“Because,” she went on, “you were trying to deceive me and beat me and mother out of our rights. You knew all the time that father’s stock was still ours–and that Mr. Blount never even claimed it!”
“Never claimed it!” cried Wiley, suddenly roused to resentment. “Well, Virginia, he most certainly did! He offered to sell it to me for five cents a share when I took out that option on the Paymaster!”
“Now, now, Wiley!” began Blount, but Virginia cut him short with a scornful wave of the hand.
247“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll attend to this myself. I just want to tell him what I think!”
“What youthink!” raved Wiley, suddenly coming up fighting. “You’ve been fooled by a bunch of crooks. Never mind what you think–did you give him the money and tell him it came from me?”
“I did not!” answered Virginia, her eyes flashing with hot anger, “and while I may not be able to think, I certainly wasn’t fooled byyou. No, I took your money and put it in the bank, and I let your option expire!”
“My–God!” moaned Wiley, and groped for the door, but in the hall he stopped and turned back. There was some mistake–she had not understood. He slipped back and looked in once more. She was shaking hands with Blount–and smiling.
When a woman treads the ways of deceit she smiles–like Mona Lisa. But was the great Leonardo deceived by the smile of his wife when she posed for him so sweetly? No, he read her thoughts–how she was thinking of another–and his master hand wove them in. There she smiles to-day, smooth and pretty and cryptic; but Leonardo, the man, worked with heavy heart as he laid bare the tragedy of his love. The message was for her, if she cared to read it, or for him, that rival for her love; or, if their hearts were pure and free from guilt, then there was no message at all. She was just a pretty woman, soft and gentle and smiling–as Virginia Huff had smiled.
She had not smiled often, Wiley Holman remembered it now, as he went flying across the desert, and always there was something behind; but when she had looked up at Blount and taken his fat hand, then he had read her heart at a glance. If he had taken his punishment and not turned back he would have been spared this great ache in his breast; but no, he was not satisfied, he could249not believe it, and so he had received a worse wound. She had been playing with him all the time and, when the supreme moment arrived, she had landed him like a trout; and then, when she had left him belly-up from his disaster, she had turned to Blount and smiled. There was no restraint now; she smiled to the teeth; and Blount and the Directors smiled.
Wiley cursed to himself as he bored into the wind and burned up the road to Keno. The mine was nothing; he could find him another one, but Virginia had played him false. He did not mind losing her–he could find a better woman–but how could he save his lost pride? He had played his hand to win and, when it came to the showdown, she had slipped in the joker and cleaned him. The Widow would laugh when she heard the news, but she would not laugh at him. The road lay before him and his gas tanks were full. He would gather up his belongings and drift. He stepped on the throttle and went roaring through the town, but at the bottom of the hill he stopped. The mine was shut down, not a soul was in sight, and yet he had left but a few hours before.
He toiled wearily up the trail, where he had caught Virginia running and held her fighting in his arms, and the world turned black at the thought. What madness had this been that had kept him from suspecting her when she had opposed his every move from the start. Had she not wrecked his engine and ruined his mill? Then why had he trusted her with his money? And that last250innocent visit, when she had asked for her stock, and thanked him so demurely at the end! She would not be dismissed, all his rough words were wasted, until in the end she had leaned over and kissed him. A Judas-kiss? Yes, if ever there was one; or the kiss of Judith of Bethulia. But Judith had sold her kisses to save her people–Virginia had sold hers for gold.
Yes, she had sold him out for money; after rebuking him from the beginning she had stabbed him to the heart for a price. It was always he, Wiley, who thought of nothing but money; who was the liar, the miser, the thief. Everything that he did, no matter how unselfish, was imputed to his love of money; and yet it had remained for Virginia, the censorious and virtuous, to violate her trust for gain. It was not for revenge that she had withheld the payment and snatched a million dollars from his hand; she had told him herself that it was because Blount had returned their stock and she would not throw it away. How quick Blount had been to see that way out and to bribe her by returning the stock–how damnably quick to read her envious heart and know that she would fall for the offer. Well, now let them keep it and smile their smug smiles and laugh at Honest Wiley; for if there ever was a curse on stolen money then Virginia’s would buy her no happiness.
He raised his bloodshot eyes to look for the last time at the Paymaster, which he had fought for251and lost. What had they done to save it, to bring it to what it was, to merit it for their own? For years it had lain idle, and when he had opened it up they had fought him at every step. They had shot him down with buckshot, and beaten him down with rocks and threatened his life with Stiff Neck George. His eyes cleared suddenly and he looked about the dump–he had forgotten his feud with George. Yet if his men were gone, who then had driven them out but that crooked-necked, fighting fool? And if George had driven them out, then where was he now with his ancient, filed-down six-shooter? Wiley drew his gun forward and walked softly towards the house, but as he passed a metal ore-car a pistol was thrust into his face. He started back, and there was George.
“Put ’em up!” he snarled, rising swiftly from behind the car, and the hot fury left Wiley’s brain. His anger turned cold and he looked down the barrel at the grinning, spiteful eyes behind.
“You go to hell!” he growled, and George jabbed the gun into his stomach.
“Put ’em up!” he ordered, but some devil of resistance seized Wiley as his hands went up. It was close, too close, and George had the drop on him, but one hand struck out and the other clutched the gun while he twisted his lithe body aside. At the roar of the shot he went for his own gun, leaping back and stooping low. Another bullet clipped his shirt and then his own gun spat back, shooting blindly through the smoke. He emptied252it, dodging swiftly and crouching close to the ground, and then he sprang behind the car. There was a silence, but as he listened he heard a gurgling noise, like the water flowing out of a canteen, and a sudden, sodden thump. He looked out, and George was down. His blood was gushing fast but the narrow, snaky eyes sought him out before they were filmed by death. It was over, like a rush of wind.
Wiley flicked out his cylinder and filled it with fresh cartridges, then looked around for the rest. He was calm now, and calculating and infinitely brave; but no one stepped forth to face his gun. A boy, down in town, started running towards the mine, only to turn back at some imperative command. The whole valley was lifeless, yet the people were there, and soon they would venture forth. And then they would come up, and look at the body, and ask him to give up his gun; and if he did they would take him to Vegas and shut him up in jail, where the populace could come and stare at him. Blount and Jepson would come, and the Board of Directors; and, in order to put him away, they would tell how he had threatened George. They would make it appear that he had come to jump the mine, and that George was defending the property; and then, with the jury nicely packed, they would send him to the penitentiary, where he wouldn’t interfere with their plans.
In a moment of clairvoyance he saw Virginia253before him, looking in through the prison bars and smiling, and suddenly he put up his gun. She had started this job and made him a murderer but he would rob her of that last chance to smile. There was a road that he knew that had been traveled before by men who were hard-pressed and desperate. It turned west across the desert and mounted by Daylight Springs to dip down the long slope to the Sink; and across the Valley of Death, if he could once pass over it, there was no one he need fear to meet. No one, that is, except stray men like himself, who had fled from the officers of the law. Great mountain ranges, so they said, stretched unpeopled and silent, beneath the glare of the desert sun; and though Death might linger near it was under the blue sky and away from the cold malice of men.
