DON'T YOU LIKE MY DESERT, MR. HOLMES?
After his noon-day meal, Willard Holmes, following the example of
others, sought the shade of the arcade in front of the hotel. Helping
himself to a chair and moving a little away from the general company,
he sat enjoying his cigar, musing on the novelty of his surroundings
and reviewing his impressions of the last few hours.
It was natural that he should make comparisons--that he should see men
and things in the light of the only men and things he had ever known.
Abe Lee he measured by the standing of his own school-trained
engineering friends, demanding that the desert-born and desert-trained
surveyor exhibit all the hall-marks of Boston. He might as consistently
have demanded that the flood of sunlight that fell in such blinding
glory upon the new world before him should shine as through the
smoke-grimed city atmosphere of New York. One was no more impossible
than the other. Jefferson Worth he compared with the college and
university friends of his father--with Mr. Greenfield and the New
York-bred business men of his class, demanding that the western pioneer
banker show the same characteristics that distinguished the cultured
capitalists whose great-great-grandfathers were pioneers. Rubio City he
saw in the light of those eastern cities that were founded in the days
when men knew not that there was any world west of the Alleghanies.
Turning his head now and then to look over the typical groups that sat
in the shade of the arcade, dressed--or undressed--with all the easy
freedom of a land too young as yet to have conventions, he recalled his
favorite hotels in his home cities and smiled to think what would
happen if some of these roughly clad individuals were to appear there
among the guests. He did not know yet that some of these roughly clad
individuals were as much at home in those same favorite hotels as was
he himself. Likewise as he watched the passing citizens in the street
he recalled the scene from the windows of his club at home--a famous
club on a famous avenue.
That young woman, for instance, with her khaki divided skirt, wide
sombrero, fringed gauntlets and the big western saddle coming there on
a horse whose feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground as he plunged
and pranced impatiently along, springing side-wise, with arched neck
and pointed ears, at every object that could possibly be made into
something frightful by his playful fancy! What a sensation she would
create at home! By Jove! but she could ride, though. He watched with
admiring eyes the strong, graceful figure that sat the high-strung,
uncertain horse as easily and unconsciously as any one of his women
friends at home would rest in a comfortable chair.
As the horsewoman drew nearer he fell to wondering what she was like.
Could she talk, for instance, of anything but the homely details of her
own rough life? He shrugged his shoulders as he fancied her crude
attempts at conversation, her uncouth language and raw expressions. The
girl turned her horse toward the hotel entrance. As she drew still
nearer he saw that she was not pretty. Her mouth was too large, her
face too strong, her skin too tanned by the sun and wind.
At the sidewalk the girl swung from the saddle lightly, and throwing
the bridle reins over the horse's head with a movement that brought out
the beautiful lines of her figure, she turned her back upon the pawing,
restless animal with as little concern as though she had delivered him
to a correctly uniformed groom. No she was not pretty; she
was--magnificent. The adjective forced itself upon him.
All along the arcade people were smiling in greeting, the men lifting
their hats. Two cowboys in high-heeled boots and "chaps" paused in
passing. "That new hawss of yours is sure some hawss, Miss Barbara,"
said one admiringly, sombrero in hand.
The girl smiled and Holmes saw the flash of her perfect teeth. "Oh,
he'll do, Bob, when I've worked him down a little."
She passed into the hotel, followed by the eyes of every man in sight
including the engineer, who had noted with surprise the purity and
richness of her voice.
The New York man had turned and was watching a company of Indians
farther down the street when that voice close beside him said: "I beg
your pardon. Is this Mr. Holmes?"
He turned quickly, rising to his feet.
She smiled at his astonished look. "The clerk pointed you out to me. I
am Barbara Worth. You met father at the bank this morning. Texas Joe
and Pat told me about your being here and I could scarcely wait to see
you. I'm afraid you must have thought them a little rough last night
but really it's only their fun. They're as good as gold."
As she stood now close to him--the red blood glowing under the soft
brown of her cheeks--Willard Holmes felt her rich personality as
distinctly as one senses the presence of the ocean, the atmosphere of
the woods or the air of meadows and fields. But by all his conventional
gods, this was the unconventional limit! that this girl, the daughter
of a banker, should openly seek out a total stranger to introduce
herself to him on the public street before a crowd of hotel loungers!
