The big hotel in Goldfield was humming with talk and laughter, as people rushed here and there. Arriving guests were lined up at the desk, waiting anxiously to hear whether they could have a room and bath, or must content themselves with a plain room. A third of them betrayed signs of having slept out under the stars or under canvas. A few of them gazed at these desert dwellers with curiosity that was more than a little envious. The rest were quite absorbed in their own affairs and gave no attention to their neighbors. And the loungers in the great, velvet-upholstered chairs scattered amongst the great pillars of the lobby, watched the new ones, idly amused or indifferent.
"That's Bill Dale," a slender, black-eyed man volunteered to his companion on the right, and waved his cigar toward the elevator. "And that's his bride—the little Hunter girl. You know Don Hunter, don't you? Sure, you do! Well, that's his daughter and her mother. Bill? Why, he's the fellow that discovered Parowan!Gold you could hack out of the quartz with your knife! Yeah—that's the stuff they've got over across the street, in the window. Brought in a ton of it and dumped it in that window like so much dirt!
"Talk about luck! You know how he found it? Why, he was prospecting around and happened to camp at Parowan spring one night. And I'm blamed if a young cloud-burst didn't hit that side of the mountain, that night, and uncovered the whole vein, bare as your hand. Fact. Bill ran slap on to it when he went to the spring next morning for water.
"He was cute as the next one. Staked out a group of claims and kept the whole thing hushed up till he'd got everything nailed down. Laid out a town site, even. Did that on the quiet, too—Don Hunter got a surveyor friend of his to go down and run some lines on his ranch. When he got him down there, he just hitched up and hauled him over to Bill's claims, and had him lay out Parowan town and survey the group of claims so there wouldn't be any chance for fraction hunters. Everything air-tight——
"Huh? No, I didn't saywater-tight! Bill's incorporated, and everybody with two bits in his overalls is buying stock. Take my word, that stock's making a rocket look like a kid climbinga greased pole. I bought a block at par—first offering was at par, mind you. Nothing cheap about Bill! But then he's a fine, straight fellow, and everybody knows he wouldn't stand for any wildcatting. He'sgotit, you see. Why, they keep guards standing over that mine with sawed-off shotguns—or so I heard.
"What's that? Sure, I'll take you down there. If I get a chance, I'll have you meet Bill. Nothing swell-headed about him—I used to know him when he packed his grub out of here on two burros; wasn't so long ago, either, that he did that same thing—but everybody is after him now, of course. He always was popular and now his millions are not getting him the cold shoulder any, that I've noticed. Then he was just married to-day—this morning, upstairs in the parlor—with all the big bugs in town present. They're leaving to-morrow morning for California on their honeymoon.
"You know, Fred, if you want a good, safe investment that will bring quick returns, Parowan's your best bet. Either buy Parowan Consolidated, or else go down and pick up some lots in the town. As for the stock, they're shipping gold out of there in the rock right now and building a mill with the proceeds. There's going to be a railroad in there soon as it can be put through; two, I heardto-day—but that may be just street gossip. Some one was saying a cut-off's coming through from Las Vegas to Parowan, and on to Goldfield. Don't know how true that is, but I do know for a fact that a line will be put through from Barstow or thereabouts. That's been talked of for quite a while, but Goldfield has lost the peak of her boom in the last few months, and it took this new Parowan strike to bring things to a head.
"Bill's heading this way. You hold my place—I'm going to wander across his trail and meet him. If I can, I'll bring him over. I want you to meet the man that's being talked about more than any other man in the West to-day."
The black-eyed man manœuvered cleverly so that he met Bill within six feet of the settee where his friend was waiting. But Bill was halted in the middle of a group that seemed disinclined to make their greetings brief. They were important-looking men, money-makers every one, if looks meant anything. All were laughing; several were talking at once. The black-eyed man caught Bill's eye over the shoulder of those in front, and tilted his head backwards. Bill answered the look with a slight nod and gradually worked his way toward the signaller.
"How are you, Davis? Pretty crowded here to-night." Mechanically Bill shook hands, thatfriendly ceremony having been forced upon him in the past two months until his hand went out as unconsciously as does the hand of a politician at election time. Davis held to the hand and drew him toward the settee.
"Gold's an old story to you, Bill, but all the same I want you to meet a friend of mine who is just down from Alaska after his own little clean-up. Fred Moore's his name, and he's not such a bad guy to have for a friend. Packed me in out of the cold on his back, once, when I was up there a year or two ago. How many miles was it, Fred, that you carried me that time?"
Fred had gotten to his feet and was shaking hands with Bill. "Not over forty," he parried indifferently. "So you're a bloated plutocrat, eh? Davis has been telling me all about you. Placer or quartz?"
"Free milling gold in quartz," Bill told him, and then excused himself hastily, with two valid reasons. One was the appearance of Doris by the elevator, evidently looking for him; and the other was his growing distaste for the subject of his mine. It seemed to him that every man he met seized the first opportunity to quiz and question him about Parowan. Over and over again he had told the truth about finding the mine. Now he was cynically content to let the garbled newspaper stories and the gossip of men stand for the truth.
