his demands. the case, historical, but perhaps not unique, has never been widely known. as solemnly as doom itself, the council proceeded with its task. some manner of balloting was adopted, and immediate members of the cayuse totem drew lots as to which must perform the lawful deed. it fell to a brother of the prisoner--a half-brother only, to be accurate, since the doomed man's father had been white. together cayuse and this kinsman departed from the camp, walking forth through the darkness in the brush. they chatted in all pleasantness, upon the way. cayuse could have broken and run. he never for a moment so much as entertained the thought. they came to a place appropriate, and, still in all friendliness, backed by a sense of justice and of doom, the guiltless brother shot the half-breed dead--and the chapter, with the indians, was concluded. van was gone three days from goldite camp. he returned and reported all that had been done. he had seen the executed man. an even thirty dollars he accepted for his time, and with it bought food for his partners. chapter xxxviii beth makes demands beth kent, while the camp was writing its feverish annals, had undergone emotions in the whole varied order of the gamut. she had felt herself utterly deserted and utterly unhappy. she had hoped against hope that van would come, that something might explain away his behavior, that she herself might have an opportunity of ascertaining what had occurred. one clew only was vouchsafed her puzzling mind: searle had actually gone to glen at last, had been there at the hour of van's arrival, and had written glen's letter to herself. some encounter between the men had doubtless transpired, she thought, and van had been poisoned against her. what else could it mean, his coldness, his abrupt departure, after all that had been, and his stubborn silence since? the letter from glen had been wholly unsatisfactory. bostwick had written it, he said, at glen's dictation. it echoed the phrases that searle himself had employed so persistently, many of them grossly mendacious, as beth was sufficiently aware. her effort had been futile, after all. she was not at all certain as to glen's condition; she was wholly in the dark in all directions. on the day succeeding the reservation rush she received the news at mrs. dick's, not only that van had lost his claim, and that mccoppet and searle were its latest owners, but also that van had run amuck that night after leaving herself. some vague, half-terrifying intuition that searle was engaged in a lawless, retaliatory enterprise crept athwart her mind and rendered her intensely uneasy. her own considerable sum of money might even be involved in--she could not fathom what. something that lay behind it all must doubtless explain van's extraordinary change. it was maddening; she felt there must be _something_ she could do--there _must_ be something! she was not content to wait in utter helplessness for anything more to happen--anything more that served to wreck human happiness, if not very life itself! she felt, moreover, she had a right to know what it was affecting van. he had come unbidden into her life. he had swept her away with his riotous love. he had taught her new, almost frightening joys of existence. he had drawn upon her very soul--kissing into being a nature demanding love for love. he had taken her all for himself, despite her real resistance. she could not cease to love so quickly as he. she had rights, acquired in surrender--at least the right to know what evil thing had wrought its way upon him. but fret as she might, and burn as she might, with impatience, love-created anger and resentment of some infamy, doubtless practiced on them both, there was nothing in the world she could do. she wrote again to glen and had the letter posted in the mail. she asked for information. was he better? could he come to goldite soon? had he met mr. van? had he understood that confession in her letter? had he really purchased a mine, with searle, or had he, by some strange mischance, concerned himself with the others in taking the "laughing water" claim? she explained that she was wholly in the dark, that worry was her only companion. she begged him to come, if traveling were possible, and told of her effort to see him. that bostwick had opened and read her letter to glen, suppressing that final page, together with sundry questions and references to himself, she could never have dreamed. it is ignorance always that baffles, as we grope our way in the world. and beth had not yet entirely lost all trust in bostwick himself. searle, in the meantime, having gone straight to the "laughing water" claim from glenmore kent, had remained three days away from goldite and had taken no time to write. when he came at last the girl's suspicions were thoroughly aroused. that the man was a dangerous trickster, a liar, and perhaps a scoundrel she was rapidly becoming convinced. he arrived at the house in the late afternoon while mrs. dick and beth were engaged together in the dining-room, sewing at a quilt. the meeting was therefore a quiet one and beth escaped any lover-like demonstrations he might otherwise have made. mrs. dick, in her frank dislike of bostwick, finally carried her work upstairs. "well, well, sweetheart!" bostwick exclaimed. "you must have heard the news, of course. i expect your congratulations!" he rose and approached her eagerly. she was standing. she moved a chair and placed herself behind it. "i suppose you mean the claim you've--taken," she said. "you're elated over that?" "good lord! aren't you?" he answered. "it's the biggest thing i've ever done! it's worth a million, maybe more--that 'laughing water' claim! and to think that van buren, the romantic fool, putting marble slabs on the graves of the _demi-monde_, and riding about like a big tin toreador, should have bought a property on reservation ground, and lost it, gold and all!" his relish in the triumph was fairly unctuous. his jaw seemed to oscillate in oil as he mouthed his contempt of the horseman. beth flamed with resentment. her love for van increased despite her judgment, despite her wish, as she heard him thus assailed. she knew he had placed a stone on queenie's grave. she admired the fearless friendliness of the action--the token whereby he had linked the unfortunate girl in death to the human family from which she had severed herself in life. not to be goaded to indiscretion now she sat down as before with her work. "and the money--yours and mine--did it go to assist in this unexpected enterprise, and not to buy a claim with glen?" "certainly. no--no--not all of it--certainly not," he stammered, caught for a moment off his guard. "some of my funds i used, of course, in necessary ways. don't you worry about your thirty thousand. you'll get it back a hundredfold, from your interest in the claim." she glanced up suddenly, startled by what he had said. "_my_ interest in the claim?" "certainly, your interest. you didn't suppose i'd freeze you out, my little woman--my little wife--to be? you are one of the company, of course. you'll be a director later on--and we'll clean up a fortune in a year!" she was exceedingly pale. what wonder van had a grievance! he had doubtless heard it all before he came that night to deliver glen's letter from starlight. he might even have thought she had sent him to glen to got him away from his claim. a thousand thoughts, that seemed to scorch like fire, went rocketing through her brain. the thing was too much to be understood at once--it went too deep--it involved such possibilities. she must try to hold herself in check--try to be clever with this man. "oh," she said, dropping her eyes to her work, "and glen is in it too?" bostwick was nervous. he sat down. "well, yes--to some extent--a little slice of mine," he faltered. "naturally he has less than i've given to you." "but--didn't he discover the opportunity--the chance?" "certainly not!" he declared vehemently. "it's all my doing--everything! wholly my idea from the start!" the impulse to boast, to vaunt his cleverness, was not to be resisted. "i told van buren the game had only begun! he thought himself so clever!" she clung to her point. "but--of course you told me glen had found the chance, requiring sixty thousand dollars." "that was a different proposition--nothing to do with this. i've dropped that game entirely. this is big enough for us all!" she looked the picture of unsophisticated innocence, sewing at a gaudy square of cloth. "did this affair also require the expenditure of sixty thousand dollars?" "no, of course not. didn't i say so before?" "how much did it need--if i may ask?" bostwick colored. he could not escape. he dared not even hint at the sum he had employed. "oh, just the bare expenses of the survey--nothing much." "then," she said, "if you don't mind returning my thirty thousand dollars, i think i'll relinquish my share." he rose hurriedly. "but i--but you--it won't be possible--just yet," he stammered. "this is perfectly absurd! i want you in--want you to retain your interest. there are certain development expenses--and--they can't be handled without considerable money." "why not use your own? i much prefer to withdraw." she said it calmly, and looked him in the eye. he avoided her glance, and paced up and down the room. "it can't be done!" he said. "i've pledged my support--our support--to get the claim on its feet." she grew calmer and colder. "wasn't the claim already on its feet. i heard it was paying well--that quite a lot of gold was seized when--when you and the others took the place." his impatience and uneasiness increased. "oh, it was being worked--in a pickyune, primitive fashion. we're going at it right!" the color came and went in her face. she felt that the man had employed her money, and could not repay it if he would. she pushed the point. "of course, you'll remember i gave you the money to assist my brother glen. it was not to help secure or develop this other property. i much prefer not to invest my money this way. i shall have to request its return." bostwick was white. "look here, beth, is this some maudlin sentiment over that brigand, van buren? is that what you mean?" she rose once more and confronted him angrily. it was not a mere girl, but a strong and resolute woman he was facing. "mr. bostwick," she said, "you haven't yet acquired the right to demand such a thing as that of me. for reasons of my own, maudlin or otherwise, i refuse to have my funds employed in the manner you say you mean to use them. i insist upon the immediate return to me of thirty thousand dollars." if rage at van buren consumed his blood, bostwick's fear was a greater emotion. before him he could plainly discern the abject failure of his plans--the plan to marry this beautiful girl, the plan to go on with mccoppet and snatch a fortune from the earth. it was not a time for defiance. he must fence. he must yield as far as possible--till the claim should make him independent. of the tirade on his tongue against van buren he dared not utter a word. his own affairs of love would serve no better. he summoned a smile to his ghastly lips and attempted to assume a calm demeanor. "very well," he said. "if that is the way you feel about your money, i will pay you back at once." "if you please," she said. "to-day." "but--the bank isn't open after three," he said in a species of panic. "you can't be utterly unreasonable." "it was open much later when we were wiring new york some time ago," she reminded him coldly. "i think you'll find it open to-night till nine." "well--perhaps i can arrange it, then," he said in desperation. "i'll get down there now and see what i can do." he took his hat and, glad to escape a further inquisition, made remarkable haste from the house. trembling with excitement, quivering on the verge of half-discovered things, flashes of intuition, fragments of deduction, beth waited an hour for developments. searle did not return. she had felt he would not. she was certain her money was gone. at dusk a messenger boy arrived with the briefest note, in bostwick's familiar hand. "sudden, urgent call to the claim. no time for business. back as soon as possible. with love and faith, yours, searle." how she loathed his miserable lie! chapter xxxix algy's cooking and beth's despair van and the new supply of provender arrived together at the tent where the partners made their temporary home. it was nearly dusk, the mellow end of a balmy day. gettysburg, napoleon, and dave were all inside the canvas, filling the small hollow cube of air with a mighty reek from their pipes, and playing seven-up on a greasy box. the chinese cook was away, much to van's surprise. "gett," he said, throwing off his belt and revolver, "if nap was to deal the cards on your tombstone, on the day of gabriel's trump, i'll bet you'd break the crust and take a hand. what have you done with algy?" "he's went to git a job," said gettysburg. "he called us all a lot of babies. i doggone near kicked him in the lung." outside, where a wagon had halted with van's new purchases, the driver hauled out two respectable boxes and dropped them on the earth. "what's that?" demanded napoleon, leaping to his feet. "if it's pirates come to board us again----" "don't scare it away," van interrupted warningly. "it's grub." with one accord the three old cronies started for the door of the tent. van followed, prepared to get a dinner under way, since his system was woefully empty. to the utter astonishment of all, a visitor was bustling up the hill. it was mrs. dick. "where's van?" she panted, while still a rod away. "here, van!" she exclaimed, the moment she clapped her eyes upon