From his safe in the office Wiley took out a roll of bills, all that was left of his vanished wealth; and he took down his rifle and belt; and then, walking softly past the body of Stiff Neck George, he cranked up his machine and started off. Every doorway in town was crowded with heads, craning out to see him pass, and as he turned down the main street he saw Death Valley Charley rushing out with a flask in his hand.
“We seen ye!” he grinned as Wiley slowed down, and dropped the flask of whiskey on the seat.
“You killed him fair!” he shouted after him, but Wiley had opened up the throttle and the answer to his praise was a roar.
254The sun was at high noon when Wiley topped the divide and glided down the canyon towards Death Valley. He could sense it in the distance by the veil of gray haze that hung like a pall across his way. Beyond it were high mountains, a solid wall of blue that seemed to rise from the depths and float, detached, against the sky; and up the winding wash which led slowly down and down, there came pulsing waves of heat. The canyon opened out into a broad, rocky sand-flat, shut in on both sides by knife-edged ridges dotted evenly with brittle white bushes; and each jagged rock and out-thrust point was burned black by the suns of centuries.
He passed an ancient tractor, abandoned by the wayside, and a deserted, double-roofed house; and then, just below it where a ravine came down, he saw a sign-board, pointing. Up the gulch was another sign, still pointing on and up, and stamped through the metal of the disk was the single word: Water. It was Hole-in-the-Rock Springs that old Charley had spoken about and, somewhere up the canyon, there was a hole in the limestone cap, and beneath it a tank of sweet water. On many a scorching day some prospector, half dead from thirst, had toiled up that well-worn trail; but now the way was empty, the freighter’s house given over to rats, and the road led on and on.
A jagged, saw-tooth range rose up to block his way and the sand-flat narrowed down to a deep wash; and, then, still thundering on, he255struggled out through its throat and the Valley seemed to rise up and smite him. He stopped his throbbing motor and sat appalled at its immensity. Funereal mountains, black and banded and water-channeled, rose up in solid walls on both sides and, down through the middle as far as the eye could see, there stretched a white ribbon, set in green. It swung back and forth across a wide, level expanse, narrow and gleaming with water at the north and blending in the south with gray sands. The writhing white band was Death Valley Sink, where the waters from countless desert ranges drained down and were sucked up by the sun. Far from the north it came, when the season was right and the cloudbursts swept the Grape-Vines and the White mountains; the Panamints to the west gave down water from winter snows that gathered on Telescope Peak; and every ravine of the somber Funeral Range was gutted by the rush of forgotten waters.
The Valley was dry, bone-dry and desiccated, and yet every hill, every gulch and wash and canyon, showed the action of torrential waters. The chocolate-brown flanks of the towering mountain walls were creased, and ripped out and worn; and from the mouth of every canyon a great spit of sand and boulders had been spewed out and washed down towards the Sink. On the surface of this wash, rising up through thousands of feet, the tips of buried mountains peeped out like tiny hill-tops, yet black, and sharp and grim. The256great ranges themselves, sweeping up from the profundity till they seemed to cut off the world, looked like molded cakes of chocolate which had been rained on and half melted down. They were washed-down, melted, stripped of earth and vegetation; and down from their flanks in a steep, even slope, lay the débris and scourings of centuries.
The westering sun caught the glint of water in the poisonous, salt-marshes of the Sink; but, far to the south, the great ultimate Sink of Sinks was a-gleam with borax and salt. It was there where the white band widened out to a lake-bed, that men came in winter to do their assessment work and scrape up the cotton-ball borax. But if any were there now they would know him for a fugitive and he took the road to the west. It ran over boulders, ground smooth by rolling floods and burned deep brown by the sun, and as he twisted and turned, throwing his weight against the wheels, Wiley felt the growing heat. His shirt clung to his back, the sweat ran down his face and into his stinging eyes and as he stopped for a drink he noticed that the water no longer quenched his thirst. It was warm and flat and after each fresh drink the perspiration burst from every pore, as if his very skin cried out for moisture. Yet his canteen was getting light and, until he could find water, he put it resolutely away.
The road swung down at last into a broad, flat dry-wash, where the gravel lay packed hard as iron, and as his racer took hold and began to leap257and frolic, he tore down the valley like the wind. The sun was sinking low and the unknown lay before him, a land he had never seen; yet before the night came on he must map out his course and stake his life on the venture. Other automobiles might follow and snatch him back if he delayed but an hour in his flight; but, once across Death Valley and lost in those far mountains, he would leave the law behind. The men he met would be fugitives like himself, or prospectors, or wandering Shoshones; and, live or die, he would be away from it all–where he would never see Virginia again.
The deep wash pinched in, as the other had done, before it gave out into the plain; and, then, as he whirled around a point, he glided out into the open. The foothills lay behind him and, straight athwart his way, stretched a sea of motionless sand-waves. As far north as he could see, the ocean of sand tossed and tumbled, the crests of its rollers crowned with brush and grotesque drift-wood, the gnarled trunks and roots of mesquite trees. To the east and west the high mountains still rose up, black and barren, shutting in the sea of sand; but across the valley a pass led smoothly up to a gap through the wall of the Panamints. It was Emigrant Wash, up which the hardy Mormons had toiled in their western pilgrimage, leaving at Lost Wagons and Salt Creek the bones of whole caravans as a tribute to the power of the desert.
A smooth, steep slope led swiftly down to the258edge of the Valley of Death and as Wiley looked across he saw as in a vision a massive gateway of stone. It was flung boldly out from the base of a blue mountain, enclosing a dark valley behind; and from between its lofty walls a white river of sand spread out like a flower down the slope. It was the gateway to the Ube-Hebes, just as Charley had described it, and it was only a few miles away. It lay just across the sand-flat, where the great, even waves seemed marching in a phalanx towards the south; and then up a little slope, all painted blue and purple, to the mysterious valley beyond. The sun, swinging low, touched the summits of distant sand-hills with a gleam of golden light and all the dark shadows moved toward him. A breath of air fanned his cheek, and as he drank deep from his canteen he nodded to the Gateway and smiled.
The way to the Ube-Hebes lay across a low flat, glistening white with crystals of alkali; and as his car trundled on Wiley came to a strip of sand, piled up in the lee of a prostrate salt bush. Other bushes appeared, and more sand about them, and then a broad, smooth wave. It mounted up from the north, gently scalloped by the wind, and on the south side it broke off like a wall. He drove along below it, glancing up as it grew higher, until at last it cut off his view. All the north was gone, and the Gateway to his hiding-place; but the south and west were there. To the south lay mud flats, powdery dry but packed hard; and the west was a wilderness of sand.
A giant mesquite tree, piled high with clinging drifts, rose up before the crest of his wave, and as he plowed in between them the edge of the crest poured down in a whispering cascade. Then more trees loomed up, and hundreds of white bushes each mounted on its pedestal of sand; and at the base of each salt-bush there were kangaroo-rat holes and the tracery of their tails in the dust. Men called it Death Valley, but for such as these260it was a place of fullness and joy. They had capered about, striking the ground with their tails at the end of each playful jump, and the dry, brittle salt-bushes had been feast enough to them, who never knew the taste of grass or water.