And the way she spoke of those rough men in the saloon, one would think
they were her intimate friends.
He managed to say: "Really, I am delighted, Miss Worth. May I escort
you to the hotel parlor?"
She looked at him curiously. "Oh, no indeed! It is much nicer out here
in the arcade, don't you think? But you may bring another chair."
Dumbly he obeyed, feeling that every eye was on him and flushing with
embarrassment for her.
"When Texas and Pat told me that you were one of the engineers going
out with The King's Basin party I could scarcely wait to see you. It
makes it all seem so real, you know--your coming all the way out here
from New York. I have dreamed so much about the reclamation of The
King's Basin Desert; and you see I consider all civil engineers my
personal friends."
"Indeed," he said. It is always safely correct to say "indeed" as he
said it, particularly when you have nothing else to say.
She regarded him doubtfully with an open, straight-forward look which
was somewhat disconcerting. She was so unconscious of the strength of
her splendid womanhood and he felt her presence so vividly.
"I suppose you must find everything out here very strange," she said
slowly. "Father says this is your first visit to the West and of course
it _can't_ be like your part of the country."
"It is all very interesting," he murmured. This also was sane and safe.
"I know that Abe is very busy and father never leaves the bank except
on business, so there is no one but me to look after you"--she
smiled--"that is--no one of our King's Basin people."
Willard Holmes was of that type of corporation servant who recognizes
no interests but the financial interests of the capital employing him.
His services as a civil engineer belonged wholly to those who bought
them for their own profit. Barbara's innocent words aroused him. What
the deuce did she mean by "our King's Basin people"? Greenfield and his
friends thought that _they_ were The King's Basin people. In the
interests of his employers he must look into this.
[Illustration: "But I don't ride, you know."]
"It is very kind of you, I am sure," he said with a little more warmth.
"To tell the truth I _was_ feeling a bit strange, you know."
"I'm sure you must be nearly dead with lonesomeness. Wouldn't you like
to go for a ride? I would so like to show you my Desert."
"_Her_ Desert!" he mentally observed. Indeed he must look into this.
Fully alert now he answered heartily: "I should be delighted, I'm sure.
You are more than kind. When could we go?"
"Right now," she said quickly. "Here comes Pablo Garcia. I'll send him
for another horse." She called to the passing Mexican: "Here Pablo."
The young fellow came to her quickly and stood, sombrero in hand, his
dark eyes shining with pride at the recognition. In Spanish she
directed him to fetch a horse for the Senor.
"Si, Senorita." With a low bow the Mexican turned to obey.
The eastern man, not understanding the words, but awakening suddenly to
the meaning of the action, broke forth with--"Here, wait a minute."
"Wait," repeated Barbara in Spanish. Pablo paused.
"You are sending him for a horse and saddle?" asked Holmes.
"Yes; it will take only a few minutes."
"But I don't ride, you know."
"You don't ride?" The girl looked at him in blank amazement. "I don't
think I ever saw a man before who didn't ride."
He laughed indulgently. Something in her voice and manner touched his
sense of humor. "I'm very sorry. I know I ought to," he said in mock
humility.
"Oh, well; we can drive. I'll have Pablo bring a rig." She explained
what she wanted to the Mexican in his native tongue, and this time he
mounted her horse and rode away.
When the man returned a little later with a span of restless, half-wild
broncos hitched to a light buggy, the girl stepped into the vehicle and
took the reins as a matter of course. With a low chuckle of amusement
the engineer took his place at her left. He was beginning really to
enjoy the situation. Shying and plunging the team demanded all of
Barbara's attention but she managed to steal a look at her silent
companion now and then, as if expecting him to show signs of
nervousness. Willard Holmes, on his part, was wrapped in silent
admiration of her strength and skill.
"They'll cool down in a little while," the girl volunteered, as if to
reassure her guest, after a particularly wild break on the part of the
horses. But on the extreme edge of town, where the wagon road runs
closest to the railroad track, a passing switch engine proved too much
for the excited team. In a moment the frightened animals were running
toward the Mesa at full speed. With all her strength Barbara struggled
to regain control, but her arms were a woman's arms and the horses,
quick to recognize their advantage, put back their ears and ran the
faster in mad defiance.
