WHY WILLARD HOLMES STAYED.
Slowly, day by day, the surveying party under the Seer pushed deeper
and deeper into the awful desolation of The King's Basin Desert. They
were the advance force of a mighty army ordered ahead by Good
Business--the master passion of the race. Their duty was to learn the
strength of the enemy, to measure its resources, to spy out its
weaknesses and to gather data upon which a campaign would be planned.
Under the Seer the expedition was divided into several smaller parties,
each of which was assigned to certain defined districts. Here and
there, at seemingly careless intervals in the wide expanse, the white
tents of the division camps shone through the many colored veils of the
desert. Tall, thin columns of dust lifted into the sky from the water
wagons that crawled ceaselessly from water hole to camp and from camp
to water hole--hung in long clouds above the supply train laboring
heavily across the dun plain to and from Rubio City--or rose in quick
puffs and twisting spirals from the feet of some saddle horse bearing a
messenger from the Chief to some distant lieutenant.
Every morning, from each of the camps, squads of khaki-clad men bearing
transit and level, stake and pole and flag--the weapons of their
warfare--put out in different directions into the vast silence that
seemed to engulf them. Every evening the squads returned,
desert-stained and weary, to their rest under the lonesome stars. Every
morning the sun broke fiercely up from the long level of the eastward
plain to pour its hot strength down upon these pigmy creatures, who
dared to invade the territory over which he had, for so many ages, held
undisputed dominion. Every evening the sun plunged fiercely down behind
the purple wall of mountains that shut in the Basin on the west, as if
to gather strength in some nether world for to-morrow's fight.
Always there was the same flood of white light from the deep, dry sky
that was uncrossed by shred of cloud; always the same wide, tawny
waste, harshly glaring near at hand--filled with awful mysteries under
the many colored mists of the distance; until the eyes ached and the
soul cried out in wonder at it all. Always there were the same deep
nights, with the lonely stars so far away in the velvet purple
darkness; the soft breathing of the desert; the pungent smell of
greasewood and salt-bush; the weird, quavering call of the ground owl;
or the wild coyote chorus, as if the long lost spirits of long ago
savage races cried out a dreadful warning to these invaders.
And in all of this the land made itself felt against these men in the
silent menace, the still waiting, the subtle call, the promise, the
threat and the challenge of La Palma de la Mano de Dios.
To Barbara, who rode often in those days to the very rim of the Basin,
there to search the wild, wide land with straining eyes for signs of
her friends, the white glare of the camps was lost in the bewildering
maze of color. The columns, clouds and spirals of dust--save perhaps
from a near supply wagon coming in or passing out--could not be
distinguished from the whirling dust-devils that danced always over the
hot plains. The toiling pigmy dots of the little army were far beyond
her vision's range. It was as though the fierce land had swallowed up
horses, wagons and men. Only through the frequent letters brought by
the freighters did she know that all was going well.
Perhaps the gray lizard that climbed to the top of a line stake
wondered at the strange new growth that had sprung so suddenly from the
familiar soil; or perhaps the horned-toad, scuttling to cover, marveled
at the strange sounds as the stakes were driven and man called to man
figures and directions. Perhaps the scaly side-winder, springing his
warning rattle at the approaching step, questioned what new enemy this
was; or the lone buzzard, wheeling high over head, watched the tiny
moving figures with wondering hopefulness, and the coyote, that hushed
for a little his wild music to follow up the wind this strange new
scent, laughed at the Seer's dream.
These lines of stakes that every day stretched farther and farther into
and across the waste seemed, in the wideness of the land, pitifully
foolish. Looking back over the lines, the men who set them could
scarcely distinguish the way they had come. But they knew that the
stakes were there. They knew that some day that other, mightier
company, the main army, would move along the way they had marked to
meet the strength of the barren waste with the strength of the great
river and take for the race the wealth of the land. The sound of human
voices was flat and ineffectual in that age-old solitude, but the
speakers knew that following their feeble voices would come the
shouting, ringing, thundering chorus of the life that was to follow
them into that silent land of death.
With the slow passing of the weeks came the trying out and testing of
character inevitable to such a work. The concealing habits of
civilization were dropped. Kindly, useful conventionalities were lost.