him, "you're just the one i want to see, and i'm an awful busy woman, but i've got to make a deal with you and the sooner it's over the better. so as long as charlie sing is cookin' our victuals already i just run up to fight it out, and we might as well begin the program tonight, so all you boys come down to dinner in just about half an hour." the men were all at sea, even napoleon, who had once sailed a near-briny river. "sit down," said van, "and give the grounds a chance to settle. we can almost see daylight through what you said, but who, for instance, is charlie sing?" "as if you didn't know!" mrs. dick responded warmly. "if you think i'm goin' to call that chinaman algy, or anything white, you're way off your ca-base! algy! for a chinaman! not but what he's a good enough cook, and i like him as a friend of yours--and him almost makin' me cry with his tryin' to nurse you four old helpless galoots, but i draw the line at fancy names, and don't you forget it!" the "four old galoots" looked at one another in bewilderment. van led mrs. dick gently but firmly to a box of provisions and pushed her down upon it. "now take a breath," he said, "and listen. do we understand you to say that algy has gone to your boarding-house and taken a job as cook?" "he has," said mrs. dick, "but i've named him charlie." "that'll turn his stomick," ventured gettysburg gravely. "he was proud of 'algy.'" "he certainly must be desperate," added van. "i don't quite savvy how it happened." "oh, you don't?" said little mrs. dick. "well, i _do_. he come down there and says to me, says he, 'we're broke, van and us,' he says, 'and i'll go to work and cook for you if you'll board all the family,' or words to that effect, says he, 'and give van twenty dollars a month, salary,' he says, and i says i'll do it, quicker than scat. and that's all there is to say, and if charlie wasn't a chinaman i'd kiss him in the bargain!" with a quick, impatient gesture she made a daub at her eye and flecked away a jewel. van hauled at his collar, which was loose enough around his neck. "say, boys," he said, "think of algy, being kissed in the bargain. i always thought he got his face at a bargain counter." "that's all right, bronson van buren!" answered mrs. dick indignantly, "but i never come that near to kissin' you!" van suddenly swooped down upon her, picked her up bodily, and kissed her on the cheek. then he placed her again on the box. "why didn't you say what you wanted, earlier?" he said. "now, don't talk back. i want you to harken intently. i'm perfectly willing that algy should waste his sweetness on the desert air of your boarding-house, if it pleases you and him. i'm willing these old ring-tailed galoots should continue to eat his fascinating poisons, and i certainly hope he'll draw his monthly wage, but i'm going to be too busy to board in any one place, and algy's salary would make a load i must certainly decline to carry." mrs. dick looked at the horseman in utter disappointment. "you won't come? maybe you mean my house ain't good enough?" napoleon was somewhat excited by prospects of again beholding elsa, of whose absence he was wholly unaware. "we won't go, neither!" he declared. "doggone you, van, you know we won't go without the skipper, and you're shovin' us right out of heaven!" gettysburg added: "i don't want to say nuthin', but my stomach will sure be the seat of anarchy if it has to git cheated out of goin' down to mrs. dick's." van was about to reply to them all. he had paused to frame his answer artfully, eager as he was to foster the comfort of his three old partners, but wholly unwilling to accept from either mrs. dick or algernon the slightest hint of aid. "i admit that a man's reach should be above the other fellow's grasp, and all that," he started, "but here's the point----" he was interrupted suddenly. a man, running breathlessly up the slope and waving his hat in frantic gestures, began to shout as he came. "mrs. dick! mrs. dick!" he cried at the top of his voice. "help! help! you've got to come!" mrs. dick leaped quickly to her feet to face the oncoming man. it was old billy stitts. he had come from beth. "come on! come on!" he cried as he neared the group, towards which he ceased to run, the better to catch his breath and yell. "there's hell a-poppin' in the boarding-house! you've got to come!" he surged up the last remaining ascent at a lively stride. "what's the matter? what in the world are you drivin' at?" demanded mrs. dick. "hold your tongue long enough to tell me what's the matter." "it's the _chink_!" exploded billy pantingly. "they tried to run him off the place! he's locked the kitchen and gone to throwin' out hot water and chinese language like a fire-engine on a drunk. and now they're all a-packin' up to quit the house, and you won't have a doggone boarder left, fer they won't eat chinese chuck!" "what?" said van drawlingly, "refuse to eat algy's confections?--a crowd like that? by all the culinary gods of worcestershire and mustard, they'll eat out of algy's hand." he dived inside the tent, caught up his gun, and was strapping it on before mrs. dick could catch her breath to utter a word of her wrath. "well," said gettysburg dubiously, "i hate trouble on an empty stomach, but----" "you stay in camp till you hear the dinner bell," van interrupted. "this game is mine and mrs. dick's. you'll get there in time for dessert." he did not wait for mrs. dick. he started at a pace that none could follow. mrs. dick began to run at his heels, calling instructions as she went. "be careful of the crock'ry, van! the stove's bran'-new! i'd hate to have you break the chairs! and don't forgit miss kent!" old billy stitts had remained with the others at the camp. "ain't she the female woman?" he said. "ain't she just about it?" no one answered. the three old cronies were watching van as he went. van, for his part, heard nothing of what mrs. dick was saying, except the name "miss kent." he had not forgotten for a moment that beth was at the seat of war, or that he would perhaps be wiser by far never to behold her again. he was speeding there despite all he felt at what she had done, for she might be involved in trouble at the house, and--at least she was a woman. he arrived in the midst of a newly concerted plan on the part of lodgers and strangers combined to smoke algy out of the kitchen. they had broken windows, overturned the furniture, and worked up a lively humor. algy had exhausted his supply of hot water, but not his supply of language. it seemed as if the stream of oriental invective being poured through the walls of the building might have withered almost anything extant. but goldite whisky had failed on his besiegers earlier and their vitals were proof against attack. van arrived among them abruptly. "what's all this pillow-fight about?" he demanded in a voice that all could hear. "which one of you fellows is it that's forgotten he's a man? who's looking for trouble with my chinese cook and mrs. dick?" he boded no good to any man sufficiently hardy to argue the matter to a finish. the attackers lost heart as they faced about and found him there ready for action. from a half-open window above the scene beth was watching all that was done. a spokesman for the lodgers found his voice. "well, we ain't a-goin' to stay in no doggone house with a chink shoved in fer a cook." van nodded: "have you ever tried algy's cooking?" "no, we ain't! and we ain't a-goin' to, neither!" the others murmured their assent. "you're a fine discriminating cluster of bifurcated, viviparous idiots," said van in visibly disturbing scorn. "you fellows would have to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and kicked into eden, i reckon, even if the snake was killed and flung over the fence, and the fruit offered up on silver platters. the man who hasn't eaten one of algy's dinners isn't fit to live. the man who refuses to eat one better begin right now on his prayers." he took out his gun and waved it loosely about, adding: "which one of you remembers 'now i lay me down to sleep'?" there was no response. the ten or twelve disturbers of the peace were stirring uneasily in their tracks. van gave them a chance. "all who prefer to recite, 'now i sit me up to eat,' please raise their hands. raise 'em up, raise 'em up!" he commanded with the gun. "put up both hands, while you're at it." up went all the hands. mrs. dick arrived, and stood looking on and panting in excitement. "thanks for this unanimous vote," van resumed. "i want to inform you boarders in particular that if ever i hear of one of you missing a meal of algy's cooking, or playing hookey from this lodging-house, as long as mrs. dick desires your inglorious company, i'll hand you forthwith over to the pound-keeper with instructions not to waste his chloroform, but to drown the whole litter in a bag." "oh, well!" said the spokesman, "i'd just as soon eat the chink's cookin', if it's good." "me, too," said a follower, meek as a lamb. a number echoed "me, too." one added: "we was just having a little bit of fun." "well," said van judicially, "algy's entitled to his share." he raised his voice: "hey there, algy--come out here and play with the boys." mrs. dick had caught sufficient breath to explode. "fun!" she said. "my windows broken! my house all upset. snakes alive, if ever i heard----" algy appeared and interrupted. "what's mallah you, van?" he said. "i got no time fool lound now. been play too much. all time play, that velly superstich! nobody got time to work." "that's all right," van assured him. "the boys here wish to apologize for wasting your valuable time. in fact, they insist. now then, boys, down on your knees, every jack in the crowd." that gun of his had a horribly loose way of waving about to cover all the men. they slumped to, rather than knelt on, their knees. "suminagot!" said algy. "all time too muchee monkey fooling! my dinner not git leady, van, you savvy that? what's mallah you?" van ignored the cook, in addressing the men. "it's your earnest desire to apologize, boys, i believe," he said. "all in favor will please say aye." the men said aye in growlings, rumblings, and pipings. van addressed his cook. "do you want them to kiss your hand?" "_ah_! unema! hong oy!" said algy blasphemously. "you makee me velly sick! just wash my hands for finish my dinner. too much monkey-doodle!" and off he went to his work, followed at once by mrs. dick. "algy's too modest," van assured the crowd. "and none of you chaps are fit to apologize to mrs. dick, so you'd better go wash up for dinner. but don't let me hear so much as a peep about algy from one of this bunch, or eden will turn into hades." as the men arose to their feet sheepishly, and began to slink away he added to the spokesman, "you there with the face for pie, go up to my camp and call the boys to feed." the men disappeared. van, left alone, was turning away when his glance was attracted to the window, up above, where beth was looking down. his face turned red to the topmost rim of his ears. the girl was pale, but resolute. "may i see you a moment, please?" she said, "before the men come in?" "certainly." van went to the front and waited at the foot of the stairs. when beth came down he was standing in the doorway, looking off at the shadowy hills. he heard her steps upon the stairs and turned, removing his hat. for a moment beth faced him silently, her color coming and going in rapid alternations. she had never seemed more beautiful than now, in her mood of worry and courage. "thank you for waiting," she said to him faintly, her heart beating wildly in her bosom, "i felt as if i had the right--felt it only right--won't you please tell me what i have done?" it was not an easy matter for van to hold his own, to check an impulse utterly incontinent, utterly weak, that urged him fairly to the edge of surrender. but his nature was one of intensity, and inasmuch as he had loved intensely, he distrusted now with equal force. "what you have done?" he repeated. "i'm sure i can't tell you of anything that you do not know yourself. what do you wish me to say?" "i don't know! i don't know," she told him honestly. "i thought if i asked you--asked you like this--you'd tell me what is the matter." "there's nothing the matter." "but there is!" she said. "why not be frank? i know that you're in trouble. perhaps you blame----" "i told you once that taking trouble and having trouble supply all the fun i have," he interrupted. "the man without trouble became extinct before he was born." "oh, please don't jest," she begged him earnestly. "you and i were friends--i'm sure we were friends--but now----" "now, if we are not, do you think the fault is mine?" he, too, was white, for the struggle was great in his soul. "it isn't mine!" she said. "i want to say that! i had to say that. i stopped you--just to say that." she blushed to say so much, but she met his stern gaze fearlessly with courage in her eyes. he could not understand her in the least, unless she still had more to do, and thought to hold his friendship, perhaps for searle's protection. he forced himself to probe in that direction. "and you'd wish to go on being friends?" it was a hard question--hard to ask and hard to answer. she colored anew, but she did not flinch. her love was too vast, too strong and elemental to shrink at a crucial moment. "i valued your friendship--very much," she confessed steadily. "why shouldn't i wish it to continue?" it was aggravating to have her seem so honest, so splendid, so womanly and fine, when he thought of that line in her letter. he could not spare himself or her in the agitation of his nature. "your way and mine are different," he said. "my