The girl was not frightened; she was annoyed. "I--I'm afraid they are
running away," she gasped at last.
To her surprise a hearty laugh was the only answer to her confession.
She shot a quick glance over her left shoulder. Her companion was
leaning back in his seat, his merry face expressing the keenest
enjoyment.
Then the girl felt a big hard shoulder pressing against her; long
powerful arms stretched over hers; and two masterful hands closed on
the reins above her cramped fingers. She relinquished her hold and
shrank back out of the way with a sigh of relief and--yes, a look of
admiration as the horses, with a few wild leaps and ineffectual
attempts to run again, settled down to a more rational gait.
"My!" she gasped, at the exhibition of the engineer's strength, "I
believe you could pull their front feet off the ground."
Her companion was still smiling.
"Why didn't you tell me you could drive?" she demanded.
He chuckled maliciously, for he had understood her reason for taking
the reins at the start and he had not been insensible of the meaning of
her glances at the beginning of the ride. "You didn't ask me, and
besides I enjoyed seeing you handle them."
"But you told me you couldn't _ride_," she said reproachfully.
"I can't," he returned. "That is I never did; not as you people in this
country ride." Then he laughed again. "Confess now. Didn't you expect
me to jump, back there?"
"I shall confess nothing," she retorted, sharply. "And hereafter I
shall take nothing for granted."
On the high ground near the foot of the hill at the canyon's mouth she
asked him to turn around and stop. Willard Holmes had been too much
occupied with the team and the girl to notice the landscape; and now
that wonderful view of the Mesa, The King's Basin and the mountains
burst upon him without warning. No sane man could be insensible of the
grandeur of that scene. The man, whose eyes had looked only upon
eastern landscapes that bore in every square foot of their limited
range the evidence of man's presence, was silent--awe-stricken before
the mighty expanse of desert that lay as it was fashioned by the
creative forces that formed the world. Turning at last from the
glorious, ever-changing scenes, wrought in colors of gold and rose and
lilac and purple and blue, to the girl whose eyes were fixed
questioningly upon him, he said in a low voice: "Is it always like
this?"
Barbara nodded. "Always like that, but always changing. It is never the
same, but always the same. Like--like life itself. Do you understand?"
He turned again to the scene in silent wonder.
"Do you like my Desert?" she asked, after a little time had passed.
His mind caught at the expression. "Do you mean to say that that is The
King's Basin--that we are going _there_ to work?"
"Why, of course." She laughed uneasily. "Don't you like it?"
"Like it?" he repeated. "But is there anyone living out there?"
She was amazed at his words. "Living there? Of course not. But you are
going to make it so that thousands and thousands can live there--you
and the others. Don't you understand?" Her voice expressed a shade of
impatience.
"I'm afraid I did not realize," he answered slowly.
"That's just it!" she cried, thoroughly aroused now and speaking
passionately. "That's just the trouble with you eastern men; you don't
realize. For years the dear old Seer and a few others have been trying
to make you see what a work there is to do out here, and you won't even
look up from your little old truck patches to give them intelligent
attention. You think this King's Basin is big? Why, the Seer says that
if every foot of that land was under cultivation it wouldn't be a posy
bed beside what there is to do in the West. I suppose you must have
done some great things in your profession, Mr. Holmes, or those
capitalists wouldn't have sent you out here; but you can't have done
anything that will mean to the world what the reclamation of The King's
Basin Desert will mean one hundred years from now, because this work is
going to make the people realize, don't you see?"
The young engineer's face flushed under her words, and as he watched
her strong face glowing with enthusiasm for the Seer's dream, he felt
the sweet power of her personality sweep over him as he felt the breeze
from off the desert. He was held as though by some magic spell--not by
the lure of her splendid womanhood, but by that and something
else--something that was like the country of which she spoke so
passionately. And he remembered wondering if this girl could talk!
He relieved the tense strain of the situation by holding out the reins
and saying, with a whimsical smile:
"Here, you can drive."