Face to face with the unconquered forces of nature, nothing remained
but the real strength or weakness of the individual himself. In some
there were developed unguessed powers of endurance that bore the hard
days without flinching; cheerful optimism that laughed at the appalling
immensity of the task; strength of spirit that made a jest of galling
discomforts; courage that smiled in the face of dangers. These were the
strength of the party. Some there were who grew sullen, quarrelsome,
and vicious in a kind of mad rebellion. These must be held in check,
controlled and governed by the Seer with the assistance of Abe Lee and
his helpers. Some became silent and moody, faint hearted and afraid.
These were strengthened and guarded and given fresh courage. Some grew
peevish and fretful, whining and complaining. These were disciplined
wisely, forced gently into line. Some staggered and fell by the way.
These were sent back and the ranks closed up. But the work--always the
work went on.
To Willard Holmes the life was a slow torture, a revelation and an
education. He found himself stripped of everything upon which he was
accustomed to rely--family traditions, social position, influential
friends, scholarship, experience in the world to which he was born--all
these were nothing in The Hollow of God's Hand. Slowly he learned that
the power of such wealth is limited to certain fields. New York was
very far away. He felt that he had been hopelessly banished to a
strange world. Many times he would have thrown it all up and turned
back with other deserters, but there was red blood in his veins.
Stubborn pride and the thought of the girl who had hoped that he would
"learn the language of her country" enabled him to hold on.
Once he ventured to speak to the Chief in a hopeless voice of the
evident impossibility of ever converting that terrible land into a
habitable country, and the Seer, strong in the strength of his dream,
had looked at him from the still depth of his brown eyes without a
word--looked until the younger man had turned away, his cheeks flushed
with shame and his spirit doing homage to the strength of the master
spirit of the work. And the eastern engineer remembered with new
understanding his talks with Barbara Worth.
When they pulled the dead coyote from the only water hole within two
days' travel and Holmes nearly fainted at the sickening sight, it was
Texas Joe who saved the day for him by remarking, with an air of
philosophical musing, after a deep draught of the tepid, tainted water:
"Hit ain't so bad as you might think, Mr. Holmes, onct your oilfactory
nerves has become somewhat regulated to the aroma and your palate has
been eddicated to the point of appreciatin' the deliciously foreign
flavor. In the judgment of some connysoors, it has several points the
lead of them imported fancy drinks you get in Frisco."
When a Mexican died horribly from the bite of a rattlesnake, and Holmes
himself was barely saved from a like fate by the prompt action and
ready knowledge of Abe Lee, it was the slow smile of the desert-bred
surveyor that stiffened him to go on.
And when he was nearly beaten by a three days' sand-storm so searching
that even the flap-jacks and bacon gritted in his teeth and his
blood-shot eyes smarted in his head like coals of fire and his skin
felt as though it had been sand-papered, when he would have sold his
soul for a bath and actually began to get his things together in
readiness for the next wagon out, it was Pat, who, with the devilish
ingenuity of an Irish imp, mocked and jeered at him for a quitter, "fit
to act only as lady's maid or to serve soft dhrinks in a corner
drug-sthore," until his fainting heart took fire and, cursing his
tormentor with all the oaths he could muster, he offered to whip,
single-handed, the whole grinning camp and stayed.
Thus he was advanced to the second degree, when he began to sense the
spirit of the untamed land and of the men who went to meet it with
sheer joy of the conquest; when he began to glory in the very greatness
of the task; and the long dormant spirit of his ancestors stirred
within him as he caught glimpses of the vision that inspired the Seer
or, perhaps it should be written, the vision that tempted his
employers, James Greenfield and his fellow capitalists.
He was still far from ready for the final degree; but even that might
come.
Through all those hard days Jefferson Worth moved with the same
careful, precise, certain manner that distinguished him in his work at
home. Even the desert sun that so tanned, blistered and blackened the
faces of his companions could not mark the gray pallor of that
mask-like face. No disturbing incident or unforeseen difficulty could
wring from him an exclamation or change the measured tones of his
colorless voice. He seemed to accept everything as though he had
foreseen, carefully considered and dismissed it from his mind before it
came to pass. Day after day he rode in every direction over the land
within easy reach of the many camps; familiarizing himself with every
detail of the work, observing soil, studying conditions, poring over
maps and figures with the Seer, verifying estimates, listening to and
taking part in the many councils of the leaders. But not once did
anyone catch a hint of what was going on behind those expressionless
blue eyes that seemed to see everything without effort and to be
incapable of expressing the emotions of the soul within.