Mr. Rayfield joined him without greeting or apology as Bill made his way to the elevator,—and his bride. Mr. Emmett saw the two and came up, so that the three arrived together before Doris.
"Are you going to have time this evening to hold that business meeting, Bill?" Emmett asked casually. "Your train leaves about nine o'clock in the morning, doesn't it? We ought to get that straightened out before you go, or we'll have to pester you with papers to sign and a lot of detail work. What do you want done about the meeting?"
Bill hesitated, glancing toward Doris. Rayfield came to the rescue, laying his hand familiarly on Bill's arm, perfectly aware of the fact that half the men in the lobby were at that moment registering a certain degree of envy.
"Now, if you don't want to attend that meeting, Bill, just leave it to us. We can get everything done and you can sign the minutes in the morning. My, my, events are surely moving fast! There's a bunch of New York men here to-day—just got in this morning. They want to start a bank at Parowan just as soon as they can get a roof to put it under. And that man O'Hara, withthe chain of hotels all up and down the coast, wants a good corner with two hundred feet frontage on Main Street. He's going to build a hotel. We'll have to take that up to-night at the meeting. The question is, do we present him with the ground for the sake of getting him down there, or do we make him pay, the same as other folks? He argues that the prestige of having an O'Hara House at Parowan is worth the site to put it on." He pursed his lips, which was his substitute for a smile.
"Make him pay!" Doris exclaimed, laughing a bit. "You can bet he isn't going to build an O'Hara House at Parowan just to help make our town look nice. He'll charge boom prices and clean up a fortune. Why should we donate to the cause? Won't he be making his money off us and the things we're doing?"
"That'sthe way to talk!" Rayfield beamed upon her with his good eye. "O'Hara's not in the hotel business for his health, you can bet on that. And if he doesn't build a hotel down there, some one else will."
"Yes, but let it once be known that O'Hara's going to put up a hotel in Parowan, and our stock will take another jump. We could well afford to give him the ground to build on." Mr. Emmett'stone betrayed the fact that this point had been discussed before.
"Oh, split the difference," Bill suggested impatiently. "Let him pick his own site, and charge him half price for it. You're both right, according to my understanding of the case. O'Hara'll clean up a bunch of money on the investment, just as Doris says. And John's right about the prestige of having an O'Hara House. Make him call it that trade name. Then he won't dare work off poor accommodations on the public. When folks know that they can get O'Hara standard of cooking and so on at Parowan, they'll come in droves. I reckon that's what makes a town."
"That's the talk!" Rayfield patted approval on Bill's flat, muscular shoulder. "Suppose we make that a regular policy, folks? Cut the prices on building sites for all enterprises that will reflect credit on the town, to just half the selling price?" He looked from one to the other eagerly. "The selling price is going up steadily, you know. Having to pay something for a site will shut out the little shoestring propositions that go broke and leave empty houses behind them. That always looks bad in a town. If they have to pay for their building site, it means they'll have to have capital behind them. And no firm is going to sink money in real estate unless they mean business."
"Oh, come on up to our sitting room and let's have the meeting there and get it over with," said Doris. "I'm terribly interested in the whole thing—but honestly, my feet are just ready to drop off! It's a radical change from desert shoes to French-heeled pumps, let me tell you."
"All right—come on up," Bill invited resignedly.
Rayfield looked at Emmett.
"Sure, if your wife isn't too tired," Emmett hesitated. "You've got an early start to make in the morning, remember."
"Oh, fudge!" Doris placed a finger tip on the elevator button. "This is important. We don't want to go away and leave a lot of tag ends, do we, Bill? Because," she added, smiling up at them, "goodness only knows when we'll come back!"
The elevator slid down, the door slid open and Doris stepped inside, Bill just behind her, his hand placed solicitously under her elbow.
"We'd better get all the books and bring up, then," Mr. Rayfield suggested, standing just outside. "I think it will be a good idea to clean up everything, so John and I won't have to bother you again. You go on up, and we'll be right along in a few minutes."
He gave them a smile like a benediction. Whenit was quite certain that the conversation had terminated, the elevator boy deferentially closed the door and conveyed bride and groom to the second floor with the air of one who waits upon royalty.
"Shall I unlock the door for you, sir?" he asked eagerly.
"No, thanks," drawled Bill. "I'm not paralyzed, sonny." But he slid a coin into the boy's hand to salve the rebuff.
"Now, Bill-dear, youmustgive enough time to business to let John and Walter go ahead without having to bother us every day. You know, we're going to travel around, just wherever we take the notion we want to go. We don't want Parowan riding our necks all the time. Walter told me that if you signed the stock books in blank, and the Corporation check book, he wouldn't have to bother you at all——"
"That's giving them a pretty free hand, honey," Bill objected, laying his cheek against her silky hair as she stood within his arms.
Doris turned in the embrace so that she could look into his eyes.
"Why, Bill Dale! If you don'ttrustJohn and Walter, why have you got them in the company? Why is Walter Rayfield Vice President and General Manager, then, and John, Secretary andTreasurer? Bill-dear, don't you think you are rather inconsistent?"