arts in deceit were neglected, i'm afraid." her eyes blazed more widely than before. her color went like sunset tints from the sky, leaving her face an ashen hue of chill. "deceit?" she repeated. "you mean that i--i have deceived you? what do you mean?" he could bear no more of her apparent innocence. it was breaking his resolution down. "oh, we may as well be candid!" he exclaimed. "what's the use of beating round the bush? i saw your letter--read your letter--by mistake." "my letter?" "your letter to your brother. through some mistake i was given the final page--a fragment merely--instead of your brother's reply to be brought to you. i was asked to read it--which i did. is that enough?" "my letter to--- the last----" at a sudden memory of that letter's last page, with her heart's confession upon it, she burned a blinding crimson. "you read----" she stammered, "--and now----" she could not look him in the face. she leaned against the stair in sudden weakness. "after that," he said, "does my conduct occasion surprise?" what he meant, in the light of the letter as she had written it to glen, as she thought he must have read it, was beyond her comprehension. she had fondly believed he loved her. he had told her so in actions, words, and kisses. what terrible secret, deep hidden in his breast, could possibly lie behind this thing was more than mind could fathom. or did he scorn and loathe her now for having succumbed to his love? he had read her confession that she loved him more than anything else in all the world. he knew the last faint word in her heart--and flung her away like this! she cast one frightened, inquiring look at his face. it was set and hard as stone. the light in his eyes was cold, an accusing glitter. she felt herself utterly abashed, utterly shamed. her heart had lain naked before him, throbbing with its secret. his foot was upon it. there was nothing to cover its nakedness--nothing to cover her confusion. for a moment she stood there, attempting to shrink within herself. her attitude of pain and shame appeared to him as guilt. he felt the whole thing poignantly--felt sorry to send his shaft so truly home, sorry to see the effect of the blow. but, what was the use? his was the way of plain, straightforward dealing. better one swift wound, even unto death, than a lingering torture for years. he opened his lips as if to speak. but there was nothing more to say. he turned towards the door. beth could not suppress one little cry. "oh!" it was half a moan, half a shuddering gasp. with her last rally of strength she faced the stairway, and weakly stumbled up the steps. a spasm of agony seized van by the cords of his heart. he went blindly away, with a vision in his eyes of beth groping weakly up the stairs--a doe with a mortal hurt. chapter xl glen and revelations how she spent that night beth never could have told. her mind had refused to work. only her heart was sensible of life and emotions, for there lay her wound, burning fiercely all the long hours through. that van had made excuses to his partners and disappeared on "business" was a matter of which she received no account. in the morning the unexpected happened. her brother glen arrived in goldite, having driven from starlight with a friend. he appeared at mrs. dick's while beth was still in her room, indisposed. she had eaten no dinner. she took no breakfast. but with glenmore's advent she was suddenly awakened to a new excitement, almost a new sort of hope. young kent was a smooth-faced, boyish chap, slightly stooped, exceedingly neat, black-haired, and of medium height. he was like beth only in a "family" manner. his nose was a trifle large for his face, but something in his modest, good-natured way, coupled to his earnest delivery of slang in all his conversation, lent him a certain charm that no one long resisted. he was standing in his characteristic pose, with one hand buried in his pocket, as he laughingly explained himself to mrs. dick, when beth came running down the stairs. "glen!" she cried, as she ran along the hall, and casting herself most fervently upon him, with her arms about his neck, she had a good, sky-clearing cry, furious and brief, and looked like a rain-wet rose when she pushed him away and scrutinized him quickly through her tears. "i say, sis, why this misplaced fountain on the job?" he said. "do i look as bad as that?" "oh, glen," she said, "you've been ill! you were hurt! i've worried so. you're well? you've entirely recovered? oh, i'm so glad to see you. glen! there's so much i've got to say!" "land snakes!" said mrs. dick. "if i don't hurry----" and off she went. "you're the phonograph for mine," said glen. "what's the matter with your eyes? searle hasn't got you going on the lachrymals already?" "no, i--i'm all right," she said excitedly. "i didn't sleep well, that's all. do sit down. i've so many things to say, so much to ask, i don't know where to begin. it was such a surprise, your coming like this! and you're looking so well. you got my letter, of course?" glen sat down, and beth sat near, her hand upon his arm. they had been more like companions than mere half-brother and sister, all their lives. the bond of affection between them was exceptionally developed. "i came up on account of your letter," he said. "either my perceptive faculties are on the blink or there's something decaying in denmark. it's you for the goddess of liberty enlightening the unenlightened savage. i'm from missouri and i want you to start the ticker on the hum." "you know what searle has done?" she said. "how much do you know of what has happened?" "nothing. i've been retired on half knowledge for a month," said glen. "i haven't been treated right. i'm here to register a roar. nobody tells me you're in the state till i read that account in the paper. i dope it out to searle that i am bumping the bumps, and there is nothing doing. he shows up at last and hands me a species of coma and leaves me with twenty-five dollars! that's what i get. what i've been doing is a longer story. i apologize for not having seen your friend who brought the letter, but it's up to you to apologize for a bum epistle to the prodigal." "wait a minute, glen--wait a minute, please; don't go so fast," she said, gripping tighter to his arm. "i must get this all as straight and plain as possible. you don't mean to say that searle really drugged you, or something like that--what for?" "i want to know," said glen. "what's the answer? perhaps he preferred i should not behold your sir cowboy gallahad." "there is something going on," she said, "something dark and horrible. how did you happen to show mr. van buren--let him see the last page of my letter?" "i didn't let him see anything," said glen. "i was dopy, i tell you. i didn't even see the letter myself. searle sat on the bed and read it aloud--and lit his cigar with part of it later." "my letter?" she said, rising abruptly, and immediately sitting down again. "you never saw--- searle got it--read it! oh, the shamelessness! then--it must have been searle who made the mistake--let mr. van buren see it--see what i wrote--see--- what did he read you--read about van--mr. van buren--almost the last thing in the letter?" glen was surprised at her agitation. he glanced at her blankly. "nothing," he said. "he read me nothing--as i remember--about your friend. was it something in particular?" she arose again abruptly and wrung her hands in a gesture of baffled impatience. "oh, i don't know what it all means!" she said. "to think of searle being there, and intercepting my letter!--daring to read it!--burning it up!--reading you only a portion! of course, he didn't read you my suspicions concerning himself?" "not on your half-tone," glen assured her. "what's all this business, anyway? put me wise, sis, i'm groping like a blind snail in the mulligatawny." beth sat down as before and leaned her chin in her palm in an attitude of concentration. "don't you know what searle has done--taking the 'laughing water' claim?--mr. van buren's claim?" "i don't know anything!" he told her convincingly. "i'm a howling wilderness of ignorance. i want to know." "let's start at the very beginning," she said. "just as soon as searle brought your letter--the first one, i mean--in which you asked for sixty thousand dollars to buy a mine----" "whoap! jamb on the emergency!" glen interrupted. "i never wrote such a letter in my life!" she looked at him blankly. "but--glen--i saw your letter. i read it myself--at this very table." glen knitted his brows and became more serious. "a letter from me?--touching searle for sixty thou? somebody's nutty." "but glen--what i saw with my own eyes----" "can't help it. nothing doing!" he interrupted as before. "if searle showed you any such letter as that he wrote it him--hold on, i wrote him for a grub-stake, fifty dollars at the most, but i haven't even seen a mine that any man would buy, that the other man would sell, and searle sure got my first before i was bug-house from that wollop on the block." he put his hand to the sore spot on his head and rubbed it soothingly. beth was pale. she failed to observe his gesture, so absorbed were all her faculties in the maze of facts in which she was somewhat helplessly struggling. "could searle have written such a letter as that?" she said. "what for?" "for money--if he wrote it," said glen. "did he touch you for a loan?" beth's eyes were widely blazing. her lips were white and stiff. "why, glen, i advanced thirty thousand dollars--i thought to help you buy a mine. searle was to put in a like amount--but recently----" "searle! thirty thousand bucks!" said glen. "he hasn't got thirty thousand cents! the man who drove me up last night knows the bank cashier, mr. rickart, like a brother--and rickart told him searle is a four-flusher--hasn't a bean--and looks like a mighty good imitation of a crook. searle! you put up thirty--stung, beth, stung, good and plenty!" beth's hand was on her cheek, pressing it to whiteness. "oh, i've been afraid that something was wrong--that something terrible--- why, glen, that would be _forgery_--obtaining money under false pretences! he may have done anything--_anything_ to get the 'laughing water' claim! he may have done something--said something--written something to make van--mr. van buren think that i--- oh, glen, i don't know what to do!" her brother looked at her keenly. "you're in trouble, sis," he hazarded. "is 'van' the candy boy with you?" she blushed suddenly. the contrast from her paleness was striking. "he's the one who is in trouble," she answered. "and he may think that i--he does think something. he has lost his mine--a very valuable property. searle and some mr. mccoppet have taken it away from mr. van buren and all those poor old men--after all their work, their waiting--everything! you've got to help me to see what we can do!" "mccoppet's a gambler--a short-card, tumble weed," said glen. "you've got to put me next. tell me the whole novelette, beginning at chapter one." "as fast as i can," she answered, and she did. she related everything, even the manner in which she and searle had first become engaged--a business at which she marveled now--and of how and when she had encountered van, the results of the meeting, the subsequent events, and the heart-breaking outcome of the trip that van had made to carry her letter to starlight. in her letter, her love had been confessed. she glossed that item over now as a spot too sensitive for exposure. she merely admitted that between herself and van had existed a friendship such as comes but once in many a woman's life--a friendship recently destroyed, she feared, by some horrible machinations of bostwick. "you can see," she concluded, "that mr. van buren must think me guilty of almost anything. he doubtless knows my money, that i thought was helping you, went to meet the expense of taking away his property. he probably thinks i sent him to you to get him out of the way, while searle and the others were driving his partners off the claim. "my money is gone. i asked for its return and i'm sure searle cannot repay me. i'm told he couldn't have used so much as thirty thousand dollars in anything legitimate, so far, on the 'laughing water' claim. if he'd forge a letter from you, and lie like this and deceive me so, what wouldn't he do to rob these men of their mine?" "i scent decay," said glenmore gravely. "have you got any plans in your attic?" "why, i don't know what to do, of course!" she admitted. "but i've got to do something. i've got to show mr. van buren i'm not a willful party to these horrible things. i don't believe i'll ever get my money back. i don't want a share of a stolen mine. i'd be glad to let the money go, and more--all i've got in the world--if only i could prove to van that i haven't deceived him, haven't taken part in anything wrong--if only i could make these cheats give the 'laughing water' back!" "van _is_ the candy. i'll have to meet him, sure," said glen with conviction, looking on her face. "i wish you were wise to more of this game--the way they worked it--how they doped it out. i'll look around and find out how the trick was done, and then we'll go to it together. guess i'll look for van right off the bat." she glanced at him with startled eyes. "no, glen--please don't. i'd rather you wouldn't--just yet. you don't understand. i can't let him think i'm--making overtures. he must think i have a _little_ pride. if his mine has been stolen i want to give it back--before he ever sees me again. if you knew how much--oh, how very much, i wish to do that----" "i'm on," he interrupted. "it will do me good to put a crimp in searle." chapter xli suvy proves his love