To the men he was the visible representative of that invisible power
that willed their going forth. He was Capital--Money--Business
incarnate. They set him apart as one not of their world. In his
presence laughter was hushed, jests were unspoken. Silently they waited
for him to speak first. When he conversed with them they answered
thoughtfully in subdued tones, seeming to feel that their words were
received by one who placed upon them undreamed-of values. Filled as
these men were with the enthusiasm of their work, they were never
unconscious of the knowledge that but for the power represented by
Jefferson Worth their work would be impossible.
Small wonder, then, that there was consternation in the headquarters
camp that night when Pat appeared, hat in hand, before the company of
leaders in the Seer's office tent. "I beg yer pardon, Sorr."
"What is it, Pat?" asked the Seer, and all eyes were turned upon the
burly Irishman, whose face and voice as well as his presence at that
hour betrayed some unusual incident. "'Tis this, Sorr. Has anywan seen
Mr. Worth this avenin'?"
Every head was shaken negatively.
"Was he not at supper wid you gintlemen?"
"Why no, he was not," returned the Seer. "But it is nothing unusual for
him to be late. Have you asked the cook?"
"We have, Sorr. Ye see, whin ut come time to turn in an' he hadn't
shown up an' Tex seen that his horse wasn't wid the bunch, we got a bit
unaisy like. We axed the cook, an' we've been to his tent, an' we've
axed the men."
"Perhaps he has put up at one of the other camps," suggested a surveyor.
"That's not like, Sorr, for he rode northeast this mornin'. Me an' Tex
watched him go; an' there's divil a camp in that direction as we all
know."
"He surely intended to return here or he would have told us," said the
Seer. "You know how careful he is. What do you think, Abe?"
Before Abe could answer a Mexican ran up, and Pat, turning, hauled him
into the tent by the neck. "Fwhat the hell is ut, ye greaser?"
"Senor Texas send me quick," the little brown man panted, bowing low to
the company, sombrero in hand. "Senor Worth's horse, he just come. In
the saddle is no one. Senor Worth he is not come. I think he is gone."
Before the Mexican finished speaking there was a rush of feet and he
was alone. With a shrug of his shoulders and a flash of his white
teeth, he turned leisurely to follow, saying half aloud: "It is all in
La Palma de la Mano de Dios, Senor Worth. Maybe so you come back, maybe
this time not." He stood for a moment looking into the black vault of
the night; then, with another shrug, retired to his blanket to sleep.
Abe Lee was first to reach the corral where Texas Joe, by the light of
a lantern, was examining Mr. Worth's horse. No word was exchanged
between them while the surveyor in turn looked carefully over the
animal. The others, coming up, stood silent a little apart, waiting for
the word of these two.
"What do you make of it, Abe?" asked the Seer when the long surveyor
turned toward him.
Deliberately rolling a cigarette, Abe answered from a cloud of smoke:
"He is left afoot too far out to walk in, likely. We'll go for him in
the morning."
A startled exclamation came from Willard Holmes, but no one heeded as
the surveyor turned to Texas Joe. "How do you figure it, Tex?"
"The same," came the laconic answer. "This here cayuse wasn't broke to
stand. He must have been tied somewheres, 'cause the reins are busted."
He pointed to the pieces of leather hanging from the bit. "The canteen
is gone. Jefferson Worth is too old a hand on the desert to leave it on
the horse. He likely tied the pony to a bush and went to climb a hill
or something. Mr. Hawss breaks loose and pulls for home. It happened a
good way out, 'cause the pony's pretty well tired, which he wouldn't
a-been, travelin' light, if Mr. Worth hadn't ridden some distance
before it happened. An' if he was nearer the pony would have been in
earlier. He'll likely show us a smoke in the morning and even if he
don't it'll be easy to trail him, 'cause there ain't no wind. Will I
go, sir?" He looked at the Chief.
"Yes; you and Abe, don't you think?"
Abe assented and the men turned toward the tents while Texas led the
tired horse away.