Bill kissed her.
"Bill, it would just about break my heart to see you tie yourself down to running Parowan Consolidated. I think that would show a streak of narrowness in you, dear. It seems to me that the whole advantage of having the mine and the town site and everything is to be able to let others do the work and leave you free. You see, dear, they both resigned from good government positions to take hold and help organize the company, and the best way to show your gratitude, I think, is to trust them with the management now. We've got the control, haven't we? And they certainly have shown that they know exactly how to go ahead and make money out of the mine.
"Why, dear man, just think!You'dhave plugged along, just digging out the gold and selling it.They'vemade a fortune for us already, without taking out more than enough gold to make all the expenses of the organization and the town-site promotion, and mining and hauling. I don't know how they do it—but they certainly are wizards at getting in money."
"I love you, little wife," said Bill irrelevantly. "If money will make you the happiest woman on earth, they can't dig up too much."
Doris pulled him over to a red velvet couch and sat down beside him, snuggling against his straight, strong body.
"Bill, you mustn't think I worship money above other things. I don't. But all my life I've heard one sentence that always grated on my nerves and my sense of justice. Whenever I wanted something nice, daddy or mother would say, 'We can't afford it.' They worked hard, and I worked and tried to do right always—and still we couldn'taffordto enjoy life.
"Bill-dear, I never want to hear that said to me again, as long as I live!" She drew away from him, so that she could look into his face. Her own was flushed and very earnest. "Now we're rich, I mean to have the things and enjoy the things we couldn'tafford. I never want to wonder whether the money will hold out to the end of the trip. I want to buy things without asking what they cost. I—I'm justhungryfor the world, Bill! And if you had to hurry back and look after things, I—I——"
Bill gathered her into his arms, his throat contracting painfully at the sudden quiver of her lips. One day married, and Doris had tears in her eyes!
"I'll make you one promise, right now," he said contritely. "I'll never bring you back to thiscountry unless you want to come. And I'll fix it so that you'll always be able to afford anything you want. Why, allIwant is to see you happy and keep you loving me, sweetheart. I could grin at the world if I were a hobo and had your love. So never worry about having to come back to Parowan or any other place."
Doris rewarded him properly for that, and immediately made use of her woman's prerogative and had the last word.
"Then you'd better lay aside that suspiciousness of yours and fix things so you won'thaveto come back," she pouted. "John and Walter are perfectly capable of managing things, and it's to their interest. Look at the salary they're getting—and the big block of stock you gave them! Our interests are their interests, Bill-dear—and they can do the work. You did your share when you tramped the desert and found the mine. It's their turn now at the job."
Into the echo of that speech walked John and Walter, drawn into Christian-name intimacy in the past two months. Their arms were full of books—too precious to be carried by anxious bellboys—their heads were full of plans and the details of their work. Their hearts were full, too, of zeal, perchance. One must judge most persons by their faces and the words they speak.
So Bill spent a weary two hours signing stock certificates in blank, on the line in the right-hand corner entitledPRESIDENTin small caps. They were dignified-looking certificates, but Bill grew very tired of them before he was through.
After that, Bill rubbed the cramp out of his right hand and wrist, and signed a large book of blank checks withParowan Consolidated Mining Company, Incorporated, printed across the face in letters much larger than the name of the bank. Bill thought suspiciously of certain dishonest uses to which his signature as president might be put, and immediately throttled suspicion with the stern hand of loyalty. Doris was right. If he didn't trust John Emmett and Walter Rayfield, why were they officers in his company?
"There's one thing I want done," he said abruptly, pushing the signed blanks away from him with a sigh of relief. "I want that whole block—the wholeblock, remember—where my tent and dugout stands made over to me. I want a high board fence built around it, with spikes in the top. I want a padlock on the gate. I want that tent and cellar left just as I left it, with Tommy as caretaker. And I want Tommy to have a block next to it, to do as he pleases with it. Can you make out the papers to-night?"
They could. Bill sat for some time silent, smoking meditatively and staring at the door through which the fate of Parowan had passed, in the persons of John S. Emmett and Walter B. Rayfield.
He was a rich man, even now. He was growing richer so fast that he felt slightly dizzy when he tried to follow the process by which his bank account increased. It wasn't the gold in the mine that did it—yet. Doris was right; the gold shipped had just about paid the expense of exploitation. People were buying town lots at boom prices and selling them at double what they paid. He was not the only man who was growing rich. Even Tommy was talking about starting a saloon and calling it "Tommy's Place" with naïve triteness.
As Parowan Consolidated was selling in the open market, Bill was a millionaire. As Parowan lots were selling, Bill's income was better than a thousand dollars a day—real money, that, with a certain increase as men flocked to the new camp. Already that camp was noisy—garish, unwholesome, no place at all for Doris to live. Bill had tried to prevent that. He had wanted a decent town, had worked and sweated and sworn to make it so. But Parowan was like a landslide started with one ill-judged step. It has gathered a devastating power as it progressed, until now, Bill knew that it was out of hand; a boom town,living up to the reputation of other boom towns. Only—and Bill sighed relievedly as he thought of it—hisboom had a mine to give it a solid foundation.