if a single ray of far-off hope had lingered in van's meditations concerning beth, and the various occurrences involving himself and his mining property, it vanished when he told her of the letter he had seen and beheld her apparent look of guilt. one thing the interview had done: it had cleared his decks for action. he had lain half stunned, as it were, till now, while bostwick held the "laughing water" claim and worked it for its gold. a look that was grim and a heat that would brook no resistance had come together upon him. that claim was his, by right of purchase, by right of discovery as to its worth! he had earned it by hardships, privations, suffering! he meant to have it back! if the law could avail him, well and good! if not, he'd make a law! mccoppet he knew for a thief--a "law-abiding" criminal of the subtlest type. bostwick, he was certain, was a crook. behind these two lay possibilities of crime in all its forms. that suddenly ordered survey of the line was decidedly suspicious. bostwick and his fiancée had come prepared for some such coup--and money was a worker of miracles such as no man might obstruct. van became so loaded full of fight that had anyone scratched a match upon him he might have exploded on the spot. he thought of the simplest thing to do--hire a private survey of the reservation line, either to confirm or disprove the work that lawrence had done, and then map out his course. the line, however, was long, surveyors were fairly swamped with work, not a foot could be traveled without some ready cash. he went to rickart of the bank. rickart listened to his plan of campaign and shook his head. "don't waste your money, van," he said. "the government wouldn't accept the word of any man you could hire. lawrence would have to be discredited. nobody doubts his ability or his squareness. the reservation boundary was wholly a matter of guess. you'll find it includes that ground--and the law will be against you. i'd gladly lend you the money if i could, but the bank people wouldn't stand behind me. and every bean i've got of my own i've put in the siwash lease." van was in no mood for begging. "all right, rick," he said. "but i'll have that line overhauled if i have to hold up a private surveyor and put him over the course at the front of a gun." he went out upon the street, more hot than before. in two days time he was offered twenty dollars--a sum he smilingly refused. he was down and out, in debt all over the camp. he could not even negotiate a loan. from some of his "friends" he would not have accepted money to preserve his soul. meantime, spurred to the enterprise by little mrs. dick, old gettysburg, napoleon, and dave accepted work underground and began to count on their savings for the fight. at the "laughing water" claim, during this period, tremendous elation existed. not only had three lines of sluices been installed, with three shifts of men to shovel night and day, but a streak of gravel of sensational worth had been encountered in the cove. the clean-up at sunset every day was netting no less than a thousand dollars in gold for each twenty-four hours at work. this news, when it "leaked," begot another rush, and men by the hundreds swarmed again upon the hills, in all that neighborhood, panning the gravel for their lives. wild-catting started with an impetus that shook the state itself. and van could only grit his teeth and continue, apparently, to smile. all this and more came duly to the ears of glenmore kent and beth. the girl was in despair as the days went by and nothing had been accomplished. the meager fact that lawrence had run and corrected the reservation line, at searle's behest, was all that glen had learned. but of all the men in goldite he was doubtless best equipped with knowledge concerning bostwick's eastern standing. he knew that searle had never had the slightest government authority to order the survey made--and therein lay the crux of all the matter. it was all he had to go upon, but he felt it was almost enough. the wires to new york were tapped again, and beth was presently a local bank depositor with a credit of twenty thousand dollars. in a quiet, effective manner, glen then went to work to secure a surveyor on his own account, or rather at beth's suggestion. with the fact of young kent's advent in the town van was early made acquainted. when beth procured the transfer of her money from new york to goldite, rickart promptly reported the news. it appeared to van a confirmation of all his previous suspicions. he could not fight a woman, and bostwick and mccoppet remained upon the claim. searle wrote nearly every day to beth, excusing his absence, relating his success, and declaring the increase of his love. on a wednesday morning glenmore's man arrived by stage from starlight, instruments and all. his name was pratt. he was a tall, slow-moving, blue-eyed man, nearly sixty years of age, but able still to carry a thirty-pound transit over the steepest mountain ever built. glen met him by appointment at the transportation office and escorted him at once to mrs. dick's. already informed as to what would be required, the surveyor was provided with all the data possible concerning the reservation limits. beth was tremendously excited. "i'm glad you've come," she told him candidly. "can you start the work to-day?" "you will want to keep this quiet," he said. "i need two men we can trust, and then i'm ready to start." "two?" said glen. "that's awkward. i thought perhaps you could get along with little me." beth, in her tumult of emotions, was changing color with bewildering rapidity. "why--i expected to go along, of course," she said. "i've got a suit--i've done it before--i mean, i expect to dress as you are, glen, and help to run the line." pratt grinned good-naturedly. "keeps it all in the family. that's one advantage." "all right," said glen. "hike upstairs and don your splendors." he had hired a car and stocked it with provisions, tents, and bedding. he hastened off and returned with the chauffeur to the door. beth, in the costume she had worn on the day when van found her lost in the desert, made a shy, frightened youth, when at length she appeared, but her courage was superb. at ten o'clock they left the town, and rolled far out to the westward on their course. van learned of their departure. he was certain that beth had gone to the "laughing water" claim, perhaps to be married to bostwick. three times he went to the hay-yard that day, intent upon saddling his broncho, riding to the claim himself, and fighting out his rights by the methods of primitive man. on the third of his visits he met a stranger who offered to purchase suvy on the spot at a price of two hundred dollars. "don't offer me a million or i might be tempted," van told him gravely. "i'll sell you my soul for a hundred." the would-be purchaser was dry. "i want a soul i can ride." van looked him over critically. "think you could ride my cayuse?" "this broach?" said the man. "surest thing you know." "i need the money," van admitted. "i'll bet you the pony against your two hundred you can't." "you're on." van called to his friend, the man who ran the yard. "come over here, charlie, and hold the stakes. here's a man who wants to ride my horse." charlie came, heard the plan of the wager, accepted the money, and watched van throw on the saddle. "i didn't know you wanted to sell," he said. "you know i want that animal." "if he goes he sells himself," said van. "if he doesn't, you're next, same terms." "let me have that pair of spurs," said the stranger, denoting a pair that hung upon a nail. "i guess they'll fit." he adjusted the spurs as one accustomed to their use. van merely glanced around. nevertheless, he felt a sinking of the heart. five hundred dollars, much as he needed money, would not have purchased his horse. and inasmuch as luck had been against him, he suddenly feared he might be on the point of losing suvy now for a price he would have scorned. "boy," he said in a murmur to the broncho, "if i thought you'd let any bleached-out anthropoid like that remain on deck, i wouldn't want you anyway--savvy that?" suvy's ears were playing back and forth in excessive nervousness and questioning. he had turned his head to look at van with evident joy at the thought of bearing him away to the hills--they two afar off together. then came a disappointment. "there you are," said van, and swinging the bridle reins towards the waiting man, he walked to a feed-trough and leaned against it carelessly. "thanks," said the stranger. he threw away a cigarette, caught up the reins, adjusted them over suvy's neck, rocked the saddle to test its firmness, and mounted with a certain dexterity that lessened van's confidence again. after all, suvy was thoroughly broken. he had quietly submitted to be ridden by beth. his war-like spirit might be gone--and all would be lost. indeed, it appeared that suvy was indifferent--that a cow would have shown a manner no less docile or resigned. he did look at van with a certain expression of surprise and hurt, or so, at least, the horseman hoped. then the man on his back shook up the reins, gave a prick with the spurs, and suvy moved perhaps a yard. the rider pricked again, impatiently. instantly suvy's old-time fulminate was jarred into violent response. he went up in the air prodigiously, a rigid, distorted thing of hardened muscles and engine-like activities. he came down like a new device for breaking rocks--and the bucking he had always loved was on, in a fury of resentment. "good boy!" said van, who stood up stiffly, craning and bending to watch the broncho's fight. but the man in the saddle was a rider. he sat in the loose security of men who knew the game. he gave himself over to becoming part of the broncho's very self. he accepted suvy's momentum, spine-disturbing jolts, and sudden gyrations with the calmness and art of a master. all this van beheld, as the pony bucked with warming enthusiasm, and again his heart descended to the depths. it was not the bucking he had hoped to see. it was not the best that lay in suvy's thongs. the beating he himself had given the animal, on the day when their friendship was cemented, had doubtless reduced the pony's confidence of winning such a struggle, while increasing his awe of man. some miners passing saw the dust as the conflict waged in the yard. they hastened in to witness the show. then from everywhere in town they appeared to pour upon the scene. the word went around that the thing was a bet--and more came running to the scene. meantime, suvy was rocketing madly all over the place. chasing a couple of cows that roamed at large, charging at a monster pile of household furnishings, barely avoiding the feed-trough, set in the center of the place, scattering men in all directions, and raising a dust like a concentrated storm, the broncho waxed more and more hot in the blood, more desperately wild to fling his rider headlong through the air. but still that rider clung. van had lost all sense save that of worry, love for his horse, and desire to see him win this vital struggle. a wild passion for suvy's response to himself--for a proving love in the broncho's being--possessed his nature. he leaned far forward, awkwardly, following suvy about. "i'm ashamed of you, suvy!" he began to cry. "suvy! suvy, where's your pride? why don't you do him, boy? why don't you show them? where's your pride? my boy! my boy!--don't you love me any more? you're a baby, suvy! you're a baby!" he paused for a moment, following still and watching narrowly. "suvy! suvy! you're gone if you let him ride you, lad! if you love me, boy, don't break my heart with shame!" suvy and a hundred men heard his wild, impassioned appeal. the men responded as if in some pain of the heart they could not escape, thus to see van buren so completely wrapped up in his horse. then some all but groaned to behold the bucking cease. it seemed as if suvy had quit. the man in the saddle eased. "boy!" yelled van, in a shrill, startling cry that made the pony shiver. he had seen some sign that no one but himself could understand. "boy! not that! not that!" already suvy had started to rise, to drop himself backwards on his rider. he heard and obeyed. he went up no more than to half his height, then seemed to be struck by a cyclone. had all the frightful dynamic of an earthquake abruptly focused in his being, the fearful convulsion of his muscles could scarcely have been greater. it was all so sudden, so swift and terrible, that no man beheld how it was done. it was simply a mad delirium of violence, begun and ended while one tumultuous shudder shook the crowd. everyone saw something loose and twisting detached from the pony's back. everyone witnessed a blur upon the air and knew it was the man. he was flung with catapultic force against a frightened cow. he struck with arms and legs extended. he clung like a bur to the bovine's side, for a moment before he dropped--and everyone roared unfeelingly, in relief of the tension on the nerves. the next they knew van was there with his horse, shaking the animal's muzzle. "my boy!" he said. "my boy! my luck has changed!" apparently it had. the man who had thought he could ride the horse limped weakly to a blanket-roll, and sat himself down to gather up the pieces of his breath and consciousness. he wanted no more. he felt it was cheap at the price he had paid to escape with a hint of his life. van waited for nothing, not even the money that charlie of the hay-yard was holding. he mounted to the saddle that had been the seat of hell, and in joy unspeakable suvy walked away, in response to the pressure of his knees. chapter xlii the furnace of