The sand-wave rose higher, leaving a damp hollow behind it where ice-plants grew green and rank; and as he crept along the thunder of his exhaust started tons of sliding silt. His wheels raced and burrowed as he struck a soft spot, and then abruptly they sank. He dug them out carefully and backed away, but a mound of drifted sand barred his way. Twist and turn as he would he could not get around it and at last he climbed to its summit. The sun was setting in purple and fire behind the black shoulder of the Panamints and like a path of gold it marked out the way, the only way to cross the Valley. At the south was the Sink with its treacherous bog-holes and further north the sand-hills were limitless–the only way, where the wagon-wheels had crossed, was buried deep in the sand. Three great mountains of sand, like huge breakers of the sea, had swept in and covered the wheel-tracks; and far to the west in the path of the sun their summits loomed two hundred feet high.
He went back to his car and drove it desperately at the slope, only to bury the rear wheels to the axles; and as he dug them out the sand from the wave crest began to whisper and slip and slide. He cleared a great space and started his motor, but261at the first shuddering tug the sand began to tremble and in a rush the wave was upon him. It buried him deep and as he leapt from his machine little rills of singing sand flowed around it. So far it had carried him, this high-powered, steel-springed racer; but now he must leave it for the sand to cover over and cross the great Valley alone. On many a rocky slope and sliding sand-hill it had clutched and plunged and fought its way, but now it was smothered in the treacherous, silt-fine sand and he must leave it, like a partner, to die. Yet if die it must, then in its desert burial the last trace of Wiley Holman would be lost. The first wind that blew would wipe out his footprints and the racer would sink beneath the waves. Wiley took his canteen, and Charley’s bottle of whiskey, his rifle and a small sack of food and dared the great silence alone.
While his motor had done the work he had not minded the heat and the pressure of blood in his head, but as he toiled up the sandy slope, sinking deeper at each stride, he felt the breath of the sand. All day it had lain there drinking in the sun’s rays and now in the evening, when the upper air was cool, it radiated a sweltering heat. Wiley mounted to the summit of wave after wave, fighting his way towards the Gateway to the north; and then, beaten at last and choking with the exertion, he turned and followed a crest. The sand piled up before him in a vortex of sharp-edged ridges, reaching their apex in a huge pyramid to the west, and as262he toiled on past its flank he felt a gusty rush of air, sucking down through Emigrant Wash. It was the wind, after all, that was king of Death Valley; for whichever way it blew it swept the sand before it, raising up pyramids and tearing them down. Along the crest of the high wave a feather-edge of sand leapt out like a plume into space and as he stopped to watch it Wiley could see that the mountain was moving by so much across the plain.
A luminous half-moon floated high in the heavens and the sky was studded thick with pin-point stars. In that myriad of little stars, filling in between the big ones, the milky way was lost and reduced to obscurity–the whole sky was a milky way. Wiley sank down in the sand and gazed up sombrely as he wetted his parching lips from his canteen, and the evening star gleamed like a torch, looking down on the world he had fled. Across the Funeral Range, not a day’s journey to the east, that same star lighted Virginia on her way while he, a fugitive, was flung like an atom into the depths of this sea of sand. It was deeper than the sea, scooped out far below the level of the cool breakers that broke along the shore; deep and dead, except for the wind that moved the drifting sand across the plains. And even as he lay there, looking up at the stars and wondering at the riddle of the universe, the busy wind was bringing grains of sand and burying him, each minute by so much.
He rose up in a panic and hurried along the263slope, where the sand of the wave was packed hardest, and he did not pause till he had passed the last drift and set his foot on the hard, gravelly slope. The wind was cooler now, for the night was well along and the bare ground had radiated its heat; but it was dry, powder dry, and every pore of his skin seemed to gasp and cry out for water. There was water, even yet, in the bottom of his canteen; but he dared not drink it till the Gateway was in sight, and the sand-wash that led to the valley beyond.
An hour passed by as he toiled up the slope, now breaking into a run from impatience, now settling down doggedly to walk; and at last, clear and distinct, he saw the Gateway in the moonlight, and stopped to take his drink. It was cool now, the water, and infinitely sweet; yet he knew that the moment he drained the last drop he would feel the clutch of fear. It is an unreasoning thing, that fear of the desert which comes when the last drop is gone; and yet it is real and known to every wanderer, and guarded against by the bravest. He screwed the cap on his canteen and hurried up the slope, which grew steeper and rockier with each mile, but the phantom gateway seemed to lead on before him and recede into the black abyss of night. It was there, right before him, but instead of getting nearer, the Gateway loomed higher and higher; and daylight was near before he passed through its portals and entered the dark valley beyond.
264A gaunt row of cottonwoods rose up suddenly before him, their leaves whispering and clacking in the wind, and at this brave promise all fear for water left him and he drained his canteen to the bottom. Then he strode on up the canyon, that was deep and dark as a pocket, following the trail that should lead him to the spring; but as one mile and two dragged along with no water, he stopped and hid his rifle among the rocks. A little later he hid his belt with its heavy row of cartridges, and the sack of dry, useless food. What he needed was water and when he had drunk his fill he could come back and collect all his possessions. Two miles, five miles, he toiled up the creek bed with the cottonwoods rustling overhead; but though their roots were in the water, the sand was still dry and his tongue was swelling with thirst.
He stumbled against a stone and fell weakly to the ground, only to leap to his feet again, frightened. Already it was coming, the stupifying lassitude, the reckless indifference to his fate, and yet he was hardly tired. The Valley had not been hot, any more than usual, and he had walked twice as far before; but now, with water just around the corner, he was lying down in the sand. He was sleepy, that was it, but he must get to water first or his pores would close up and he would die. He stripped off his pistol and threw it in the sand, and his hat, and the bottle of fiery whiskey; and then, head down, he plunged blindly forward, rushing on up the trail to find water.
265The sun rose higher and poured down into the narrow valley with its fringe of deceptive green; but though the trees became bigger and bushier in their tops the water did not come to the surface. It was underneath the sand, flowing along the bed-rock, and all that was needed was a solid reef of country-rock to bring it up to the surface. It would flow over the dyke in a beautiful water-fall, leaping and gurgling and going to waste; and after he had drunk he would lie down and wallow and give his whole body a drink. He would soak there for hours, sucking it up with his parched lips that were cracked now and bleeding from the drought; and then–he woke up suddenly, to find himself digging in the sand. He was going mad then, so soon after he was lost, and with water just up the stream. The creek was dry, where he had found himself digging, but up above it would be full of water. He hurried on again and, around the next turn, sure enough, he found a basin of water.
It was hollowed from the rock, a round pool, undimpled, and upon its surface a pair of wasps floated about with airy grace. Their legs were outstretched and on the bottom of the hole he could see the round shadows of their tracks. It was a new kind of water, with a skin that would bend down and hold up the body of a wasp, and yet it seemed to be wet. He thrust in a finger and the wasps flew away–and then he dropped down and drank deep. When he woke from his madness the pool was half empty and the water was266running down his face. He was wet all over and his lips were bleeding afresh, as if his very blood had been dry; but his body was weak and sick, and as he rose to his feet he tottered and fell down in the sand. When he roused up again the pool was filled with water and the wasps were back, floating on its surface.