"No reason in the world why Parowan shouldn't be on the map a hundred years from now," he muttered, and began to unlace the first pair of patent-leather shoes he had ever worn.
A mysterious, clotted haze of gray and blue and smoke smudges, shot with rose and deeper tints of carmine; a churning of white foam in an oily sweep of undulating water that caught the lights from the sunset so that they swam through a magic floating world; screaming gulls flapping close, their pink legs hanging straight down like little sticks; bellowing boat whistles, deep siren blasts, pricking lights in the haze. With frankly confessed eagerness, Doris stood with Bill in the bow of the ferry and gazed enraptured, her face pallid with emotion.
Bill looked down at her, knew himself forgotten in that moment of blissful arrival into her dream world. A vague hurt, a slow understanding, sobered his face as he watched her. Then, like a blow that forces open a door, Bill saw. There, mirrored in her eyes, on the tremulous lips, glowing through the pallor of her cheeks, was a joy, an incredulous rapture such as he himself had known, not once, but many times in the pastweeks. Doris was trying to feel the reality of a dream come true. Bill remembered poignantly how he had struggled to express that emotion, and the paucity of words that had held him dumb.
He had felt it when his lips first touched the lips of Doris; when she had said that she loved him. Doris—why, Doris had wanted to talk about the gold, about whatever came into her mind. Things, other than their love, could claim her thoughts, while she stood abashed before the miracle. He had thought that Doris was different. She didn't show her feelings much; women were shy about love. It never occurred to him to question the depth of her love until that moment.
"Why didn't she have that look in her eyes—then?" he thought sharply. He had never seen just this look in her face; no, nor anything approaching that look. There was an answer, but Bill shut his mind against it. And then, as if a devil had prompted the words, Doris turned and spoke a sentence which Bill recognized.
"I was always scared to dream I'd ever actually be here," she said, and her voice was hushed. "Oh, Bill-dear, I'm so happy my heart justaches!"
"Are you, honey?" Bill bit his lips and hid something away where even his own heart must never find it. She had elaborated on his brokenspeech there at Parowan Number One, but Bill set that down to a more versatile vocabulary. He too had been so happy his heart had ached; but he had not been able to find those words to say.
Desert tan and mail-order trousseau hurt her pride terribly. She insisted upon a quiet hotel until the defects could be remedied but Bill only laughed at her vanity. He could call it that now, though he loved the trait,—since he could gratify it.
"When you've got a million dollars in your fist nobody's going to mind if you walk into the Palace in a gingham dish apron," he told her shrewdly. "And besides, if you had everything you think you need, you'd lose the fun of buying." He paused, glancing from the window of the taxi,—there were not so many, in those days. "What do you like best, little lady, diamonds, pearls or rubies?"
"All of them," Doris stated solemnly.
They laughed together, and Doris squeezed Bill's arm and said she was happy.
Mrs. William Gordon Dale proved herself a capable young woman who could adapt herself quickly to changed circumstances and surroundings. Once she discovered that desert tan can scarcely be distinguished from the carefully cultivated tan of ocean beaches, her self-consciousness melted into calm assurance. Likewise merged the mail-order trousseau into the almost-latest fashion of gowns, hats, cloaks, of a restrained elegance and a clever adaptation to that indefinable thing she called her "style" and clung to with firmness in the face of gorgeous temptations.
Wherefore, she arrived in Santa Barbara (Bill accompanying her, of course) with only five trunks and the sophisticated air of a girl who was born to luxury.
"You sure don't look as if you've ever had your hands in dough," was Bill's way of putting it. "I never noticed your hands so much before. I always loved them, but now I keep looking at them for their beauty."
"There are arts and wiles, Bill-dear, that make a heap of difference. It just takes time and money—and I have loads of both. Weren't those people lovely, that we met on the beach?"
"Baker Cole and his wife? Yes, he struck me just about right. Human cuss, that you can slip an improper remark to without wishing you had kept your darn mouth shut and concealed your ignorance. I'm sick of being made to think that desert words put me in the natural-curiosity class. Darn 'em, I've had more education than half the Johnnies that give me the tolerant look. Thereare men in this hotel with more money than I've got, that say, 'They told he and I——' and never turn a hair. But if I forget to stand up when a woman comes within rifle shot, they look as if I had insulted their wives. Lord, little lady, I've lived too long where there weren't any women! A fellow gets out of practice."
Doris came over and rumpled his hair with her meticulously manicured fingers that had won his astonished admiration.
"You know, Bill-dear, there's another thing you forget. You must take soup from thesideof the spoon; and peas, dear man, are eaten with a fork—out here."
"I know it—but darn it, I like the juice. If I ain't wealthy enough to take mine with a spoon, I'll get out and rake in more money. Funny, isn't it, Doris? In the desert I felt myself a Beau Brummel—as I understand that term—amongst the miners and prospectors I came in contact with. I was as good as anybody—better than some. Out here, they make me feel like a cave man with his first clothes on."