gold all the following day, which was thursday, two small companies were out in the hills. one was beth's, where she, glen, and pratt toiled slowly over miles and miles of baking mountains and desert slopes and rocks, tracing out the reservation boundary with a long slender ribbon of steel. the other group, equally, if less openly, active, comprised the sheriff and three of his men. they were trailing out the boundary of one man's endurance, against fatigue, starvation, and the hatred of his kind. barger had been at his work once more, slaying and robbing for his needs. he had killed a piute trailer, put upon his tracks; he had robbed a stage, three private travelers, and a freight-team loaded with provisions. he had lived on canned tomatoes and ginger snaps for a week--and the empty tins sufficiently blazed his orbit. he was known to be mounted, armed, and once more reduced to extremities in the way of procuring food. a trap had been laid, a highway baited with an apparently defenseless wagon, with two mere desert prospectors and their outfit for a load--and this he was expected to attack. the morning waned and the afternoon was speeding. old pratt, with beth and glen, was eager to finish by sunset. the farther he walked the more the surveyor apparently warmed to his work. beth became footsore by noon. but she made no complaint. she plodded doggedly ahead, the ribbon-like "chain" creeping like a serpent, on and on before her. at the forward end glen was dragging the thing persistently over hills and dales, and bearing the rod for pratt with his transit to sight. the surveyor himself was at times as much as a mile or more behind, dumbly waving glen to right or left, as he peered through his glass and set the course by the compass and angles of his transit. anon he signaled the two to wait, and beth sat down to watch him come, "set up," and wave them onward as before. she was thus alone, at the end of the chain, for hours at a stretch. so often as pratt came up from the rear and established a station for his instrument, she asked how the line was working out, and what were the prospects for the end. "can't tell till we get much closer to the claim," said pratt, with never varying patience. "we'll know before we die." in the heat that poured from sky and rocks it might have been possible to doubt the surveyor's prediction. but beth went on. her exhaustion increased. the glare of the cloudless sky and greenless earth seemed to burn all the moisture from her eyes. the terrible silence, the dread austerity of mountains so rock-ribbed and desolate, oppressed her with a sense of awe. she was toiling as many a man has toiled, through the ancient, burned-out furnace of gold, so intensely physical all about her; and also she was toiling no less painfully through the furnace of gold that love must ever create so long as the dross must be burned from human ore that the bullion of honor, loyalty, and faith may shine in its purity and worth. she began to feel, in a slight degree, the tortures that van, old gettysburg, napoleon, and dave had undergone for many weary years. it was not their weakness for the gold of earth that had drawn them relentlessly on in lands like these; it was more their fate, a species of doom, to which, like the helpless puppets that we are, we must all at last respond. she felt a new weight in the cruelty whereby the owners of the "laughing water" claim had been suddenly bereft of all they possessed after all their patient years of serving here in this arid waste of minerals. the older men in van's partnership she pitied. for van she felt a sense of championing love. his cause was her cause, come what might--at least until she could no longer keep alive her hope. her passion to set herself to rights in his mind was great, but secondary, after all, to the love in her heart, which would not, could not die, and which, by dint of its intensity, bore her onward to fight for his rights. alone so much in the burning land all day, she had long, long hours in which to think of van, long hours in which to contemplate the silence and the vast dispassion of this mountain world. her own inward burning offset the heat of air and earth; a sense of the aridness her heart would know without van's love once more returned, was counter to the aridness of all these barren rocks. the fervor of her love it was that bore her onward, weary, sore, and drooping. what would happen at the end of day, if pratt should confirm the lawrence survey, bestowing the claim on bostwick and mccoppet, she did not dare to think. her excitement increased with every chain length moving her onward towards the cove. she did not know the hills or ravines, the canyons descended or acclivities so toilsomely climbed, and, therefore, had not a guide in the world to raise or depress her hope. there was nothing to do but sustain the weary march and await the survey's end. all day in goldite, meanwhile, van had been working towards an end. he had two hundred dollars, the merest drop in the bucket, as he knew, with which to fight the bostwick combination. he was thoroughly aware that even when the line could be run, establishing some error or fraud on the part of surveyor lawrence, the fight would barely be opened. mccoppet and bostwick, with thousands of dollars at command, could delay him, block his progress, force him into court, and perhaps even beat him in the end. the enginery of dollars was crushing in its might. nevertheless, if a survey showed that the line had been falsely moved, he felt he could somewhat rely upon himself to make the seat of war too warm for comfort. there was no surveyor nearer than two hundred miles, with pratt, as van expressed it, "camping with the foe." he had shaken his partners untimely from their beds that morning--(the trio were mining nights, on the four-to-midnight shift)--and busied them all with the work of the day, by way of making preparations. he spent nearly twenty silver dollars on the wire, telegraphing various towns to secure a competent man. he sent a friend to the government office, where lawrence was up to his ears in work, and procured all the data, including metes and bounds, of the reservation tract before its fateful opening. the day was consumed in the petty affairs attendant upon such a campaign. when his three old partners went away to their work at four o'clock in the afternoon, a wire had come from far out north that a man who was competent to run the line was starting for goldite forthwith. the moonless night, at ten o'clock, found van alone at his tent. from the top of the hill whereon he had camped a panoramic view of all the town swung far in both directions. the glare of the lamps, the noise of life--even the odor of man upon the air--impinged upon his senses here, as he sat before the door and gazed far down upon it. he thought that man with his fire, smells, and din made chaos in a spot that was otherwise sacred to nature. he thought of the ceaseless persistence with which the human family haunts all the corners of the earth, pursues life's mysteries, invades its very god. he thought of this desert as a place created barren, lifeless, dead, and severe for some inscrutable purpose--perhaps even fashioned by the maker as his place to be alone. but the haunter was there with his garish town, his canvas-tented circus of a day, and god had doubtless moved. how little the game amounted to, at the end of a man's short span! what a senseless repetition it seemed--the same old comedies, the same old tragedies, the same old bits of generosity, and greed, of weakness, hope, and despair! except for a warm little heartful of love--ah _love_! he paused at that and laughed, unmirthfully. that was the thing that made of it a hades, or converted the desert into heaven! "dreamers! dreamers--all of us!" he said, and he went within to flatten down his blankets for the night. he had finally blown out his candle and stretched himself upon the ground, to continue his turmoil of thinking, when abruptly his sharp ear caught at a sound as of someone slipping on a stone that turned, just out upon the slope. he sat up alertly. half a minute passed. then something heavy lurched against the tent, the flap was lifted, and a man appeared, stooped double as if in pain. "who's there?" demanded van. "is that you, gett?" he caught up his gun, but it and the hand that held it were invisible. "it's me," said a voice--a croaking voice. "matt barger." he fell on the floor, breathing in some sort of anguish, and van struck a match, to light the candle. the flame flared blindingly inside the canvas whiteness. a great, moving shadow of van was projected behind him on the wall. the light gleamed brightly from his gun. but it fell on an inert mass where barger had fallen to the earth. he did not move, and van, mechanically igniting the candle's wick, while he eyed the man before him, beheld dry blood, and some that was fresh, on the haggard face, on the tattered clothing, and even on one loose hand. "barger!" he said. "what in thunder, man----" the outlaw rallied his failing strength and raised himself up on one hand. he could barely speak, but his lips attempted a smile. "i thought i heard you--call fer the joker," he said, "and so--i come." van was up. he saw that the man had been literally shot to pieces. one of his arms was broken. a portion of his scalp was gone. he was pierced in the body and leg. he had met the posse, fought his fight, escaped with wounds that must have stopped any animal on earth, and then had dragged himself to van, to repay his final debt. "i haven't called--i haven't called for anything," said van. "you're wounded, man, you're----" barger rose up weakly to his knees. "need the money, don't you--now?" he interrupted. "you can--use the reward, i guess." "good god, i don't want that kind of money!" van exclaimed. "who got you, matt--who got you?" "sheriff," said the convict dispassionately. "good man, christler--and a pretty good shot--but i got away with his lead." he slumped again, like a waxen thing on melting props, deprived of all support. van plunged out to the water bench, with its bucket, near the door. he brought back a basin of water, knelt on the ground, and bathed the convict's face. he poured some liquor between the dead-white lips. he slashed and unbuttoned the clothing and tried to staunch the wounds. he bound up the arm, put a bandage on the leg and body, continuing from time to time to dash cold water in the pallid, bearded face. barger had fainted at last. what hideous tortures the fellow had endured to drag and drive himself across the mountain roughnesses to win to this tent, van could but weakly imagine. the convict finally opened his eyes and blinked in the light of the candle. "what in hell--was the use of my comin' here," he faltered, "if you don't take the money--the reward?" "i don't want it!" said van. "i told you that before." barger spoke with difficulty. "it's different now; they've--got you in a hole. van buren, i'm your meat! i'm--nuthin' but meat, but you acted--as if i was a man!" "we're all in a hole--it's life," said van, continuing his attentions to the wounds. "i don't want a cent of blood-money, matt, if i have to starve on the desert. now lie where you are, and maybe go to sleep. you won't be disturbed here till morning." "by mornin'--all hell can't--disturb me," barger told him painfully, with something like a ghastly smile upon his lips. "i'm goin'--there to see." he lapsed off again into coma. van feared the man was dead. but having lived a stubborn life, barger relinquished his hold unwillingly, despite his having ceased at last to care. for nearly an hour van worked above him, on the ground. then the man not only aroused as before, but sat up, propped on his arm. "god, i had to--wake!" he said. "i was sure--forgettin' to tell you." van thought the fellow's mind was wandering. "lie down, matt, lie down," he answered. "try to take it easy." "too late--fer me to take--anything easy," replied the outlaw, speaking with a stronger voice than heretofore. "gimme a drink of whisky." van gave him the drink and he tossed it off at a draught. "i said to myself i'd be--hanged if i'd tell you, that--day you cheated the quicksand," barger imparted jerkily, "but you've got--a--right to know. mccoppet and that--pal of his give lawrence twenty thousand--dollars, cash, to queer you on the--reservation line and run you off your claim." van scrutinized the sunken face and glittering eyes with the closest attention. "what's that?" he said. "bought lawrence to fake out the reservation line? who told you, matt? who told you that?" the convict seemed to gain in strength. he was making a terrible effort to finish all he had to impart. "trimmer put me--on to all the game. it was him that told me--you was goin' through, when i--pretty near got you, in the pass." van's eyes took on a deep intensity. "trimmer? trimmer?" "larry trimmer--pine-tree trimmer," explained the convict impatiently. "mccoppet--wanted you detained, the day they--jumped your claim. lawrence--he run the line out crooked fer--twenty thousand bucks. culver was put away by cayuse, mebbe because--he was square--larry wasn't sure--- i guess--that's all, but it ought to--help you some." he dropped himself down and languidly closed his eyes. "good heavens, man," said van, still staring, "are you sure of what you're saying?" there was no response for a time. then barger murmured: "excuse me, van buren, fer--bein' so damn--long--dyin'." "you're not dying, matt--go to sleep," said. van. "i'll be here beside you, all night." he sat down, got up and sat down again, stirred to the depths of his being by the story the man had