When he looked around he was in a little cove, shut in by towering walls; and, close against the cliff where the rock had been hollowed out, he saw an abandoned camp. There were ashes between the stones, and tin cans set on boxes, and a walled-in storage place behind, and as he looked again he saw a man’s tracks, leading down a narrow path to the water. They turned off up the creek–high-heeled boots soled with rawhide and bound about with thongs–and Wiley rushed recklessly at the camp. When he had eaten last he could hardly remember, (it was a day or two back at the best), and as he peered into cans and found them empty he gave vent to a savage curse. He was weak, he was starving, and he had thrown away his food–and this man had hidden what he had. He kicked over the boxes and plunged into the store-room, throwing beans and flour sacks right and left, and then in the corner behind a huge pile of pinon nuts he found a single can of tomatoes.
Whoever had treasured it had kept it too long, for Wiley’s knife was already out and as he cut out the top he tipped it slowly up and drained it to the bottom.
267“Hey, there!” hailed a voice and Wiley started and laid down the can. Was it possible the officers had followed him? “Throw up your hands!” yelled the voice in a fury. “Throw ’em up, or I’ll kill you, you scoundrel!”
Wiley held up his hands, but he raised them reluctantly and the fighting look crept back into his eyes.
“Well!” he challenged, “they’re up–what about it?”
A tall man with a pistol stepped out from behind a tree and advanced with his gun raised and cocked. His hair was hermit-long, his white beard trembled, and his voice cracked and shrilled with helpless rage.
“What about it!” he repeated. “Well, by Jupiter, if you sass me, I’ll shoot you for a camp-robbing hound!”
“Well, go ahead then,” burst out Wiley defiantly, “if that’s the way you feel–all I took was one can of tomatoes!”
“Yes! One can! Wasn’t that all I had? And you robbed me before, you rascal!”
“I did not!” retorted Wiley, and as the old man looked him over he hesitated and lowered his gun.
“Say, who are you, anyway?” he asked at last and glanced swiftly at Wiley’s tracks in the sand. “Well–that’s all right,” he ran on hastily, “I see you aren’t the man. There was a renegade came through here on the twentieth of last July and268stole everything I had. I trailed him, dad-burn him, clear to the edge of Death Valley–he was riding my favorite burro–and if it hadn’t been for a sandstorm that came up and stopped me, I’d have bored him through and through. He stole my rifle and even my letters, and valuable papers besides; but he went to his reward, or I miss my guess, so we’ll leave him to the mercy of hell. As for my tomatoes, you’re welcome, my friend; it’s long since I’ve had a guest.”
He held out his hand and advanced, smiling kindly, but Wiley stepped back–it was Colonel Huff.
How the Colonel had come to be reported dead it was easy enough now to surmise. Some desperate fugitive, or rambling hobo miner seeking a crosscut to the Borax Mines below, had raided his camp in his absence; and, riding off on his burro, had met his death in a sandstorm. His were the tracks that the Indians had followed and somewhere in Death Valley he lay beneath the sand dunes in place of a better man. But the Colonel–did he know that his family had mourned him as dead, and bandied his stock back and forth? Did he know that the Paymaster had been bonded and opened up, and lost again to Blount? And what would be his answer if he knew the man before him was the son of Honest John Holman? Wiley closed down his lips, then he took the outstretched hand and looked the Colonel straight in the eye.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “that I can’t give you my name or tell you where I’m from; but I’ve got a bottle of whiskey that will more than make up for the loss of that can of tomatoes!”
270“Whiskey!” shrilled the Colonel and then he smiled benignly and laid a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. “Never mind, my young friend, what you have done or not done; because I’m sure it was nothing dishonorable–and now if you will produce your bottle we’ll drink to our better acquaintance.”
“I threw it away,” answered Wiley apologetically, “but it can’t be very far down the trail. I was short of water and lost, you might say, and–well, I guess I was a little wild.”
“And well you might be,” replied the Colonel heartily, “if you crossed Death Valley afoot; and worn out and hungry, to boot. I’ll just take the liberty of going after that bottle myself, before some skulking Shoo-shonnie gets hold of it.”
“Do so,” smiled Wiley, “and when you’ve had your drink, perhaps you’ll bring in my rifle and the rest.”
“Whatever you’ve dropped,” returned the Colonel cordially, “if it’s only a cartridge from your belt! And while I am gone, just make yourself at home. You seem to be in need of rest.”
“Yes, I am,” agreed Wiley, and before the Colonel was out of sight he was fast asleep on his bed.
It was dark when he awoke and the light of a fire played and flickered on the walls of his cave. The wind brought to his nostrils the odor of cooking beans and as he rose and looked out he saw the Colonel pacing up and down by the fire. His hat271was off, his fine head thrown back and he was humming to himself and smiling.
“Come out, sir; come out!” he cried upon the moment. “I trust you have enjoyed your day’s rest. And now give me your hand, sir; I regret beyond words my boorish conduct of this morning.”
He shook hands effusively, still continuing his apologies for having taken Wiley for less than a gentleman; and while they ate together it became apparent to Wiley that the Colonel had had his drink. If there was anything left of the pint bottle of whiskey no mention was made of the fact; but even at that the liquor was well spent, for it had gained him a friend for life.
“Young man,” observed the Colonel, after looking at him closely, “I am a fugitive in a way, myself, but I cannot believe, from the look on your face, that your are anything else than honest. I shall respect your silence, as you respect mine, for your past is nothing to me; but if at any time I can assist you, just mention the fact and the deed is as good as done. I am a man of my word and, since true friends are rare, I beg of you not to forget me.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Wiley, and went on with his eating as the Colonel paced up and down. He was a noble-looking man of the Southern type, tall and slender, with flashing blue eyes; and the look that he gave him reminded Wiley of Virginia, only infinitely more kind and friendly. He had272been, in his day, a prince of entertainers, of the rich and poor alike; and the kick of the whiskey had roused up those genial qualities which had made him the first citizen of Keno. He laughed and told stories and cracked merry jests, yet never for a moment did he forget his incognito nor attempt to violate Wiley’s. They were gentlemen there together in the heart of the desert, and as such each was safe from intrusion. The rifle and cartridge belt, Wiley’s pistol and the sack of food, were fetched and placed in his hands; and then at the end the Colonel produced the flask of whiskey which had been slightly diluted with water.
“Now,” he said, “we will drink a toast, my far-faring-knight of the desert. Shall it be that first toast: ‘The Ladies–God bless them!’ or─”
“No!” answered Wiley, and the Colonel silently laughed.
“Well said, my young friend,” he replied, nodding wisely. “Even at your age you have learned something of life. No, let it be the toast that Socrates drank, and that rare company who sat at the Banquet. To Love! they drank; but not to love of woman. To love of mankind–of Man! To Friendship! In short, here’s to you, my friend, and may you never regret this night!”
They drank it in silence, and as Wiley sat thinking, the Colonel became reminiscent.