"I'm sure your manners are very good, Bill-dear," Doris comforted him absently. "Just a few little points to remember—things one never encounters in the desert. If you watch the others—at table, you know—and do as they do about which fork——"
"Not on your life!" (After six weeks of hotel honeymoon and their clothes inextricably mixed in the dresser drawers, and Bill constantly on the alert lest he hurt Doris' feelings, he could argue with his divinity quite as if she were human.) "I'm not going to make a monkey of myself, copying the fellow who sits across the table. I'll do what's comfortable for me and the rest of the bunch, and let it go at that. I don't aspire to be any lady's man, Doris, nor any society bird. Men like Baker Cole don't grin behind their hands if you go first into the dining room and let your wife follow. I know—I saw you blush for shame last night, honey. But your old Bill wants to break trail for you all his life. It's second nature for me to go first and see what's ahead of us, and put it out of your way if it's dangerous."
Doris laughed at him, showing the dimple in her left cheek,—with a faint film of powder distinguishable there nowadays.
"You dear old silly, just take this view of the matter, and it'll help you remember the rules, maybe: I might be kidnaped behind your back, and you wouldn't know it, stalking ahead of me the way you do. You're supposed to shoo a lady gently before you down the aisle, and see thathandsome villains don't cut in behind you." Her hand slipped down and patted his lean, freshly shaven jaw.
"Dear man, is the money holding out?" she asked suddenly, coming at last to the thing that was foremost in her mind.
Bill let his head drop back against the cushioned chair and laughed at her, his eyes half-closed and feasting on her face.
"You never wanted to ask that question as long as you lived," he reminded her teasingly.
"I know, dear. I don't mean that I think we're running short. I can't begin to spend my share that John sends me. But you know, dear, we're needing more and more, as we get the hang of it. We keep finding out about things rich people have and do, that I'm sure I never dreamed of, in the desert. Most of them have things that date back to their fathers and grandfathers, and we naturally have to spend a lot, just bringing ourselves up to date. For instance, Mrs. Baker Cole is thinking about a new automobile and wondering what kind she had better have. And Bill-dear—wehaven't even had our first, yet!"
"Lord, what a world!" chuckled Bill. "And you're wondering if we can have one. Honey, you wait and see what kind of an automobile Mrs. Baker Cole buys, and then you buy two just likeit. Or else you find one that costs just twice as much as hers."
"Don't tease so, Bill. But really, Idowant one. And I—miss Little Dorrit, sort of. There are beautiful trails here, winding around through trees, and I've noticed that the really nicest people ride every morning. I've wished, when I saw them starting out or coming back, that I could go, too."
"Do you want Little Dorrit, honey?" Bill lifted the necklace of Parowan gold spun into the finest of twisted threads and set with emeralds that made her skin look whiter. Bill had stood over the jeweler while that necklace was being made, and the result was a happy one.
"Oh, no—Little Dorrit hasn't got the style. I was wondering if we couldn't buy a couple of saddle horses. I'm crazy about Mrs. Burlingame's riding habit, Bill—and I've got one planned that would beat it. And I know the tailor who made hers. And Bill, couldn't we—no, I don't want to take a house, either. Not yet. I don't know enough of the nicest people, and couldn't entertain. I'd rather just stay here for awhile longer. Wouldn't you?"
Bill secretly loathed hotel life, and his heart had given a great thump when she almost wanted a house like the Burlingame's. But he did notmention either his loathing or his desire. Why should he? His business was to keep Doris happy, to gratify every passing whim, except when the whim changed before gratification was humanly possible.
They went together next day and chose an automobile, and hired a chauffeur warranted to give satisfaction and promised a speedy demise if ever he forgot to drive cautiously when his mistress was in the car.
In the new automobile they drove out to a famous horsebreeder's place, and bought two saddle horses, and Doris ordered her riding habit and was deliciously happy for several hours. Then she awoke to the fact that it was a sheer waste of money, time and energy to have no maid to look after her clothes and do her hair and fetch and carry. Besides, Bill was getting acquainted with men and wanted to go here and there, looking up what he called "propositions," and Doris felt that it would look much better, and give her more real freedom, if she had a maid to accompany her on drives and at the beach——
"And then I wouldn't have to keep an eye on my parasol and purse and book and bathrobe, and everything, Bill-dear," she detailed, unconsciously justifying what she instinctively felt would not meet with Bill's approval. "My maidwould look after everything while I was in the surf. That would be her business." She was talking to Bill's back, which made her uncomfortable. She wished he would not stand staring out of the window, like that, while she talked things over with him. It was getting to be a regular habit. She always liked to see a person's face when she talked.
"You don't mind, do you, Bill—if I have a maid? All the nicest——"
"Anything your little heart desires!" Bill said, turning abruptly and smiling steadfastly down at her where she was sitting on the floor, on a purple silk cushion, trying on a pair of satin slippers that didn't seem to want to go on at the heel. He watched her, his eyes studying her flushed face and tousled hair.