revealed. beth's money, then, had gone for this, to bribe a government agent! a tumult of mad, revengeful thoughts went roaring through his mind. a grim look came upon his face, and fire was flashing from his eyes. he arose and sat down a dozen times, all the while looking at the worn, broken figure that lay on the earth at his feet. what an ill-used, gaunt, and exhausted frame it was, loose and abandoned by the strength that once had filled it with vigor and might. what a boyish look had come at last upon the haggard, sunken face! the night wind was chill. he had forgotten for himself, but he thought of it now for barger. he laid his blankets on the inert limbs and up around the shoulders. perhaps another hour went by, with van still sleepless by his charge. the convict stirred. "van--buren," he said in a hoarse, rattling whisper, "van----" van was instantly alert. "hello." barger partially raised his hand. "so long,"--and the hand dropped downward. "matt!" answered van, quickly kneeling on the earth. he caught up the fingers, felt their faint attempt to close upon his own--and the man on the ground was dead. chapter xliii preparing the net for a draw beth kent, as the sun was going from the sky, fell down three times in utter exhaustion. she and the others had come to within a mile of the "laughing water" claim. pratt was far away in the rear, on the last of his stations. glen, in the lead, was forging ahead on a second supply of strength. hidden from the sight of either of the others, beth was ready for collapse. but onward crept that merciless ribbon of steel that glen was dragging. three times the girl rose and stumbled onward, up the last acclivity. her legs were like lead. she stubbed her toes on every rock. she could almost have cried with the aches of weariness. it seemed as if that terrible hill unfolded new and steeper slopes for every one she climbed. she went down repeatedly. to have lain there, hungry, but indifferent to anything but sleep, would have been the most heavenly thing she could conceive. she was literally falling up the hill, with all her machinery slumping towards inertia, when finally pratt, on his distant hill, sent the signal for glen to halt. "all right, beth--rest!" he called from the end of the chain, and she sank at once in her tracks. it was almost dusk when pratt came toiling up the hill. glen had come down to beth's position. he too was thoroughly tired. how the line had come out was more than he could care. but beth, with the last of her flickering strength, arose to hasten pratt. "no use in the three of us being seen," he said, planting his transit in the sand, but making no effort to adjust it to a level. "that ridge there overlooks the claim. i'll climb up alone and take a bird's-eye view." "we're as near as that!" cried beth in startled surprise. "then what do you think? does the line include the claim?" "i'll have to look around from the ridge," repeated pratt with aggravating caution. "you can wait ten minutes here." he started laboriously up the slope--and beth stood tensely watching. she thought she saw him top the ridge, but he disappeared from sight. the darkness was gathering swiftly in all the desert world. the girl's excitement and impatience grew with a new flare up of energy. to think that searle was so near at hand, with fate a-hover in the air, sent her pulses bounding madly. it seemed as if pratt would never return from the hill. she could almost have dashed to the summit herself, to learn the outcome of their labors. then at last, from a small ravine, not far away, he appeared in his leisurely manner. beth ran along the slope to meet him. "well?" she cried. "what did you find?" he smiled. "unless i'm crazy, lawrence is either a liar or a fool. that claim is safe outside the line by nearly an eighth of a mile." "oh!" cried the girl. she collapsed on the ground and sobbed in exhaustion and joy. she could go no further. she had kept her strength and courage up for this, and now, inside the goal, she cared not what might happen. they camped upon the spot. the man with the car, which had taken them out, had been ordered to meet them down at reservation town--the mushroom camp which had sprung into being no more than a week before the rush. all the way down there pratt continued alone. he and the chauffeur, long after dark, returned with provisions and blankets. they had driven the car as far as possible, then climbed the ravine on foot. at nine o'clock beth was asleep beneath the stars, dreaming of her meeting with van. at daylight all were up, and in the chill of the rarified mountain air were walking stiffly to the car. the chauffeur, who had slept in his machine, promised breakfast by eight at mrs. dick's. he tore up the road and he tore away their breath, but he came into goldite half an hour ahead of time, and claimed he had driven "pretty slow." meantime, the night in the mining-camp had brought no untoward excitement. van, at his tent, with the covered figure lying on the earth, had welcomed his partners at midnight with the news that a "homeless and worn-out pilgrim of the desert" had come desiring rest. he was sleeping hard; he was not to be disturbed. in the morning he was scheduled to depart. tired to utter unconcern, the three old worthies made their beds with van beside the man at peace. and the whole five slept with a trust and abandon to nature that balanced the living and the dead. van was out, had eaten his breakfast, and was waiting for the sheriff when beth and her party returned. he beheld them, felt his heart lift upward like a lever in his breast, at sight of beth in her male attire, and grimly shut his jaws. christler, the sheriff, arrived a little after eight, bringing in a wounded deputy. barger had shot him in the thigh. van did not wait for his man to eat, but urged him home to his bachelor shack and sat him down to a drink of something strong, with a cracker to munch for a meal. christler was tired. he was somewhat stout; he had been in the saddle almost constantly for weeks, and now, as a victim of chagrin and disappointment, he was utterly dejected and done. "good lord, van, ain't a man to breathe--hain't he got no rights to live, whatsoever?" he inquired. "you'd chase me up, or somebody would, if i was in my grave." "you'd break out of your grave," van told him, "if you knew what's going on." christler looked dubious, draining at his glass. "well, i dunno. it 'ud have to be something pretty rich." "bill," said van, "you're going to stand in and work with me as you haven't worked for a year. it's going to be worth it. opal mccoppet, and one searle bostwick, of new york, have stolen my claim by corrupting lawrence for twenty thousand dollars, running a false reservation line, and maybe putting culver out of the way because he was square in his business." christler paused in the act of biting his cracker. "what!" "there's going to be something doing, bill," van added, leaning forward on the table. "i'm going to round up all this gang to-day if it kills you to keep on the trail." christler still sat staring. "by the lord harry!" he said. "by the lord--but, van, i didn't come home to rest. i've got barger going, somewhere, shot to a sieve. but he's some disappeared. if that ain't just my luck! i'm goin' to git him though, you bet! lord!--my pride--my profession pride--not to mention that little old reward! i admit i want that money, van. i reckon i've pretty near----" "yes, you've earned it," van interrupted. "i'm going to see that you get it. bill, but first you get busy with me." "you'll see that i get----" christler put the cracker in his mouth. "don't talk to a genuine friend like that. i'm tired already." "are you?" said van. "let's see. barger is here--in camp." up shot the sheriff as if from the force of a blast. "what!" he shrilled. "barger! van, i'll----" van grinned. "don't forget you're tired, bill. matt won't get away." "good lord, boy--tell me where's he at!" cried christler, dancing on the floor as he strapped his guns upon him. "me a-thinkin' i had shot him up and all this time----" "you shot him enough, poor devil," van interrupted quietly. "he's dead in my tent on the hill." the sheriff paused with one hand held in the air. "dead! crawled all the way to goldite!" he started for the door. "hold on," said the horseman, blocking his path. "i told you matt can't get away. we're going out to get lawrence first, and then mccoppet and his friend." chapter xliv the engines of climax mccoppet was in town. he had come to camp at midnight of the previous day, duly followed by his friend larry trimmer. the lumberman had waxed impatient. fully two thousand dollars of the money he had "earned" was still unpaid--and hard to get. he had gone to the "laughing water" claim, in vain, and a surly heat was rising in his veins. bostwick was due, in his car, at nine o'clock, his visit to goldite was not entirely one of business. he had grown alarmed at the lack of news from beth. his letters had been ignored. he not only feared for the fate of his affairs of the heart, but perhaps even more for what she might have done with respect to the money she had asked him to return, a very small proportion of which he was now prepared to repay. meantime, beth, her brother, and pratt had gratified their most crying needs on algy's cooking, much to that worthy celestial's delight. there were two things beth intended to perform: report the results of her labors to van, and attack mr. lawrence in his den. precisely what she meant to say or do to the government representative she did not or could not determine. some vague idea of making him confess to an infamy practiced at bostwick's instance was the most she had in mind. if half the success already achieved could be expected here, she would have a report worth while to make when van should be presently encountered. impetuous, eager to hasten with her work, she insisted upon an immediate advance. glenmore readily supported her position. pratt developed shyness. his forte was hiking over desert hills, lugging a transit, running lines or levels; he felt out of place as a fighter, or even an accuser. nevertheless, he went, for beth insisted. already the streets were crowded full of life, as the three proceeded down the thoroughfare. a mining-camp is a restless thing; its peoples live in the streets. freight teams, flowing currents of men, chains of dusty mules, disordered cargoes on the sidewalks, and a couple of automobiles were glaringly cut out from their shadows, as the sunlight poured upon them. sunlight and motion, false-fronted buildings, tents, and mountains, and fever--that is the camp on the desert. with excitement increasing upon her at every step, beth glanced at the crowds in a rapid search for van. he was not to be seen. in all the throng, where old men and youths, pale and swarthy, lazy and alert were circulating like the blood of goldite's arteries, there was not a face that she knew. they came to the office where lawrence presided just as a stranger was departing, lawrence was alone. he occupied the inner apartment, as culver had done, but the door was standing open. it was beth who knocked and entered first as the man called out his invitation. she had never in her life appeared more beautiful. color was flaming in her cheeks as on a rose. her eyes were exceptionally bright and brown. the exquisite coral of her lips was delicately tremulous with all her short, quick breathing. lawrence arose, as she and the others appeared in the door, and removed his hat. he was a short, florid person, with a beard of fiery red. his eyes were of the lightest gray; and they were shifting. "good-morning," he said, in undisguised astonishment, beholding beth. "you--pardon me--you----" "good-morning," beth replied faintly. "we called--are you mr. lawrence?" "at your service." lawrence bowed. "i rarely expect--in my line of work--my business. miss--miss----" "miss kent," said glenmore, interrupting. "and my name is kent. i suppose you're wise to mr. pratt." lawrence continued to bow. "i'm very happy to--how are you, pratt? how are you? won't you have a chair, miss kent?" pratt nodded and murmured a greeting. he was decidedly uneasy. beth always moved by impulse. it hastened her now to the issue. she sat down and faced their man. "mr. lawrence," she said, "i believe you ran the reservation line, not long ago, and gave mr. bostwick and a friend of his the 'laughing water' claim." lawrence looked alive. "i certainly ran the line," he said. "instructions came from--from headquarters, to ascertain the precise limitations of the reservation. the _results_ gave the 'laughing water' claim to its present owners, by right of prior location, after the opening hour, as the claim was included in the tract." he had uttered this speech before. it fell very glibly from his tongue. "yes, we know all that--so far as it's true," said beth with startling candor, "but we know it isn't true at all, and you've got to confess that you made some ridiculous blunder or else that you were bribed." she had not intended to plump it out so bluntly, so baldly, but a certain indignation in her breast had been rapidly increasing, and her impulse was not to be stayed. "gee!" murmured glen, "that's going some!" lawrence turned white, whether with anger or fright could not have been determined. "miss kent!" he said. "you--you're making a very serious----" "oh, i know!" she interrupted. "i expect you to deny it. but a great deal of money--my money--has been used, and mr. pratt has run the line--with myself and my brother--yesterday--so we know that you've either been fooled or you've cheated." lawrence had risen. his face was scarlet. "upon my word!" he said. "pratt, you and your friend i can order from the office! the lady----" "you can't order anything!