“Ah, there was a company,” he said, smiling mellowly, “such as the world will never see again. Agatho and Socrates, Aristophanes and Alcibiades,273the picked men of ancient Athens; lying comfortably on their couches with the food before them and inviting their souls with wine. They began in the evening and in the morning it was Socrates who had them all under the table. And yet, of all men, he was the most abstemious–he could drink or let it alone. Alcibiades, the drunkard, gave witness that night to the courage and hardihood of Socrates–how he had carried him and his armor from the battlefield of Potidæa, and outfaced the enemy at Delium; how he marched barefoot through the ice while the others, well shod, froze; and endured famine without complaining; yet again, in the feasts at the military table, he was the only person that appeared to enjoy them. There was a man, my friend, such as the world has never seen, the greatest philosopher of all time; but do you know what philosophy he taught?”
“No, I don’t,” admitted Wiley, and the Colonel sighed as he poured out a small libation.
“And yet,” he said, “you are a man of parts, with an education, very likely, of the best. But our schools and Universities now teach a man everything except the meaning and purpose of life. When I was in school we read our Plato and Xenophon as you now read your German and French; but what we learned, above the language itself, was the thought of that ancient time. You learn to earn money and to fight your way through life, but Socrates taught that friendship is above everything and that Truth is the Ultimate Good.274But, ah well; I weary you, for each age lives unto itself, and who cares for the thoughts of an old man?”
“No! Go on!” protested Wiley, but the Colonel sighed wearily and shook his head gloomily in thought.
“I had a friend once,” he said at last, “who had the same rugged honesty of Socrates. He was a man of few words but I truly believe that he never told a lie. And yet,” went on the Colonel with a rueful smile, “they tell me that my friend recanted and deceived me at the last!”
“Whotold you?” put in Wiley, suddenly rousing from his silence and the Colonel glanced at him sharply.
“Ah, yes; well said, my friend! Who told me? Why, all of them–except my friend himself. I could not go to him with so much as a suggestion that he had betrayed the friendship of a lifetime; and he, no doubt, felt equally reluctant to explain what had never been charged. Yet I dared not approach him, for it was better to endure doubt than to suffer the certainty of his guilt. And so we drifted apart, and he moved away; and I have never seen my good friend since.”
Wiley sat in stunned silence, but his heart leapt up at this word of vindication for Honest John. To be sure his father had refused him help, and rebuked him for heckling the Widow, but loyalty ran strong in the Holman blood and he looked up at the Colonel and smiled.
275“Next time you go inside,” he said at last, “take a chance and ask your friend.”
“I’ll do that,” agreed the Colonel, “but it won’t be for some time because–well, I’m hiding out.”
“Here, too,” returned Wiley, “and I’mnevergoing back. But say, listen; I’ll tellyouone now. You trusted your friend, and the bunch told you that he’d betrayed you; I trusted my girl, and she told me to my face that she’d sold me out for fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand, at the most; and I lost about a million and killed a man over it, to boot. You take a chance with your friends, but when you trust a woman–you don’t take any chance at all.”
“Ah, in self defense?” inquired the Colonel politely. “I thought I noticed a hole in your shirt. Yes, pretty close work–between your arm and your ribs. I’ve had a few close calls, myself.”
“Yes, but what do you think,” demanded Wiley impatiently, “of a girl that will throw you down like that? I gave her the stock and to make it worth the money she turned around and ditched me. And then she looked me in the face and laughed!”
“If you had studied,” observed the Colonel, “the Republic of Plato you would have been saved your initial mistake; for it was an axiom among the Greeks that in all things women are inferior, and never to be trusted in large affairs. The great Plato pointed out, and it has never been controverted, that women are given to concealment and276spite; and that in times of danger they are timid and cowardly, and should therefore have no voice in council. In fact, in the ideal State which he conceived, they were to be herded by themselves in a community dwelling and held in common by the state. There were to be no wives and no husbands, with their quarrels and petty bickerings, but the women were to be parceled out by certain controllers of marriage and required to breed men for the state. That is going rather far, and I hardly subscribe to it, but I think they should be kept in their place.”
“Well, they are cowardly, all right,” agreed Wiley bitterly, “but that’s better than when they fight. Because then, if you oppose them, everybody turns against you; and if you don’t, they’ve got you whipped!”
“Put it there!” exclaimed the Colonel, striking hands with him dramatically. “I swear, we shall get along famously. There is nothing I admire more than a gentle, modest woman, an ornament to her husband and her home; but when she puts on the trousers and presumes to question and dictate, what is there left for a gentleman to do? He cannot strike her, for she is his wife and he has sworn to cherish and protect her; and yet, by the gods, she can make his life more miserable than a dozen quarrelsome men. What is there to do but what I have done–to close up my affairs and depart? If there is such a thing as love, long absence may renew it, and the sorrow may chasten her heart;277but I agree with Solomon that it is better to dwell in a corner of the house-top than with a scolding woman in a wide house.”
“You bet,” nodded Wiley. “Gimme the desert solitude, every time. Is there any more whiskey in that bottle?”
“And yet–” mused the Colonel, “–well, here’s to our mothers! And may we ever be dutiful sons! After all, my friend, no man can escape his duty; and if duty should call us to endure a certain martyrdom we have the example of Socrates to sustain us. If report is true he had a scolding wife–the name of Xanthippe has become a proverb–and yet what more noble than Socrates’ rebuke to his son when he behaved undutifully towards his mother? Where else in all literature will you find a more exalted statement of the duty we all owe our parents than in Socrates’ dialogue with Lamprocles, his son, as recorded in the Memorabilia of Xenophon? And if, living with Xanthippe and listening to her railings, he could yet attain to such heights of philosophy is it not possible that men like you and me might come, through his philosophy, to endure it? It is that which I am pondering while I am alone here in the desert; but my spirit is weak and that accursed camp robber made off with my volume of Plato.”
“Well, personally,” stated Wiley, his mind on the Widow, “I think I agree more with Plato. Let ’em keep in their place and not crush into business with their talk and their double-barreled shotguns.”
278“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the Colonel, drawing himself up gravely, “but did you happen to come through Keno?”
“Never mind;” grumbled Wiley, “you might be the Sheriff. Tell me more about this married man, Socrates.”
To seek always for Truth and Justice and the common good of mankind has seldom had its earthly reward but, twenty-three hundred and fifteen years after he drank the cup of hemlock, the soul of Socrates received its oration. Not that the Colonel was hipped upon the subject of the ancients, for he talked mining and showed some copper claims as well; but a similar tragedy in his own domestic life had evoked a profound admiration for Socrates. And if Wiley understood what lay behind his words he gave no hint to the Colonel. Always, morning, noon and night, he listened respectfully, his lips curling briefly at some thought; and at the end of a week the Colonel was as devoted to him as he had been formerly to his father.
Yet when, as sometimes happened, the Colonel tried to draw him out, he shook his head stubbornly and was dumb. The problem that he had could not be solved by talk; it called for years to recover and forget; and if the Colonel once knew that his own daughter was involved he might rise up and demand a retraction. In his first rush of280bitterness Wiley had stated without reservation that Virginia had sold him out for money, and the pride of the Huffs would scarcely allow this to pass unnoticed–and yet he would not retract it if he died for it. He knew from her own lips that Virginia had betrayed him, and it could never be explained away.