"I reckon you do need help," he said, a dryness in his tone of which he was not quite aware, and which Doris missed altogether in her absorption. "If you had somebody to do all the things you spend your time on, maybe we could enjoy life—better," he added hastily. "We could be together more, couldn't we?"
"Together more?" Doris looked up, the silver shoehorn poised in her hand. "Good gracious! Aren't we together every single minute, almost? Bill, see if you can get this pesky slipperon; the other one's all right; they're half a size too small, but they're the only pair that just matches that new lace gown." (Doris had already learned to say gown and frock, and to avoid the word dress except as a verb.)
Bill knelt and lifted the foot, thrilling again at the touch of her slim ankle.
"Do you remember the night you came to camp, all wet and cold, and—you let me unlace your boots?" He smiled wistfully into her eyes. "I was all a-tremble, honey—I had to keep my lip between my teeth, and bite down hard to steady me. I was so happy——"
"What about? The privilege of handling wet boot laces?" Doris leaned and tried to push her toes farther into the slipper.
"They wereyourboot laces." Bill's soul withdrew from her matter-of-factness, much as Sister Mitchell used to draw into her shell at the first blast on the saxophone.
"I wonder if the housekeeper won't have something to stretch this slipper on," said Doris. "Can you find out, dear? I simplymustmake them do for to-night, or I can't wear that gown."
"Why can't you wear something else, then, and be comfortable?" Bill set her foot on the floor and got up. "You'd better take these back and change them."
"I can't," Doris said shortly. "I've ordered our table decorated to harmonize with this particular outfit. You don't understand, Bill-dear. Men get the effect, all right, and call a woman beautiful or ugly or just so-so, and never dream that it's because the details have been thought out, or haven't. I've noticed things. I know exactly how women get that carelessly beautiful effect. It doesn't just happen so, dear man. They spendhours, just thinking up the careless touches.
"Now, just to show you," she expanded graciously for Bill's education, "I have fallen into the habit of telling the head waiter that I'd like certain flowers, or whatever it is I choose, on our table for dinner. Then I dress accordingly. Nobody knows it's planned, but I'll bet you, dear, they get the effect just the same. The stupid ones pile it all on their persons and merely look new-rich. You've never seenmelook new-rich, have you, Bill?"
"Not on your life." Bill was startled into a fresh appraisal of his bride. Heretofore he had looked on, amused at her plunge into the pleasures of fashionable hotel life. Now it struck him suddenly that the slim, competent desert girl who could break a horse to the saddle or rope and brand a calf, bake pies and bread to make achef envious, was bringing that clever brain into action in a field entirely new to her, and was demonstrating the same clever competence which had distinguished her on the ranch.
With a new respect for her intelligence he saw to the detail of having the slipper stretched. Afterward he observed that Doris had really achieved a small triumph of harmonious beauty. The table decoration did add something indefinable to her own sweet self; something which caused the eyes of others to turn their way in unconscious tribute to her beauty, as one looks and looks again at any other charming picture. As a votary of wealth and fashion Mrs. William Gordon Dale was beyond criticism, destined to become a high priestess of the art of effective extravagance.
Baker Cole was a man who did his own thinking and was willing that the other fellow should do the same; indeed, he was tolerantly disdainful when the other fellow failed to do the same. He was so rich that he did not think much about money, or judge a man by his Bradstreet rating. Money flowed toward Baker Cole apparently of its own volition. He had started life with a fortune for his birthright, and he had gone on his way with a humorous philosophy which armored him against flattery, abuse or the deliberate attacks of other men whose fortunes equalled his but who were not content with another man's well-being.
Baker Cole's interest was first attracted to Bill's straight suppleness in the surf, and by the fact that, brown though he was to shoulders and chest, Bill was just learning to swim. Because of this incongruity, Baker Cole was given the opportunity of grabbing Bill by the hair and saving him from a vicious undertow. He wondered abit, until he discovered that a man working in a sleeveless, low-necked undershirt under a desert sun may have the mark of a beach lounger burned into his skin.
"That accounts for your legs not being tanned." Baker Cole hauled himself out of the surf like a big, good-looking seal, and lay puffing and looking Bill over. "Wish I had muscles like yours," he remarked, crooking his finger toward a young man who immediately hurried up with cigarettes and matches. Bill accepted a smoke, and the two began to talk.
An hour later, they went toeing deep in the fine, loose sand to where a huge, striped umbrella hid all but a shapely, canvas-shod foot. Bill helped Doris to her feet and introduced Baker Cole, who appraised her shrewdly with one glance and decided that his wife would like her.
That began the acquaintance. In a week, the Baker Coles and the William Gordon Dales (Doris had quietly insisted upon full names from the first hotel register,—and had put it over with complete success) were pairing off together quite naturally and without deliberate intent; which is the test of congeniality the world over.