--not a thing!" said beth. "glen! mr. pratt!--you've got to stay and help! i know the truth--and it's got to be confessed! mr. van buren----" "i can leave myself, since you insist upon remaining," interrupted lawrence, taking his hat and striding towards the door, in a panic to get to mccoppet for much-needed aid. "such an utterly unheard of affront as this----" "glen! run and find mr. van buren!" beth broke in excitedly. "don't let him go, mr. pratt!" lawrence had reached his outer office and was almost at the door. beth was hastening after, with glen at her heels. all were abruptly halted. van and the sheriff appeared in the door, before which idlers were passing. beth was wild with joy. "van," she cried, "oh, mr. van buren, i'm sure this man has cheated you out of your claim! we ran the line ourselves--my brother, mr. pratt, and i--yesterday--we finished yesterday! we found the claim is not inside the reservation! my money was used--i'm sure for bribery! but they've got to give you back your claim, if it takes every penny i've got! i was sending glen to let you know. i asked mr. lawrence to confess! you won't let him go! you mustn't let him go! i am sure there's something dreadful going on!" it was a swift, impassioned speech, clear, ringing, honest in every word. it thrilled van wondrously, despite the things that had been--her letter, and subsequent events. he all but lost track of the business in hand, in the light of her sudden revelations. he did not answer readily, and lawrence broke out in protestation. "it's infamous!" he cried. "if anyone here except a woman had charged--had been guilty of all these outrageous lies----" half a dozen loiterers had halted at the door, attracted by the shrill high tones of his voice. "that's enough of that, lawrence," van interrupted quietly. "every word of this is true. you accepted twenty thousand dollars to falsify that line. your chief was murdered to get him out of the way, because it was _known_ you could be bribed. i came here to get you, and i'll get all the crowd, if it kills half the town in the fight." with one quick movement he seized his man by the collar. "here, bill, hustle him out," he said to christler. "we've got no time to waste." lawrence, the sheriff, and himself were projected out upon the sidewalk by one of his quick maneuvers. a crowd of men came running to the place. above the rising murmur of their voices, raised in excitement, came a shrill and strident cry. "van! van!" was the call from someone in the crowd. it was lean old gettysburg. dave and napoleon were pantingly chasing where he ran. "van!" yelled gettysburg again. "it's barger!--barger!--dead in the tent--it's barger--up there--dead!" barger! the name acted as swiftly on the crowd as oil upon a flame. it seemed as if the wave of news swept like a tide across the street, down the thoroughfare, and into every shop. two automobiles were halted in the road, their engines purring as they stood. their drivers dismounted to join the gathering throng. one of the men was bostwick, down from the hills. he had searched for beth at mrs. dick's, and then had followed here. "barger! barger's dead in camp and the 'laughing water' claim was stolen--and culver killed!" one man bawled it to the crowd--and it sped to bostwick's ears. one being only departed from the scene--trimmer, the lumberman, swiftly seeking mccoppet. van, in his heat, had told too much, accusing the prisoner in hand. he silenced gettysburg abruptly and started to force aside the crowd. "gentlemen, gentlemen, move aside," he said. "i've got--by jupe! there's bostwick!" it was bostwick fleeing to his car that van had discovered. searle had seen enough in the briefest of glances. he had heard too much. he realized that only in flight could the temper of the mob be avoided. he had seen this mob in action once before--and the walls of his stomach caved. like a youthful hercules in strength and action, van went plunging through the crowd to get his man. but he could not win. bostwick had speeded up his motor in a panic for haste and his car leaped away like a dragon on wings, the muffler cut-out roaring like a gattling. van might perhaps have shot and killed the escaping man who held the wheel, but he wanted searle alive. a roar from the crowd replied to the car. a score of men ran madly in pursuit. none of them knew the details of the case, but they knew that bostwick was wanted. they drifted rearward from the hurtling car like fragments of paper in its wake. the few down street who danced for a moment before the modern juggernaut, to stop it in its course, sprang nimbly away as it rocketed past--and searle was headed for the desert. one wild, sweeping glance van cast about, for a horse or something to ride. suvy was stabled, unsaddled, up the street. bostwick and his cloud of dust were dropping away in a swiftly narrowing perspective. and there stood a powerful, dusty-red car--empty--its motor in motion! there was no time to search for its owner. there were half a dozen different cars with which van buren was familiar. he ran to it, glanced at its levers, wheel, and clutch, recognized the one type he had coveted, and hurled himself into the seat. "here! you!" yelled the owner, fighting through the crowd, but three big miners fell upon him and bore him to the earth. they hoped to see a race. they saw it begin with a promptness incredible. one--two changes of the snarling gears they heard before the deafening cut-out belched its explosions. then down the street, in pursuit of the first, the second machine was fired. the buildings, to van, were blended in grayish streaks, on either side, as his gaze was fastened on the vanishing car ahead. he shoved up his spark, gave her all the gas, froze to the wheel like a man of steel--and swooped like a ground-skimming comet out upon the world. the road for a distance of fully five miles was comparatively level. it was rutted by the wheels of heavy traffic, but with tires in the dusty ruts a car ran unimpeded. both, for a time were in the road, flaying up a cloud of smoke like a cyclone ripping out its path. searle had not only gained a half-mile lead, but his car was apparently swifter. he knew its every trick and ounce of power. he drove superbly. he was reckless now, for he had not missed the knowledge that behind him was a meteor burning up his trail. like a leaping beast--a road-devouring minotaur--the car with van shot roaringly through space. he could not tell that searle, ahead, was slipping yet further in the lead. he only knew that, come what might, till the mechanism burst, or the earth should split, he would chase his man across the desert. the dust in the air from bostwick's car drove blindingly upon him. far, far away, a mere speck on the road, he beheld a freight-team approaching--a team of twenty animals at least, that he and bostwick must encounter. a sudden memory of road conditions decided him to move. the ruts where he was were bad enough--they were worse where the team must be passed. he did not reduce his speed to take to the brush. the car beneath him flung clean off the ground as he swung to climb out of the grooves. it landed with all four wheels a-spin, but only struck on two. a sudden swerve, far out of the course, and the monster righted abruptly. another sharp turn, and away it went again, crushing the brush and flinging up the sand in a track of its own that paralleled the road, but rougher though free from the ruts. the brush was small, six inches high, but the wheels bounced over it madly. the whole car hurtled and bounded in a riot of motion. it dived, it plunged nose upward, it roared like a fiend--but it shot with cannon-ball velocity across the desert's floor. five minutes later bostwick's car was almost fronting the team in the road, with its score of dusty mules. he dared not take the ruts at speed, and groaned as he slowed to climb the bank. he lost but little time, however, since once on the side he was going ahead again like mad; nevertheless, he cast a glance behind and saw that his gap had narrowed. moreover, he would not attempt to return to the ruts as before, as a second of the teams was coming a mile or so away. like two pitching porpoises, discharging fiery wrath and skimming the gray of the desert sea, the two devices raced upon the brush. and nerve began to tell. van was absolutely reckless; searle was not. the former would have crowded on another notch of speed, but bostwick feared, and shut off a trifle of his power. even then he was rocking, quivering, careening onward like a star escaped from its course; and the gains van made were slow. the man on the second team paused to see them pass. in smoke and dust and with war's own din they cleaved the startled air. and the man who saw the look that had set on van's hard-chiseled face was aware that unless his car should fail there was nothing on earth he could not catch. bostwick had begun to weaken. the pace over sage-brush, rocks, and basins of sand was racking both the car and the nerves that held the wheel. how long such a flight could be continued he dared not guess. even steel has limitations. to what he was fleeing he could scarcely have told, since the telegraph would send its word throughout the desert-land, and overhaul him finally. a sickening apprehension assailed him, however, within the minute. one of his cylinders was missing. his trained ear caught at the change of the "tune," and he felt his speed decreasing. he glanced back briefly, where the dusty lump of steel, like a red-hot projectile, thundered in his wake. he beheld a sudden fan-like flare of dust in the cloud van was making. he even faintly heard the far report, and a grim joy sprang in his being. van had blown out a tire. striking the high places, crowding on the speed, holding to a straight-away course like a merciless fate, the horseman heard an air cushion go, felt the lurch and lameness of the car, and steadied it back upon its road. he did not retreat by so much as a hair the lever advancing his spark. he did not budge the gas control, but left it still wide open. if all of his tires should blow out together he would not halt his pace. he would drive that car to destruction, or to triumph in the race. searle's rejoicing endured but the briefest span. his motor had begun again to splutter, in mechanical death. then, with a sudden memory, sweat broke out on bostwick's face. his gasolene was gone! he had thoroughly intended refilling his tank, having barely had a sufficient supply to run him from the claim to camp; and this had been neglected. his car bumped slowly for a score of yards, then died by the side of the road. he leaped out madly, to assure himself the tank was really dry. he cursed, he raved. it seemed absurd for this big, hot creature to be dead. and meantime, like a whirlwind coming on, van buren was crashing down upon him. "by god!" he cried, "i'll fix you for this!" and a wild thought flashed to his mind--a thought of taking van buren's car and fleeing as before. he leaped in the tonneau and caught up a heavy revolver, stored beneath the seat. he glanced at the cylinder. four of the cartridges only were unused. he remained inside the "fort" of the car, with the weapon cocked and lowered out of sight. charging down like a meteor, melting its very course, van and the red car came by leaps and plunges. he was shutting off the power gradually, but still rushing up with frightening speed, when bostwick raised his gun and fired. the bullet went wide, and van came on. bostwick steadied and fired again. there was no such thing as halting the demon in the car. but the target's size was rapidly increasing! nevertheless, the third shot missed, like the others. would the madman never halt? bostwick dropped a knee to the floor, steadied the barrel on the cushion, lined up the sights, and pulled the trigger. with the roar of the weapon van abruptly drooped. the bullet had pierced his shoulder. and he still came on. his face had suddenly paled; his lips had hardened in a manner new to his face. he halted the car, aware that his foe had exhausted his ammunition, since no more shots were fired. his own big gun he drew deliberately. to sustain himself, through the shock of his wound, was draining the utmost of his nerve. he was hardly ten feet away from the man who stood there, a captive in his car. "well, searle," he said, "you're a better shot than i thought--and a better driver. in fact you drive so almighty well i am going to let you drive me back to camp." he arose from his seat. he was bleeding. his left arm was all but useless. "come down," he added. "come down and take my seat. and don't make the slightest error in etiquette, searle, or i'll see if a forty-some-odd ball will bounce when it lands on your skull." bostwick had expected to be shot on the spot. no cornered rat could have been more abjectly afraid. his nerve had oozed away the more for the grimness of the man who stood before him--a man with such a wound as that who was still the master of his forces! he was terribly white. his teeth fairly chattered in his head. he had played a desperate part--and lost. the race and this present _denouement_ had shattered the man completely. he came down to the ground and stood there, silently staring at van. despite his show of strength van stepped with difficulty to the back of his car and seated himself within. "up in the seat there, searle," he repeated, "and drive back at moderate speed." bostwick's surrender was complete. he climbed to the driver's position, still silently, and started the car in an automatic