If she argued that she was misled by Blount and his associates, he had warned her before she left; and if she had thought that he was doing her an injustice, that was not the way to correct it. She had accepted a trust and she had broken that trust to gain a personal profit–and that was the unpardonable sin. He could have excused her if she had weakened or made some mistake, but she had betrayed him deliberately and willfully; and as he sat off by himself, mulling it over in his mind, his eyes became stern and hard. For the killing of Stiff Neck George he had no regrets, and the treachery of Blount did not surprise him; but he had given this woman his heart to keep and she had sold him for fifty thousand dollars. All the rest became as nothing but this wound refused to heal, for he had lost his faith in womankind. Had he loved her less, or trusted her less, it would not have rankled so deep; but she had been his one woman, whose goings and comings he watched for, and all the time she was playing him false.
He sat silent one morning in the cool shade of a wild grapevine, jerking the meat of a mountain sheep that he had killed; and as he worked mechanically,281shredding the flesh into long strips, he watched the lower trail. Ten days had gone by since he had fled across the Valley, but the danger of pursuit had not passed and, as he saw a great owl that was nesting down below rise up blindly and flop away he paused and reached for his gun.
“Never mind,” said the Colonel who had noticed the movement. “I expect an old Indian in with grub. But step into the cave and if it’s who you think it is you can count on me till the hair slips.”
Wiley stepped in quietly, strapping on his belt and pistol, and then the Colonel burst into a roar.
“It’s Charley,” he cried, leaping nimbly to his feet and putting up his gun. “Come on, boy–here’s where we get that drink!”
Wiley looked out doubtfully as Heine rushed up and sniffed at the pans of meat, and then he ducked back and hid. Around the shoulder of the cliff came Death Valley Charley; but behind him, on a burro, was Virginia. He looked out again as the Colonel swore an oath and then she leapt off and ran towards them.
“Oh–Father!” she cried and hung about his neck while the astonished Colonel kissed her doubtfully.
“Well, well!” he protested as she fell to weeping, “what’s the cause of all this distress? Is your mother not well, or─”
“We–we thought you weredead!” she burst out indignantly, “and Charley there knew–all the time!”
282She let go of her father and turned upon Death Valley Charley, who was solicitously attending to Heine, and the Colonel spoke up peremptorily.
“Here, Charley!” he commanded, “let that gluttonous cur wait. What’s this I hear from Virginia? Didn’t you tell her I was perfectly well?”
“Why–why yes, sir; I did, sir,” replied Charley, apologetically, “but–she only thought I was crazy. I told her, all the time─”
“Oh, Charley!” reproached Virginia, “didn’t you know better than that? You only said it when you had those spells. Why didn’t you tell me when you were feeling all right–and you denied it, I know, repeatedly!”
“The Colonel would kill me,” mumbled Charley sullenly. “He told me not to tell. But I brought you the whiskey, sir; a whole big─”
“Never mind the whiskey,” said the Colonel sharply. “Now, let’s get to the bottom of this matter. Why should you think I was dead when I had merely absented myself─”
“But the body!” clamored Virginia. “We got word you were lost when your burro came in at the Borax works. And when we hired trackers, the Indians said you were lost–and your body was out in the sand-hills!”
“It was that cursed camp-robber!” declared the Colonel with conviction. “Well, I’m glad he’s gone to his reward. It was only some rascal that came through here and stole my riding burro–did they283care for old Jack at the Works? Well, I shall thank them for it kindly; and anything I can do–but what’s the matter, Virginia?”
She had drawn away from him and was gazing about anxiously and Charley had slunk guiltily away.
“Why–where’s Wiley?” she cried, clutching her father by the arm. “Oh, isn’t he here, after all?”
“Wiley?” repeated the Colonel. “Why, who are you talking about? I never even heard of such a man.”
“Oh, he’s dead then; he’s lost!” she sobbed, sinking down on the ground in despair. “Oh, I knew it, all the time! But that old Charley─” She cast a hateful glance at him and the Colonel beckoned sternly.
“What now?” he demanded as Charley sidled near. “Who is this Mr. Wiley?”
“Why–er–Wiley; Wiley Holman, you know. I followed his tracks to the Gateway. Ain’t he around here somewhere? I found this bottle─” He held up the flask that he had given to Wiley, and the Colonel started back with a cry.
“What, a tall young fellow with leather puttees?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” answered Virginia, suddenly springing to her feet again. “We followed him–isn’t he here?”
The Colonel turned slowly and glanced at the cave, where Wiley was still hiding close, and then he cleared his throat.
284“Well, kindly explain first why you should be following this gentleman, and─”
“Oh, he’s here, then!” sighed Virginia and fell into her father’s arms, at which Charley scuttled rapidly away.
“Mr. Holman,” spoke up the Colonel, as Wiley did not stir, “may I ask you to come out here and explain?”
There was a rustle inside the cave and at last Wiley came out, stuffing a strip of dried meat into his hip pocket.
“I’ll come out, yes,” he said, “but, as I’m about to go, I’ll leave it to your daughter to explain.”
He picked up his canteen and started down to the water-hole, but the Colonel called him sternly back.
“My friend,” he said, “it is the custom among gentlemen to answer a courteous question. I must ask you then what there is between you and my daughter, and why she should follow you across Death Valley?”
“There is nothing between us,” answered Wiley categorically, “and I don’t know why she followed me–that is, if she really did.”
“Well, I did!” sobbed Virginia, burying her face on her father’s breast, “but I wish I hadn’t now!”
“Huh!” grunted Wiley and stumped off down the trail where he filled his canteen at the pool. He was mad, mad all over, and yet he experienced a strange thrill at the thought of Virginia following him. He had left her smiling and shaking hands285with Blount, but a curse had been on the money, and her conscience had forced her to follow him. It had been easy, for her, with a burro to ride on and Death Valley Charley to guide her; but with him it had been different. He had fled from arrest and it was only by accident that he had won to the water-hole in time. But yet, she had followed him; and now she would apologize and explain, as she had explained it all once before. Well, since she had come–and since the Colonel was watching him–he shouldered his canteen and came back.
“My daughter tells me,” began the Colonel formally, “that you are the son of my old friend, John Holman; and I trust that you will take my hand.”
He held out his hand and Wiley blinked as he returned the warm clasp of his friend. Ten days of companionship in the midst of that solitude had knitted their souls together and he loved the old Colonel like a father.
“That’s all right,” he muttered. “And–say, hunt up the Old Man! Because he thinks the world of you, still.”
“I will do so,” replied the Colonel, “but will you do me a favor? By gad, sir; I can’t let you go. No, you must stay with me, Wiley, if that is your name; I want to talk with you later, about your father. But now, as a favor, since Virginia has come so far, I will ask you to sit down and listen to her. And–er–Wiley; just a moment!”286He beckoned him to one side and spoke low in his ear. “About that woman who betrayed your trust–perhaps I’d better not mention her to Virginia?”