From a surreptitiously acquired paid teacher, Doris had learned bridge. She succeeded in teaching Bill, chiefly because he couldn't bear to disappoint her and because it gave him an opportunity to watch her hands without betraying a fatuous admiration. He had learned that Doris considered open love-making bad form, and was acquiring a more restrained manner of worship in accordance with her expressed wish. Wherefore, Bill willingly learned bridge after hours in their rooms, when he was dead tired, and watched unobtrusively for some sign of weariness in the sweet face opposite him. The reward for that was a more complete intimacy between the Baker Coles and the William Gordon Dales.
Bill could not remember afterwards just when or how Doris first found her pleasures apart from him. He saw that "nice" women were becoming her friends, and of course there were little parties and purely feminine gatherings to which Doris went with avid enjoyment. She would sit and tell Bill all about them afterwards, and Bill would listen bewilderingly to detailed descriptions of gowns and refreshments and scores and prizes, and to gossip not quite so harmless.
Sometimes his thoughts would wander to certain experiences of his own,—innocent experiences, though he did not tell her about them always. Baker Cole was at present amused with the spectacle of money flowing out of crude oil pumped from the ground. It amazed even him tosee how fast the oil could turn into money. He called Bill's attention to the phenomenon, and Bill was immediately interested, and for reasons which he kept to himself.
Through Baker Cole's shrewd acquaintance with the game of directing and augmenting the flow of money, Bill turned tiny trickles toward his own bank account, and was amazed at the speed with which they became swift-moving streams.
"Lord, I thought Parowan was a miracle I'd never see repeated," he confided one day to Baker Cole. "Money commenced piling up before we started to move the gold. We laid out a town site, and people came in droves to buy lots and start building. It used to give me a chill at the chances they were taking. What if there wasn't a real mine there? Where would the town get off? Baker, if those men had lost on the gamble, who'd be responsible—me?"
Baker Cole rolled a fragrant cigar between his lips and regarded Bill meditatively through half-closed eyes.
"Depends on what or who induced them to speculate," he said bluntly. "How did you work it, Bill?"
Bill shook his head and looked away to wherebreakers were beating white foam against a segment of cliffs.
"Hell, I dunno," he confessed helplessly. "I found the mine. Then some government men came along and advised me to incorporate and to lay out a town site. I got them to resign their positions and take hold of it. We laid out the town site, and took some gold up to Goldfield and showed it, and that started the parade. Folks tromped each other's feet to get in."
"What did you do then? Sell out?" Perhaps Baker Cole knew, since he was an exceedingly well-informed man. But he waited for Bill to tell him.
"No, I'm president of the company. They fixed things so I wouldn't have to be on the ground, and we came out here to play around awhile." Bill started to explain that he had not wanted to leave, but shut his teeth upon the words. That would be unfair to Doris.
"How are things going, with you out here? Got any idea?"
Bill grinned, with a worried look back of his eyes.
"Two railroads are busting a lung trying to see which one will whistle first at the depot," he detailed laconically. "I guess that tells the tale, doesn't it?"
"Several." Baker Cole took out his cigar and looked it over carefully before he put it back in his mouth.
"The money keeps coming in," Bill went on. "Everything's fine. We're building a mill and that employs a good many men. A lot of companies have sprung up, claiming to have discovered gold—which I guess they have. TheParowan Recordcomes out every Saturday, and there's a bank and hotel—you know. It's atown. I feel like a loafer," he admitted ruefully. "But the boys are doing all I could do, I guess. They say everything is running smooth, and the town's a dandy—for a boom town. Soon as the railroads get there, so as to haul material faster, there'll be some fine buildings go up. Contracts are let and all."
He sighed and looked around at Baker Cole, seeking understanding.
"Parowan kind of rides my neck," he said simply. "It's all right—our mine is rich enough to hold it up till other mines get to producing—but I can't help feeling responsible for it, just the same. I feel as if I ought to be on the job myself."
"The wife likes it here," Baker Cole stated calmly.
"Yes. She hates the desert. I wouldn't takeher back there into that raw mining town—I wouldn't think of such a thing."
Baker Cole finished his cigar. Very deliberately he put out his hand, drew the ash tray closer and laid the cigar butt exactly in the middle of the tray, moving it twice, fractions of an inch to the center. Bill, his eyes fixed upon him, knew that Baker Cole was not conscious of tray, cigar, or mathematical measurements.
"Bill, I've made money all my life," he said, drawing a long breath as if an important matter had been successfully accomplished. "As far as it's possible to make money honestly, I've made it. Silver in Mexico, copper in Michigan and Montana and Colorado, crude petroleum here in California; I've taken more millions from the ground, Bill, than you'd dare believe if I told you. Had half a million when I was born. Then I was taught how to take care of what I had—and I learned how to make more.
"This Parowan of yours, now, would be something in my line; only, I'd want to take it in the start and handle it myself. I wouldn't invest a dime in the other fellow's game—not if he were my own brother. I'm not afraid of losing money—Ican'tlose money, seems like. It's the game. I see a chance to get something out of the ground that the world has use for, and I go after it likea dog after a ground squirrel. Money piles up when I've got it—but I've had the fun of the getting. And of course the money helps to play again. Dollars, you know, are mostly what you dig with. Dollars are the master tool of industry—and I don't see why the working men howl so about the man that can furnish that master tool. You take Parowan, now. Leaving out the gamblers that are risking their money, you've helped many a poor man to a job at top wages. Ain't that so?"