She caught his meaning and smiled in acknowledgment. "Thank you, but I
don't want to drive. That's really the man's part, you know. I
suppose," she added, "that you think me bold and mannish and coarse and
everything else that a girl ought not to be, but I"--she turned away
her face and her voice trembled--"but you can't understand, Mr. Holmes,
what this desert means to me."
"Perhaps I don't understand," he said seriously. "But I am sure of
this: somewhere back of every really great work that has ever been
accomplished in any age there has been a woman like you."
Then they drove back to the hotel where she left him and drove to the
barn herself. A few minutes later he saw her pass again, riding her own
quick-stepping horse.
During the two weeks that followed before the Seer's return, while Abe
Lee was busy getting ready for the work in Barbara's Desert, Willard
Holmes and the girl were often together. The man from New York admitted
somewhat proudly, Barbara thought--as if the very confession somehow
established the superiority of the East--that he was shockingly
ignorant of all things Western. But apparently overlooking the subtle
assumption in the manner of his confession, she laughingly undertook
his education. For one thing he must learn to ride.
"Really," he demurred, "I don't think I care for that particular
amusement. I have never taken it up at home, you know, but of course if
it is the thing to do, why--"
"Amusement!" she laughed. "Riding isn't an amusement; it's a necessity.
The horse is our street car and railroad and steamboat. Where you think
city blocks and squares we think miles; and where you think miles we
think hundreds of miles. Two legs are not enough in this country, so we
double the number and go on four. You'll find yourself wishing for
eight before you get back from The King's Basin."
So, at her bidding, Texas Joe secured a horse for him and almost every
afternoon the two were in their saddles. And every night over his
evening cigar at the hotel the engineer found himself reviewing the
incidents and conversations of the ride; forced to wonder at some new
and unexpected revelation of the mind and character of this western
girl who was so interested in the reclamation work and so unconscious
of her womanly power. He came quickly to look forward to their hours
together and to plan and carry out many conversational experiments.
Invariably he had his reward.
One afternoon he tried skillfully to shape the conversation to the end
that he might tell her--quite without ostentation--of the proud history
and social position of his family and of his own rank in the upper
eastern world.
She humored him patiently, helping him out with questions and artless,
admiring exclamations and comments, until he was quite sure that she
was properly impressed. Then she said, in a tone of honest sympathy:
"But you mustn't let all this worry you, you know."
"Worry me?" he echoed in amazement.
She nodded seriously, but with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Yes, I
can understand that it must be hard for a man to do his work
handicapped as you are but no one away out here will count it against
you. Every man here has a chance no matter what his past has been. You
see, we don't care what a man has been or what his fathers were; we
accept him for what he is and value him for what he can do. So all you
need to do is to forget and go straight ahead with your work and you'll
easily live it down. Only, of course," she added gently, "I wouldn't
advise you to tell _everybody_ what you have told me. Some might not
understand."
He retorted warmly: "Of course you cannot understand our point of view.
Everything is so new and raw out here that you have no social
standards."
"New and raw?" She laughed again. "Why, Mr. Holmes, you are the only
new thing in this country. Do you see that man over there?"
They were riding south on the road that follows the river and she
pointed to an Indian who sat idly in the shade of his pole and mud hut.
"What's the matter with him?" asked the engineer.
"Nothing. Only he, too, has ancestors. Ages and ages before your
forefathers knew that this continent existed, that man's people lived
in a city not far from here--a city with laws, customs, religions,
social standards--yes, and civil engineers, for you can easily trace
the lines of their canals, in which they brought water from the river
and carried it through a tunnel in the mountains to irrigate their
land, just as you modern engineers are planning to do. The Seer and I
rode over there once and he told me about it. I'll show you, if you
like. _New_! Why the West was ages old before the East was discovered!
The Seer says that if Columbus had come first to the western coast New
England to-day would still be an uninhabitable, howling wilderness."
"But I don't see what all this has to do with social standards," he
said, nettled at her reply.
"Simply this. If a man's position in life is to be fixed by the age of
his family or the number of years that they have occupied a certain
section of the country, then that Indian is your superior. His
ancestors lived here long before yours settled in New England."
"But we are proud of our ancestors because of what they were and what
they accomplished. We have a right to be. Think of what the world owes
them!"