Wiley’s eyes grew big and then they narrowed. The Colonel thought there was another woman. How could he, proud soul, even think for a moment that Virginia herself had betrayed him? No, to his high mind it was inconceivable that a daughter of his should violate a trust; and there was Virginia, watching them.
“Very well,” replied Wiley, and smiled to himself as he laid down his gun and canteen. He led the way up the creek to where a gnarled old cottonwood cast its shadow against the cliff and smoothed out a seat against the bank. “Now sit down,” he said, “and let’s have this over with before the Colonel gets wise. He’s a fine old gentleman and if his daughter took after him I wouldn’t be dodging the sheriff.”
“Well, I came to tell you,” began Virginia bravely, “that I’m sorry for what I’ve done. And to show you that I mean it I gave Blount back his stock.”
Wiley gazed at her grimly for a moment and then he curled up his lip. “Why not come through,” he asked at last, “and acknowledge that he held it out on you?”
Virginia started and then she smiled wanly.
“No,” she said, “it wasn’t quite that. And yet–well, he didn’t really give it to me.”
“I knew it!” exploded Wiley, “the doggoned287piker! But of course you made a clean-up on your other stock?”
“No, I didn’t! I gave that away, too! But Wiley, why won’t you listen to me? I didn’t intend to do it, but he explained it all so nicely─”
“Didn’t I tell you he would?” he raged.
“Yes, but listen; you don’t understand. When I went to him first I asked for Father’s stock and–he must have known what was coming. I guess he saw the bills. Anyway, he told me then that he had always loved my father, and that he wanted to protect us from you; and so, he said, he was just holding my Father’s stock to keep you from getting it away from us. And then he called in some friends of his; and oh, they all became so indignant that I thought I couldn’t be wrong! Why, they showed me that you would make millions by the deal, and all at our expense; and then–I don’t know, something came over me. We’d been poor so long, and it would make you so rich; and, like a fool, I went and did it.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Wiley. “I forgive you, and all that; but don’t let your father know. He’s got old-fashioned ideas about keeping a trust and–say, do you know what he thinks? I happened to mention, the first night I got in, that a woman had thrown me down; and he just now took me aside and told me not to worry because he’d never mention the lady to you. He thinks it was somebody else.”
“Oh,” breathed Virginia, and then she sat silent288while he kicked a hole in the dirt and waited. He was willing to concede anything, agree to anything, look pleasant at anything, until the ordeal was over; and then he intended to depart. Where he would go was a detail to be considered later when he felt the need of something to occupy his mind; right now he was only thinking that she looked very pale–and there was a tired, hunted look in her eyes. She had nerves, of course, the same as he had, and the trip across Death Valley had been hard on her; but if she suffered now, he had suffered also, and he failed to be as sorry as he should.
“You’ll be all right now,” he said at last, when it seemed she would never speak up, “and I’m glad you found your father. He’ll go back with you now and take a fall out of Blount and–well, you won’t feel so poor, any more.”
“Yes, I will,” returned Virginia, suddenly rousing up and looking at him with haggard eyes. “I’ll always feel poor, because if I gave you back all I had it wouldn’t be a tenth of what you lost.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” grumbled Wiley. “I don’t care about the money. Are they hunting me for murder, or what?”
“Oh, no; not for anything!” she answered eagerly. “You’ll come back, won’t you, Wiley? Mother was watching you through her glasses, and she says George fired first. They aren’t trying to arrest you; all they want you to do is to give up and stand a brief trial. And I’ll help you, Wiley;289oh, I’ve just got to do something or I’ll be miserable all my life!”
“You’re tired now,” said Wiley. “It’ll look different, pretty soon; and–well, I don’t think I’ll go in, right now.”
“But where will you go?” she entreated piteously. “Oh, Wiley, can’t you see I’m sorry? Why can’t you forgive me and let me try to make amends, instead of making both our lives so miserable?”
“I don’t know,” answered Wiley. “It’s just the way I feel. I’ve got nothingagainstyou; I just want to get away and forget a few things that you’ve done.”
“And then?” she asked, and he smiled enigmatically.
“Well, maybe you’ll forget me, too.”
“But Father!” she objected as he rose up suddenly and started off down the creek. “He thinks we’re lovers, you know.” Wiley stopped and the cold anger in his eyes gave way to a look of doubt. “Why not pretend we are?” she suggested wistfully. “Not really, but just before him. I told him we’d quarreled–and he knows I followed after you. Just to-day, Wiley; and then you can go. But if my father should think─”
“Well, all right,” he broke in, and as they stepped out into the open she slipped her hand into his.
The Colonel was sitting in the shade of a wild grapevine rapping out a series of questions at Charley, but at sight of the young people coming back hand in hand, he paused and smiled understandingly.
“What now?” he said. “Is there a new earth and a new heaven? Ah, well; then Virginia’s trip was worth while. But Charley here is so full of signs and wonders that my brain is fairly in a whirl. The Germans, it seems, have made a forty-two centimeter gun that is blasting down cities in France; and the Allies, to beat them, are constructing still larger ones made out of tungsten that is mined from the Paymaster. Yes, yes, Charley, that’s all right, I don’t doubt your word, but we’ll call on Wiley for the details.”
He laughed indulgently and poured Charley out a drink which made his eyes blink and snap and then he waved him graciously away.
“Take your burros up the canyon,” he suggested briefly, and when Charley was gone he smiled. “Now,” he said, as Virginia sat down beside him, “what’s all this about the Paymaster and Keno?”
“Well,” began Virginia as Wiley sat silent,291“there really was tungsten in the mine. Wiley discovered it first–he was just going through the town when he saw that specimen in my collection–and since then,–oh, everything has happened!”
“By the dog!” exclaimed the Colonel starting quickly to his feet. “Do you mean that Crazy Charley spoke the truth? Is the mine really open and the town full of people and─”
“You wouldn’t know it!” cried Virginia, triumphantly. “All that heavy, white quartz was tungsten!”
“What? That waste on the dump? But how much is it worth? Old Charley says it’s better than gold!”
“It is!” she answered. “Why, some of that rock ran five thousand dollars to the ton!”
“Five–thousand!” repeated the Colonel, and then he whirled on Wiley. “What’s the reason, then,” he demanded, “that you’re hiding out here in the hills? Didn’t you get possession of the mine?”
“Under a bond and lease,” explained Wiley shortly. “I failed to meet the final payment.”
“Why–how much was this payment?” inquired the Colonel cautiously, as he sensed the sudden constraint. “It seems to me the mine should have paid it at once.”
“Fifty thousand,” answered Wiley, gazing glumly at the ground and the Colonel opened his eyes!
“Fifty thousand!” he exclaimed. “Only fifty thousand dollars? Well! What were the circumstances, Wiley?”
292He stood expectant and as Wiley boggled and hesitated Virginia rose up and stood beside him.
“He got the bond and lease from Blount,” she began, talking rapidly, “and when Blount found that the white quartz was tungsten ore, he did all he could to block Wiley. When Wiley first came through the town and stopped at our house he knew that that white quartz was tungsten; but he couldn’t do anything, then. And then, by-and-by, when he tried to bond the mine, Blount came up himself and tried to work it.”