"I reckon it is," Bill assented perfunctorily. "There's always big wages where there's a boom, and many a man got his start that way. But you've hit the spot that hurts. It's the fun of doing things that I want. The money's coming in fast enough for all we want, but I'm a loafer for the first time in my life, Baker. My Lord! Think of a grown man putting in day after day just taking a horseback ride in the morning and a swim in the afternoon; and calling that exercise!
"When I was prospecting, Baker, I put in my time from dawn to dusk, hiking over the hills or swinging a pick. I ate because I was hungry. Now, by gosh, folks don't get hungry—they don't give themselves a chance. They eat because somebody's paid a big price to make grub taste good! This is a mighty pretty place to play around in,Baker—but I can't make a business of doing nothing." He made himself a cigarette—rolling his own whenever he was not under Doris' watchful eye—and lighted it absently. "Doris likes this sort of thing," he added pensively. "It's all right for women—but I'll be damned if it's any kinda life for a man!"
Baker Cole chuckled somewhere down in his chest and laid an impressive forefinger on Bill's arm.
"You come on and play withme, in my game," he invited. "I can't promise you won't make money at it—but you'll have fun."
"I bet I would, at that," said Bill. "But my wife doesn't want me to get into business. She wants me to run along and play." It was the nearest that Bill had ever come to uttering a complaint. He did not realize that it was even distantly related to a protest against the future which Doris had mapped out for them.
But as he spoke, he saw a swift, mental panorama of cities and shops and long, pillared, hotel corridors and suites furnished in velvet upholstery. He felt his feet sinking into the sickish softness of deep-piled carpets, and boys with bright buttons and little caps and silver trays dogging him with the prematurely calculating smirk. He saw long, shaded avenues down whichhe was carried swiftly on cushions,—always cushions and carpets and a smothery, scented atmosphere that sometimes nauseated him with its cloying sweetness.
He shut his eyes, pressing his lips together in silent revolt against the picture. And there, sharply outlined before him, were the stark, barren hills of the desert. Volcanic rubble in the foreground, and stunted sage, and a lizard ducking its head with a queer, ticking motion while it watched him from a rock; soft shadows lying at the foot of great boulders, and all the magic tints of distance; the two burros shuffling before him, picking their way daintily, setting tiny feet between the rocks; Sister Mitchell, horny and gray and solemn, clinging to the canvas with claws thrust out from her shell the size of a dinner plate; and Luella, a vivid bit of green in the gray monotone, riding gallantly the pack of Wise One and talking gravely of things a parrot shouldn't know; and Hez, solemnly herding the little company and believing himself indispensable,—Bill's teeth came down hard on his under lip.
"You're homesick," Baker Cole's voice shattered the vision for the moment.
Bill swallowed and could not meet his eyes. He threw away his cigarette, gone cold betweenhis lips—bitten, too, in the sharp pain of remembrance—and reached for his sack of tobacco.
"I want the crunch of gravel under my feet," he admitted, smiling a twisted smile. "The ocean kind of filled the hankering for distance—but I want to get out and walk and walk—— Aw, hell! A man can't have everything at once. I had the desert, and all the while I dreamed of being rich and not having to eat beans and bacon. I was almost as sick of that country as Mrs. Dale was. But somehow—she takes to this life better than I do. She hates to be reminded of Nevada, and has been trying to coax her folks to sell out and come to the Coast. I don't blame her—not for one minute. It's no place for a woman, back there."
Baker Cole rose and flicked cigar ashes off his vest.
"You're dated up with me for a little trip down Bakersfield way," he grinned. "I'll show you desert—and a game you'll like to play. It's going to be a stag party, so you'll have to get your wife's permission. We'll be gone a week, maybe. You'll have to sleep on the ground and cook over a camp fire. Bring a roll of blankets, if you like. Can you make it to-morrow?"
Doris thought it was rather sudden. She hadseveral things on for the week, however,—things which Bill-dear would not enjoy at all. Moreover, she had learned that close friendship with the Baker Coles was like being favored by royalty, and the necessity of explaining that her husband was off somewhere with Baker Cole for a week would cause the other women to twitter enviously and draw her closer within their hallowed circle.
"It'll be awfully lonesome, dear man, but I do think you'll enjoy the change. Don't worry one minute about me, Bill-dear. With my maid and chauffeur, I shall be all right. And Mrs. Baker Cole has asked me to stay with her, if I feel at all strange here at the hotel. Perhaps I shall. I haven't decided, yet."
Had she met the situation with a shade less equanimity, Bill would not have gone with Baker Cole. And that would have made a great difference, later on. But Destiny has a way of providing for the seemingly unimportant things of life,—which are never unimportant, whether we know it or not. He went with Baker Cole down into a region where men were pumping wealth from the ground deep under the sage-covered plains. His going was the beginning of several changes in Bill's life.