"Oh, I must have misunderstood you. You seemed to place so much
emphasis on their having come over in the Mayflower. They _were_
grand--those brave old pioneers. I am proud of them too for what they
were. And did they have social positions by which they fixed a man's
place in life, I wonder?"
"Of course they could not have had a society with the wealth and
culture that we have now. The country was all new--something like the
West is to-day, I suppose."
She laughed aloud. "And you are proud of them! How fine! Isn't it
splendid to think that in two or three hundred years, when the West has
been civilized and the Desert reclaimed as your pioneer forefathers
civilized and reclaimed the East, when wealth and culture have come, a
man's social standing will be determined by his relation to _us_ and
people will be proud of what _we_ are doing? After all, Mr. Holmes, the
only difference between the East and the West seems to be that you
_have_ ancestors and that we are _going to be_ ancestors. You look back
to what has been; we look forward to what will be. You are proud and
take rank because of what your forefathers did; we are proud and take
rank because of what we are doing. And we are doing exactly what they
did! Honestly now, which would you rather--worship an ancestor or be an
ancestor worshipped?"
When they had laughed together over this he said: "I am beginning to
understand, Miss Worth, that the ideal American, whom we are always
hearing about but never meet, must be a Westerner; he couldn't possibly
be of the East, could he?" His words were almost a sneer.
"The ideal American is neither Eastern nor Western in the way you mean,
Mr. Holmes. He is both."
"Indeed? You admit that we of the East could give him something, then?"
"You could give him all that your forefathers have given you."
"And what could the West give him?"
She looked at him steadily a moment before answering slowly: "I think
you will have to find that out for yourself."
He was taken a little aback by her answer. It sounded as though she
wished to end the conversation. But her talk had stirred him strongly,
though he tried to hide this under cover of a cynical tone. He said
triumphantly: "But you see, after all, you admit that one is not
altogether hopeless because he happens to come of a good family!"
"Certainly I admit it!" she cried, "but don't you see what I mean?
Ancestors are to be counted as a valuable asset, but not as working
capital."
As she spoke she turned toward him again with that steady look, and the
man felt the strange, mysterious power of her personality, the
challenging lure of her young womanhood--that and more. What was it
back of those steady eyes that called to him, inspired him, that almost
frightened him; that made him feel as Barbara herself felt in the
presence of the Desert.
There was no trace of cynicism in his voice now, nor any hint of a
sneer on his face, as Willard Holmes straightened unconsciously in his
saddle.
"By George!" he said, "it's good to hear you say those things. Nobody
talks that way nowadays. I suppose our great-great-grandmothers did,
though."
She colored with pleasure, but answered lightly: "That puts me a long
ways behind the times, doesn't it?"
"Or a long way ahead," he offered.
In the meantime, while the education of Willard Holmes progressed, the
party that was to make the first survey in Barbara's Desert was being
formed and equipped under the direction of Abe Lee. Horses, mules,
wagons, camp outfits and supplies, with Indian and Mexican laborers,
teamsters of several nationalities and here and there a Chinese cook,
were assembled. Toward the last from every part of the great West
country came the surveyors and engineers--sunburned, khaki-clad men
most of them, toughened by their out-of-doors life, overflowing with
health and good spirits. They hailed one another joyously and greeted
Abe with extravagant delight, overwhelming him with questions. For the
word had gone out that the Seer, beloved by all the tribe, and his
lieutenant, almost equally beloved, were making "big medicine" in The
King's Basin Desert. Not a man of them would have exchanged his chance
to go for a crown and scepter.
The eastern engineer met these hardened professional brothers
cordially. He listened to their reminiscences of life and work in
mountain, plain and desert with interest, discovering to his surprise
that most of them were eastern born and bred, with technical training
in the schools with which he was familiar. But their almost boyish
enthusiasm over the work ahead, their admiration for the Chief and for
Abe Lee he viewed with cold indifference.
With all his duties Abe found frequent opportunity to report to
Barbara, for the girl's interest in every detail of the preparations
was never failing. Her friends protested that they never saw her now at
their little social affairs, for she was always off somewhere with some
engineer, and that when they did chance to catch her alone she would
talk of nothing but that horrid King's Basin country.