way that knew no thought of resistance. at the rear of his head van held the gun, and back towards goldite they rolled. two miles out the sheriff, in a borrowed car, grimly seated at the driver's side, came bearing down upon them. the cars were halted long enough for the sheriff to take his place with searle, and then they hastened on. christler had instantly seen that van was wounded. he as quickly realized that to rush van to town and medical attendance was the only possible plan. he merely said, "you're hurt." van tried to smile. "slightly punctured." he was rapidly losing strength. christler thought to divert him. he shouted above the purring of the car. "found matt all right. i'm goin' to take him back to the state authorities in that convict suit that's hangin' 'round the store." van was instantly aroused. "no you don't bill! no you don't! i've got use for those stripes myself. you'll buy matt the best suit of clothes in town, and charge the bill to me." if bostwick heard, or understood, he did not make a sign. he was driving like a servant on the box, but he could not have stood on his feet. they were nearing the town. a cavalcade of horsemen, drivers of buggies, and men on foot came excitedly trooping down the road to meet the short procession. despite his utmost efforts, van was gone. weak from the loss of blood and the shock, he could hold up his frame no longer. "bill," he said, as the sheriff turned around, "i guess i'm--all in--for a little. cold storage _him_, till i get back on my feet." he waved a loose gesture towards bostwick, then sank unconscious on the floor. chapter xlv the last cigars trimmer, the lumberman, not to be stayed, had broken in upon mccoppet ruthlessly, with perceptions unerring concerning the troubles in the air, when lawrence was arrested. the gambler consented to an interview with instinctive regard for his safety. that something significant was laid on trimmer's mind he felt with a subtle sense of divination. the lumberman, smoking furiously, came to his point with utmost directness. "opal," he said, "i'm goin' away, and i want ten thousand dollars. i want it now. you owe me some you ain't paid up, and now i'm raisin' the ante." "you're raising bunions," mccoppet assured him softly, throwing away his unsmoked cigar and putting a fresh one in his mouth. "i'll pay you what i agreed--when i get the ready cash." "think so, do you, opal?" inquired the lumberman, eying his man in growing restlessness. "i think different, savvy? i'm onto you and your game with lawrence--you payin' him twenty thousand bucks to fake the reservation. i want ten thousand right away, in the next ten minutes, or you'd better pack your trunk." mccoppet, startled by the accusation, watched the savage manner in which the lumberman ate up the smoke of his weed. he could think of one way only in which a man of trimmer's mentality could have come upon certain private facts. "so," he said presently, "you crawled in under this place, this floor, and caught it through the cracks." "knot-hole," said trimmer gesturing, "that one over there. and i tell you, opal, i want that money now. do you hear? i want it now!" he smashed his heavy fist upon the table, and off flew the ash of his cigar. "what will you do if i refuse?" the gambler asked him coldly. "wait! hold on! don't forget, my friend, that culver's murder is up to you, and i'll give you up in a minute." the lumberman rose. every moment that passed increased the danger to them both. "look a-here, opal," he said in a threatening voice of anger, "i ain't a-goin' to fool with you no longer. hear me shout? culver's up to you as much as me. you stole the 'laughin' water' claim. there's hell a-sizzlin' down the street right now--down to lawrence's. if you don't cough up ten thousand bucks pretty pronto----" "so, larry--so, you've split on me already," the gambler interrupted, rising and narrowing his gaze upon the bloated face. "you've peddled it maybe, and now you come to me----" "i ain't peddled nuthin'!" trimmer cut in angrily. "i didn't tell no one but barger, and he ain't no friend of van buren's. but lawrence is caught. pratt run out the line, and now it's me that stands between you and trouble, and i want the money to stand." mccoppet was far less calm than he appeared. how much was already really known to the town was a matter wholly of conjecture. and trimmer's haste to cash in thus and probably vanish excited his gravest suspicions. he eyed his friend narrowly. "larry, we'll wait and see how much you've maybe leaked." "no we won't wait fer nuthin'!--not fer nuthin', understand?" corrected trimmer aggressively. "i ain't a-trustin' you, opal, no more! you done me up at every turn, and now, by god! you're goin' to come to terms!" he pulled an ugly, rusty gun, and thumped with its muzzle on the table. "you'll never leave this room alive if i don't git the money. ring fer it, opal, ring the bell, and order it in with the drinks!" mccoppet would have temporized. it was not so much the money now as the state of affairs in the street. how much was known?--and what was being done? these were the questions in his mind. "don't get excited, friend," he said. "if things are out, and you and i are caught with the aces in our sleeves, we may have to fight back to back." he was edging around to draw his pistol unobserved, but trimmer was alert. "stand still, there, opal, i've got the drop," he said. "i'm lookin' out fer number one, this morning, understand? you ring the----" a sudden, loud knock at the door broke in upon his speech, and both men started in alarm. "opal! opal!" cried a muffled voice in accents of warning just outside the door, "christler's on your trail! come out! come out and--huh! too late! you'll have to get out the window!" the roar and excitement of the coming crowd, aroused to a wild indignation, broke even to the den. an army of citizens, leading the way for christler's deputies, was storming mccoppet's saloon. he heard, and a little understood. he knew too much to attempt to explain, to accuse even trimmer to a mob in heat. nothing but flight was possible, and perhaps even that was a risk. he started for the window. trimmer leaped before him. "no you don't!" he said. "i told you, opal----" "take that!" the gambler cut in sharply. his gun leaped out with flame at its end; and the roar, fire, bullet, and all seemed to bury in the lumberman's body. a second shot and a third did the same--and trimmer went down like a log. his gun had fallen from his hand. with all his brute vitality he crawled to take it up. one of the bullets had pierced his heart, but yet he would not die. mccoppet had snatched up a chair and with it he beat out the window. then trimmer's gun crashed tremendously--and opal sank against the sill. he faced his man. a ghastly pallor spread upon his countenance. he went down slowly, like a man of melting snow, his cigar still hanging on his lip. he saw the lumberman shiver. but the fellow crowded his cigar stump in his mouth, with fire and all, and chewed it up as he was dying. "good shot," said mccoppet faintly. his head went forward on his breast and he crumpled on the floor. chapter xlvi wasted time van was conveyed to mrs. dick's. the fever attacked him in his helplessness and delirium claimed him for its own. he glided from unconsciousness into a wandering state of mind before the hour of noon. his wound was an ugly, fiery affair, made worse by all that he did. for having returned from his lethargy, he promptly began to fight anew all his battles with horses, men, and love that had crossed his summer orbit. gettysburg, dave, and napoleon begged for the brunt of the battle. they got it. for three long days van lay upon his bed and flung them all around the room. he hurt them, bruised them, even called them names, but ever like three faithful dogs, whom beatings will never discourage--the beatings at least of a master much beloved--they returned undaunted to the fray, with affection constantly increasing. there were three other nurses--two women and algy, the cook. but beth was the one who slept the least, who glided most often to the sick man's side, who wetted his lips and renewed the ice and gave him a cooler pillow. and she it was who suffered most when he called upon her name. "beth! beth!" he would call in a wildness of joy, and then pass his hand across his eyes, repeating: "--this is the man i hate more than anyone else in the world!" that she finally knew, that the tell-tale portion of her letter had been found when bostwick was searched--all this availed her nothing now, as she pleaded with van to understand. he fought his fights, and ran his race, and returned to that line so many times that she feared it would kill him in the end. at midnight on that final day of struggling he lay quite exhausted and weak. his mind was still adrift upon its sea of dreams, but he fought his fights no more. the fever was still in possession, but its method had been changed. it had pinned him down as a victim at last, for resistance had given it strength. at evening of the seventh day he had slept away the heat. he was wasted, his face had grown a tawny stubble of beard, but his strength had pulled him through. the sunlight glory, as the great orb dipped into purple hills afar, streamed goldenly in through the window, on beth, alone at his side. it blazoned her beauty, lingering in her hair, laying its roseate tint upon the pale moss-roses of her cheeks. it richened the wondrous luster of her eyes, and deepened their deep brown tenderness of love. she was gold and brown and creamy white, with tremulous coral lips. yet on her face a greater beauty burned--the beauty of her inner-self--the beauty of her womanhood, her nature, shining through. this was the vision van looked upon, when his eyes were open at last. he opened them languidly, as one at peace and restored to control by rest. he looked at her long, and presently a faint smile dawned in his eyes. she could not speak, as she knelt at his side, to see him thus return. she could only place her hand upon her cheek and give herself up to his gaze--give all she was, and all her love, and a yearning too vast to be expressed. the smile from his eyes went creeping down his face as the dawn-glow creeps down a mountain. perhaps in a dream he had come upon the truth, or perhaps from the light of her soul. for he said with a faint, wan smile upon his lips: "i don't believe it, beth. you meant to write 'love' in your letter." the tears sprang out of her eyes. "i did! i did! i did!" she sobbed in joy too great to be contained. "i've always loved you, _always_!" despite his wound, his weakness--all--she thrust an arm beneath his neck and pillowed her cheek on his breast. he wanted no further explanation, and she had no words to spend. one of his arms was remarkably efficient. it circled her promptly and drew her up till he kissed her on the lips. then he presently said: "how much time have we wasted?" "oh, _days_!" she said, warmly blushing. "ever since that night on the desert." he shook a smiling negative. "wrong. we've wasted all our lives." he kissed her again, then sank into slumber with the dusk. chapter xlvii a tribute to the desert love is a healer without a rival in the world. van proved it--van and beth, of course, together, with gettysburg, dave, and napoleon to help, and algy to furnish the sauce. all were present, including glen and mrs. dick, on the summer day of celebration when at last van came down to dinner. at sight of the wan, wasted figure, algy, in his characteristic way, fought down his heathen emotions. "what's mallah you, van?" he demanded, his face oddly twitching as he spoke. "makee evlybody _sick_! that velly superstich! nobody's got time cly for you come home--makee my dinner spoil!" he bolted for the kitchen, swearing in loving chinese. but with that day passed, van soon snatched back his own. his strength returned like a thing that was capable of gladness, lodging where it belonged. his spirit had never been dimmed. bostwick, who had been detained by the sheriff, faithfully waiting till van should "get back on his feet," was almost relieved when his day for departure finally dawned. he was dressed, at van's express desire, in the convict suit which he had worn on the day of his arrival. van was on hand when at last the stage, with bostwick and christler for passengers, was ready to pull up the street. "searle," he said, "for a man of your stripe you are really to be envied. you're going to about the only place i know where it's even remotely possible to be good and not be lonesome." searle went. lawrence, perhaps more fortunate, had managed to escape. he had fled away to mexico, taking the bulk of his plunder. gettysburg, dave, and napoleon returned once more to the placer and sluices on the hill. glenmore kent was of the party, as superintendent of the mine. he held a degree from a school of mines, and knew even more than he had learned. moreover, he had saved the gold pilfered by bostwick and mccoppet. then one sunny morning van and beth were married by a justice of the peace. algy and mrs. dick were the lawful witnesses of the rites. the only nuptial present was the gift of a gold mine in the mountains to the bride. "you see," said van, "_you_ are my 'laughing water' claim--and just about all i can handle." they were alone. she came to his arms and kissed him with all the divinity and passion of her nature. he presently took her face in his hands and gave her a rough little shake. "where shall we go to spend our honeymoon?" she blushed like a tint of sunset, softly, warmly, and hid her cheek upon his shoulder. "out in the desert--underneath the sky." the end 