OLD MIZZOU RESIGNS
Bennington went faithfully to the Rock for four days. During whole
afternoons he sat there looking out over the Bad Lands. At sunset he
returned to camp. _Aliris: A Romance of all Time_ gathered dust.
Letters home remained unwritten. Prospecting was left to the capable
hands of Old Mizzou until, much to Bennington's surprise, that
individual resigned his position.
The samples lay in neatly tied coffee sacks just outside the door. The
tabulations and statistics only needed copying to prepare them for the
capitalist's eye. The information necessary to the understanding of
them reposed in a grimy notebook, requiring merely throwing into shape
as a letter to make them valuable to the Eastern owner of the property.
Anybody could do that.
Old Mizzou explained these things to Bennington.
"You-all does this jes's well's I," he said. "You expresses them
samples East, so as they kin assay 'em; an' you sends them notes and
statistics. Then all they is to do is to pay th' rest of the boys when
th' money rolls in. That ain't none of my funeral."
"But there's the assessment work," Bennington objected.
"That comes along all right. I aims to live yere in the camp jest th'
same as usual; and I'll help yo' git started when you-all aims to do
th' work."
"What do you want to quit for, then? If you live here, you may as well
draw your pay."
"No, sonny, that ain't my way. I has some prospectin' of my own to do,
an' as long as I is a employay of Bishop, I don't like to take his time
fer my work."
Bennington thought this very high-minded on the part of Old Mizzou.
"Very well," he agreed, "I'll write Bishop."
"Oh, no," put in the miner hastily, "no need to trouble. I resigns in
writin', of course; an' I sees to it myself."
"Well, then, if you'll help me with the assessment work, when shall we
begin?"
"C'yant jest now," reflected Old Mizzou, "'cause, as I tells you, I
wants to do some work of my own. A'ter th' Pioneer's Picnic, I
reckons."
The Pioneer's Picnic seemed to limit many things.
Bennington shipped the ore East, tabulated the statistics, and wrote
his report. About two weeks later he received a letter from Bishop
saying that the assay of the samples had been very poor--not at all up
to expectations--and asking some further information. As to the latter,
Bennington consulted Old Mizzou. The miner said, "I told you so," and
helped on the answer. After this the young man heard nothing further
from his employer. As no more checks came from the East, he found
himself with nothing to do.
For four afternoons, as has been said, he fruitlessly haunted the Rock.
On the fifth morning he met the girl on horseback. She was quite the
same as at first, and they resumed their old relations as if the fatal
picnic had never taken place. In a very few days they were as intimate
as though they had known each other for years.
Bennington read to her certain rewritten parts of _Aliris: A Romance of
all Time,_ which would have been ridiculous to any but these two. They
saw it through the glamour of youth; for, in spite of her assertions of
great age, the girl, too, felt the whirl of that elixir in her veins. You
see, he was twenty-one and she was twenty: magic years, more venerable
than threescore and ten. She gave him sympathy, which was just what he
needed for the sake of his self-confidence and development, just the
right thing for him in that effervescent period which is so necessary a
concomitant of growth. The young business man indulges in a hundred wild
schemes, to be corrected by older heads. The young artist paints strange
impressionism, stranger symbolism, and perhaps a strangest other-ism,
before at last he reaches the medium of his individual genius. The young
writer thinks deep and philosophical thoughts which he expresses in
measured polysyllabic language; he dreams wild dreams of ideal motive,
which he sets forth in beautiful allegorical tales full of imagery; and
he delights in Rhetoric--flower-crowned, flashing-eyed, deep-voiced
Rhetoric, whom he clasps to his heart and believes to be true, although
the whole world declares her to be false; and then, after a time, he
decides not to introduce a new system of metaphysics, but to tell a plain
story plainly. Ah, it is a beautiful time to those who dwell in it, and
such a funny time to those who do not!
They came to possess an influence over each other. She decided how they
should meet; he, how they should act. She had only to be gay, and he
was gay; to be sad, and he was sad; to show her preference for serious
discourse, and he talked quietly of serious things; to sigh for dreams,
and he would rhapsodize. It sometimes terrified her almost when she saw
how much his mood depended on hers. But once the mood was established,
her dominance ceased and his began. If they were sad or gay or
thoughtful or poetic, it was in his way and not in hers. He took the
lead masterfully, and perhaps the more effectually in that it was done
unconsciously. And in a way which every reader will understand, but
which genius alone could put into words, this mutual psychical
dependence made them feel the need of each other more strongly than any
merely physical dependence ever could.
There is much to do in a new and romantic country, where the imminence
of a sordid, dreary future, when the soil will raise its own people and
the crop will be poor, is mercifully veiled. The future then counts
little in the face of the Past--the Past with its bearded strong men of
other lands, bringing their power and vigour here to be moulded and
directed by the influences of the frontier. Its shadow still lies over
the land.
They did it all. The Rock was still the favourite place to read or
talk--crossbars nailed on firmly made "shinning" unnecessary now--but
it was often deserted for days while they explored. Bennington had
bought the little bronco, and together they extended their
investigations of the country in all directions. They rode to Spring
Creek Valley. They passed the Range over into Custer Valley. Once they
climbed Harney by way of Grizzly Gulch.
Thus they grew to know the Hills intimately. From the summit of the
Rock they would often look abroad over the tangle of valleys and
ridges, selecting the objective points for their next expedition. Many
surprises awaited them, for they found that here, as everywhere, a
seemingly uniform exterior covered an almost infinite variety.
Or again, the horses were given a rest. The sarvis-berries ripened, and
they picked hatfuls. Then followed the raspberries on the stony hills.
They walked four unnecessary miles to see a forest fire, and six to buy
buckskin work from a band of Sioux who had come up into the timber for
their annual supply of tepee poles. They taught their ponies tricks.
They even went wading together, like two small children, in a pool of
Battle Creek.
Bennington was deliciously, carelessly, forgetfully happy. Only there
was Jim Fay. That individual was as much of a persecution as ever, and
he seemed to enjoy a greater intimacy with the girl than did the
Easterner. He did not see her as often as did the latter, but he
appeared to be more in her confidence. Bennington hated Jim Fay.