Every evening, early after supper, the surveyor would slip away from
his companions at the hotel to spend an hour on the veranda at the
banker's home talking in his straightforward way with Barbara and her
father, of the work that was so dear to the heart of the girl. And
because it was his work and in the nature of a report to one who, he
felt, had in some subtle way authority to hear, Abe talked with a
freedom that would have astonished many of his friends who thought they
knew him best.
Three times while Abe was there Willard Holmes appeared, and each time,
at the engineer's presence, the surveyor's painful diffidence became
apparent and he soon--with some stammering excuse--left.
The last time this happened Barbara walked down to the gate with the
painfully embarrassed surveyor. Everything was in readiness for the
coming of the Chief, who would arrive the next day, and the following
morning the expedition would start for the field.
"Buenos noches, hermano--Good night, brother," called Barbara, as the
tall surveyor walked away down the street.
"Buenos noches," came the answer.
Willard Holmes heard and frowned. "You seem to be very fond of Spanish,
Miss Worth," he said, when the girl came back to the porch. "I notice
you use it so often with our long friend there."
Barbara laughed at his evident displeasure. "The language seems to
belong so to this country. To me its colors are all soft and warm like
the colors of the Desert. I never thought of it before, but I suppose I
use it so often with Abe because he, too, seems to belong to this
country."
The engineer looked at her curiously. "I don't think I quite see the
connection. You mean that he has Spanish blood?"
"Not at all," said Barbara quickly. "But he is desert-born and
desert-trained. He has the same patient stillness, the same natural
bigness and the same unconquerable hardness."
"Oh, but you say the desert is not unconquerable; that it will be
subdued. Your analogy is at fault."
"No, Mr. Holmes, it is you who do not understand. There is something
about this country that will always remain as it is now. Abe Lee is
like that. Whatever changes may come, he will always be Abe Lee of the
Desert."
"Your views are really poetical and your character analyses very
clever, Miss Worth, but after all men are men wherever you find them.
Human nature is the same the world over."
"Oh, I'm sure that is so, Mr. Holmes. I know there must be many western
men in the east, only they haven't found themselves yet."
He laughed heartily as he rose to go. "Will you ever bid me good night
in your language of the desert?" he asked.
"Perhaps, when you have learned that language," she said with an
answering smile.
"By George, I shall try to learn it," he answered.
"Oh, I wish you would," came the earnest answer. "I know you could."
And again the engineer felt strongly, back of her words, that unvoiced
appeal. As he went down the street he knew that she did not refer to
the Spanish tongue when she wished him to learn the language of her
Desert.
Alone in her room that night Barbara's mind was too active for sleep
and she sat for a long time by the open window, looking out into the
vast silent world under the still stars.
Until she introduced herself to Willard Holmes, Barbara had never known
eastern people. Tourists she had seen and, at rare intervals, met in a
casual way. But they had always examined her with such frankly curious
eyes that she had felt like some strange animal on exhibition and had
repaid their interest with all the indifference she could command.
Occasionally also she had been introduced to eastern business men, whom
she chanced upon talking with her father in the bank, but they had
turned quickly away to the matters of their world after the usual
polite nothings demanded by the introduction. The home-land and life of
Willard Holmes were as foreign to her as her land and life were strange
to him.
So it happened in this instance also that in the education of the
eastern engineer the teacher learned quite as much as the pupil.
The traits that stood out so prominently in the western men whom
Barbara knew and so much admired were, in Willard Holmes, buried deeply
under the habits and customs of the life and thought of the world to
which he belonged--buried so deeply that the man himself scarcely
realized that they were there and so was led to wonder at himself when
his blood tingled with some strong presentation of this western girl's
views.
But Barbara knew. Beneath the conventionalities of his class the girl
felt the man a powerful character, with all the latent strength of his
nation-building ancestors. She wanted him--as she put it to herself--to
wake up. Would he? Would he learn the language of her Desert? She
believed that he would, even as she believed in the reclamation of The
King's Basin lands.
And she was glad--glad that the Seer and Abe and Tex and Pat and her
father--the men who had brought her out of the Desert--were going now
back into that land of death to save that land itself from itself.
And--she whispered it softly under the stars--she was glad--glad that
Willard Holmes had come to go with them--to learn the language of her
land.