“He did, eh?” cried the Colonel. “Well, by what right, I’d like to know, did he dare to take possession of the Paymaster?”
“Oh, he’d bought up all the stock; and Mother, she took yours and─”
“What?” yelled the Colonel, and then he closed down his jaw and his blue eyes sparkled ominously. “Proceed,” he said. “The information, first–but, by the gods, he shall answer for this!”
“But all the time,” went on Virginia hastily, “the mine belonged to Wiley. It had been sold for taxes–and he bought it!”
“Ah!” observed the Colonel, and glanced at him shrewdly for he saw now where the tale was going.
“Well,” continued Virginia, “when Blount saw Wiley wanted it he came up and took it himself. And he hired Stiff Neck George to herd the mine and keep Wiley and everybody away. But when he was working it, why Wiley came back and293claimed it under the tax sale; and he went right up to the mine and took away George’s gun–and kicked him down the dump!”
“He did!” exclaimed the Colonel, but Wiley did not look up, for his mind was on the end of the tale.
“And then–oh, it’s all mixed up, but Blount couldn’t find any gold and so he leased the mine to Wiley. And the minute he found that the white quartz was tungsten, and worth three dollars a pound, he was mad as anything and did everything he could to keep him from meeting the payment. But Wiley went ahead and shipped a lot of ore and made a lot of money in spite of him. He cleaned out the mine and fixed up the mill and oh, Father, you wouldn’t know the place!”
“Probably not!” returned the Colonel, “but proceed with your story. Who holds the Paymaster, now?”
“Why Blount, of course, and he’s moved back to town and is simply shoveling out the ore!”
“The scoundrel!” burst out the Colonel. “Wiley, we will return to Keno immediately and bring this blackguard to book! I have a stake in this matter, myself!”
“Nope, not for me!” answered Wiley wearily. “You haven’t heard all the story. I fell down on the final payment–it makes no difference how–and when I came back Blount had jumped the mine and Stiff Neck George was in charge. But instead of warning me off he hid behind a car and–well, I don’t care to go back there, now.”
294“Why, certainly! You must!” declared the Colonel warmly. “You were acting in self defense and I consider that your conduct was justified. In fact, my boy, I wish to congratulate you–Charley tells me he had the drop on you.”
“Yes, sure,” grumbled Wiley, “but you aren’t the judge–and there’s a whole lot more to the story. It happens that I took an option on Blount’s Paymaster stock, but when I offered the payment he protested the contract and took the case to court. Now–he’s got the town of Vegas in his inside vest pocket, the lawyers and judges and all; and do you think for a minute he’s going to let me come back and take away those four hundred thousand shares?”
“Four hundred thousand?” repeated the Colonel incredulously, “do you mean to tell me─”
“Yes, you bet I do!” said Wiley, “and I’ll tell you something else. According to the dates on the back of those certificates it was Blount that sold you out. He sold all his promotion stock before the panic; and then, when the price was down to nothing, he turned around and bought it back. I knew from the first that he’d lied about my father and I kept after him till I got my hands on that stock–and then, when I’d proved it, he tried to put the blame on you!”
“The devil!” exclaimed the Colonel, and paced up and down, snapping his fingers and muttering to himself. “The cowardly dastard!” he burst out at last. “He has poisoned ten years of my life.295I must hurry back at once and go to John Holman and apologize to him publicly for this affront. After all the years that we were pardners in everything, and then to have me doubt his integrity! He was the soul of honor, one man in ten thousand; and yet I took the word of this lying Blount against the man I called My Friend! I remember, by gad, as if it were yesterday, the first time I really knew your father; and Blount was squeezing me, then. I owed him fifteen thousand dollars on a certain piece of property that was worth fifty thousand at least; and at the very last moment, when he was about to foreclose, John Holman loaned me the money. He mortgaged his cattle at the other bank and put the money in my hand, and Blount cursed him for an interfering fool! That was Blount, the Shylock, and Honest John Holman; and I turned against my friend.”
“Yes, that’s right,” agreed Wiley, “but if you want to make up for it, make ’em quit calling him ‘Honest John’!”
“No, indeed,” cried the Colonel, his voice tremulous with emotion. “He shall still be called Honest John; and if any man doubts it or speaks the name fleeringly he shall answer personally to me. And now, about this stock–what was that, Virginia, that you were saying about my holdings?”
“Why, Mother put them up as collateral on a loan, and Blount claimed them at the end of the first month.”
“All my stock? Well, by the horn-spoon–how296much did your mother borrow? Eight–hundred? Eight hundred dollars? Well, that is enough, on the face of it–but never mind, I will recover the stock. It is certainly a revelation of human nature. The moment I am reported dead, these vultures strip my family of their all.”
“Well, I was one of them,” spoke up Wiley bluntly, “but you don’t need to blame my father. When I was having trouble with Mrs. Huff he wrote up and practically disowned me.”
“So you were one of them,” observed the Colonel mildly. “And you had trouble with Mrs. Huff? But no matter?” he went on. “We can discuss all that later–now to return to this lawsuit, with Blount. Do I understand that you had an option on his entire four hundred thousand shares?”
“For twenty thousand dollars,” answered Wiley, “and he was glad to get it–but, of course, when I opened up that big body of tungsten, the stock was worth into millions. That is, if he could keep me from making both payments. He fought me from the start, but I put up the twenty thousand; and the clerk of the court is holding it yet, unless the case is decided. But Blount knew he could beat it, if he could keep me from buying the mine under the terms of my bond and lease; and now that he’s in possession, taking out thirty or forty thousand every day, I’m licked before I begin. In fact, the case is called already and lost by default if I know that blackleg lawyer of mine.”
“But hire a good lawyer!” protested the Colonel.297“A man has a right to his day in court and you have never appeared.”
“No, and I never will,” spoke up Wiley despondently. “There’s a whole lot to this case that you don’t know. And the minute I appear they’ll arrest me for murder and railroad me off to the Pen. No, I’m not going back, that’s all.”
“But Wiley,” reasoned the Colonel, “you’ve got great interests at stake–and your father will help you, I’m sure.”
“No, he won’t,” declared Wiley. “There isn’t anybody that can help me, because Blount is in control of the courts. And I might as well add that I was run out of Vegas by a Committee appointed for the purpose.” He rose up abruptly, rolling his sullen eyes on Virginia and the Colonel alike. “In fact,” he burst out, “I haven’t got a friend on the east side of Death Valley Sink.”
“But on the west side,” suggested the Colonel, drawing Virginia to his side, “you have two good friends that I know─”
“Wait till you hear it all,” broke in Wiley, bitterly, “and you’re likely to change your mind. No, I’m busted, I tell you, and the best thing I can do is drift and never come back.”
“And Virginia?” inquired the Colonel. “Am I right in supposing─”
“No,” he flared up. “Friend Virginia has quit me, along with─”
“Why, Wiley!” cried Virginia, and he started and fell silent as he met her reproachful gaze. For298the sake of the Colonel they were supposed to be lovers, whose quarrel had been happily made up, but this was very unloverlike.
“Well, I don’t deserve it,” he muttered at last, “but friend Virginia has promised to stay with me.”