The New York engineer approached the Chief. "Do I understand, sir, that
you propose to do nothing until morning?"
The Seer faced him. "There is nothing to do, Mr. Holmes," he said
simply.
Willard Holmes was amazed at the man's apparent unconcern. "Nothing to
do?" he exclaimed. "Why don't you arouse the men and send them in every
direction to search? Why man, don't you realize the situation? Mr.
Worth may be hurt. He may even be dying alone out there! I protest!
It's monstrous! It's cowardly, inhuman, to do nothing!"
The company, attracted by the loud words, paused. Abe Lee, standing
beside his Chief, rolled another cigarette while the engineer was
speaking.
The Seer answered patiently: "But Mr. Holmes, we could accomplish
nothing by such a search as you suggest. The territory is too large to
cover with a hundred times the number of men we have in camp. At
daylight, when they can follow his trail, Abe and Tex will ride to him
as fast as their horses can go. Granting that the worst you suggest may
be true, our plan is the only sane way." "But I protest, sir. You
should make the attempt. I will not submit to idly doing nothing while
a life is in danger--particularly that of a man like Mr. Worth. I shall
go alone if no one will help me, and"--he straightened himself
haughtily--"I shall report this to Mr. Greenfield and the men
interested with him in this work."
At the last words one of those rare changes swept over the big
engineer, and the witnesses saw a side of the Chief's nature that was
seldom revealed. His eyes flashed and his face hardened as he burst
forth in tones that startled his hearers: "Report me? You! Report and
be damned, sir. I was old at this work when you were a sucking babe.
These men were learning the desert when you were attending a
fashionable dancing school. Why, you damned lily-fingered tenderfoot,
you couldn't find your way five hundred yards in this country without a
guide or a compass. Now, sir, I'm running this outfit and if you have
any protests against my cowardly inhumanity I advise you to smother
them in your manly breast, or, by hell! I'll ship you out on the first
wagon to-morrow morning and let you report to Greenfield that you were
fired because you didn't know your work yourself and hadn't
intelligence enough to listen to those who did!"
The Chief paused for breath, and Willard Holmes, whose experience with
large corporations was expected to make him peculiarly valuable to the
capitalists who sent him out, turned away with what dignity he could
command.
"Howly Mither!" came a hoarse whisper from Pat to Abe; "I made sure the
poor bhoy wud shrivel up. Sich a witherin', blistherin' tongue lashin'
wud scorch the hide av the owld divil himsilf." He looked admiringly
after the Seer. "D'ye think, now, that the poor lad will be afther
tacklin' the job alone, like he said? Sure, ut's nerve he has all right
but he lacks judgment."
"Yes, he has the nerve all right," returned Abe slowly, "and we'd
better keep an eye on him. Tell Tex."
Willard Holmes knew that he owed his Chief an apology and he promised
himself to make it in the morning. But neither the explanation of the
Seer nor the bitter humiliation that he had brought upon himself could
turn his thoughts from Mr. Worth alone on the desert. To sleep was
impossible. The banker might be----As he tossed in his blankets the
engineer pictured to himself a hundred things that might have happened
to Barbara's father.
It was some two hours later when Pat touched Abe Lee on the shoulder.
"All right, Pat," said the surveyor, fully awake and in possession of
all his senses in an instant.
"There's a light bobbin' off into nowhere an' the lad's blankets are
impty."
Fifteen minutes later a quiet voice within three feet of Willard Holmes
asked: "Shall I go with you, sir?"
The eastern man jumped like a nervous woman. He had not heard the
approach of the surveyor, who walked with the step of an Indian. "I
couldn't sleep," he explained. "I thought I would follow the tracks a
little way out at least. He may not be so far away as you think."
After Abe had taken time to make his cigarette he spoke meditatively.
"Mr. Worth rode a horse."
"I understand that," returned the man with the lantern tartly. "I saw
him go this morning and I saw the horse to-night. This is the track."
From another cloud of smoke came the quiet, respectful answer: "But
this is a mule's track, Mr. Holmes. It is Manuel Ramirez's mule. See,
he has a broken shoe on the off fore-foot. I noticed it yesterday when
I sent Manuel to hunt a water hole. Besides, Mr. Worth rode northeast;
not in this direction."