“YOU’LL COME BACK TO SPYGLASS MOUNTAIN”
WINNIE THE WEEPER was not the least attractive of the girls who were
attached to The Golden Eagle at Ragtown for the purpose of separating
the railroad stiffs from their hard-earned money. She was dark-eyed
and dark-haired and of a good figure. She danced well, and was able to
put up a painted pout that made men part with their money and believe
themselves in luck. When the pout failed, she had the gift of causing
tears to spurt from her dark eyes, and then men longed to make her
smile once more, and only money could make her smile. Hence “Winnie the
Weeper” was the underworld “monaker” of Slim Wolfgang’s girl.
It was evening, three days after Cole of Spyglass Mountain had hauled
his load of lumber to the homesteads and set to work with nails and
hammer. The stage reached Ragtown, and Winnie left her place behind the
chair of Slim Wolfgang in The Golden Eagle, where she had been watching
a desultory game of stud between Slim and one of his cappers. The revel
of the night was not yet on, and Slim had asked her--ordered her,
rather--to see if any mail had come for them on the stage.
She left The Golden Eagle and passed along the street toward The Silver
Dollar, a few doors distant. The darting glances of several stiffs
lounging about the doorways followed her as she tripped along, singing
softly. For The Weeper was a “dresser,” and she carried herself with
pride. There was about her, also, an air of “something better,” even
though she did chew gum too rapidly.
In five minutes she was back in The Golden Eagle and handing Slim a
dirty letter.
Slim laid his cards on the table, and, without excusing himself to
his dummy antagonist at stud, tore open the envelope and frowned in
puzzlement at the contents.
Then he spoke shortly to his capper.
“Deal ’em out, Johnny,” he said. “I’ll send Nick in to cap for youse.
C’mon, Win; I wanta show youse sumpin.”
Dutifully the girl followed him out, and they walked together to the
tent through which Joshua Cole had chased The Whimperer.
Inside they sat down on the bed.
“Read dat, will youse?” offered the gambler, and angrily thrust the
letter into Winnie’s hand.
She read as follows:
“SLIM WOLFGANG:
“SIR. i have quit you slim as your a no good sun of a gun an somday
im going to get you for the roten way you treted me. I saw cole an
told him all i know about you an the son of a gun was tight an would
not give me anything much to beet it on. just the same slim he told
me something that youd like to know mity well. You wont cetch me
because im gone from you old timer. But if you want to know what
i got from cole you send twenty five dollars to me in the care of
mother duffy at the oakland bar in sacermento. then ill slip you what
i know. goodby you big stiff. ill get you somday.
“THE WHIMPERER.”
The envelope was postmarked “Spur, California,” and the date was the
day before.
“Well, for the love of Mike!” gasped Winnie the Weeper. “What’re you
goin’ to do about it, Slim?”
Slim rested his cadaverous chin in one bony hand and meditatively ran
the long nicotine-stained fingers of the other hand up and down over
the six golden buttons on his billiard-top vest.
“Aw,” he husked finally, “he’s tryin’ to string me. Maybe he played
stool pigeon to Cole, all right, but he don’t know nuttin’ to tell.
I was too wise to let um know anyt’ing--see? But what would Cole be
tellin’ him that would be any use to me, kid?”
“I don’t know,” mused the girl. “Looks to me like the big stiff’s got
somethin’ to peddle, Slim. He didn’t make any promises--none o’ this
big honest-to-God business. Just said ‘lay ’er down,’ like he meant
business. I’d take a chance, Slim. You threw the fear of Christ into
that tramp, and he wouldn’t dare double-cross you by holdin’ out on
you after you’d sent the jack. He’ll remember how easy you located him
before. And what’s twenty-five--to us?”
Slim Wolfgang’s thin sandy eyebrows drew lower, and his leering,
gangster’s face was not good to see. “I gotta take a chance,” he
decided finally. “So you get a money-order, kid, an’ do like dat dam’
---- says. He’s got me; an’, as youse said, wot’s twenty-five? Slip us
a kiss, now, kid, an’ I’ll be gettin’ back to de game. Dey oughta be
driftin’ in pretty soon. Oh, hell, I’d like to beat it outa here after
next payday!”
“Here, too,” sighed Winnie. “God, I got more jack than I ever saw
before, an’ it’s goin’ to waste in this rotten hole. Say, if we was in
N’ York, Slim--”
“Yes, I know--I’ve heard dat spiel before. But we ain’t dere, an’ we
can’t go dere till dis business is off me han’s. Beat it, now, an’ send
dat jack like De Whimperer says. An’ if he’s tryin’ to make a sucker
outa me, by God he’d better ramble some!”
Ten days later Winnie the Weeper and Slim held between them a dirty
scrap of paper, on which was penciled:
“cole told me he was going east to see what it was al about that i
told him about.
“THE WHIMPERER.”
“Goin’ East, is he? Goin’ East, hey!” growled Slim, as the girl looked
expectantly up into his pale-blue eyes. “Well, he’ll not go East, take
it from me, kid! Now I know wot to do. An’ I’ll do it, too! But no East
for us, Win, until spring--that settles that. I was thinkin’ maybe Tony
was settled over dere on his claim an’ you an’ me could beat it as
soon as winter set in an’ take a chance. But De Whimperer has spilt de
beans--an’ now Tony’s t’inkin’ he’ll beat it East. Oh, wait’ll I get me
mitts on De Whimperer!”
“You--you won’t kill Cole, then, Slim? That means you won’t, don’t it?
Slim, I--I don’t like that kinda business. I may be a sportin’ girl and
a crook, and all that, but I couldn’t stand to have you bump that guy
off.”
“No, I won’t bump um,” Slim promised. “But if I don’t it means we gotta
winter it out here in these dam’ mountains, Win. An’ stay clear up till
the fifteent’ of June.”
“I guess I’d rather do that, Slim,” she told him, “than have you bump a
guy off. But, God, I’m sick o’ this hick country!”
“All right, kiddo--youse’re de doctor. But Cole won’t go East--take dat
from me! I know how to stop um!”
* * * * *
Shanty Madge was adorable in overalls and a carpenter’s apron with nail
pockets in it. And on the right leg of her overalls was a stout band of
self material, as the garment advertisers would say, in which to hang
her hammer when she used a saw or other tool. The hammer hung pretty
low and was bothersomely heavy, but Madge used the strap religiously.
But she told Joshua in confidence that pins tasted better in the mouth
than nails.
It is to be feared that the true reason for the repeatedly hammered
thumbnail of Cole of Spyglass Mountain was not due to awkwardness but
to the captivating companionship of his helper.
Fall was manifest in the air. Fleecy clouds hung over the mountains,
and there was an exhilarating nip in the kiss of the wind from Stirrup
Lake. Frost covered the ground of mornings, and Joshua was afraid to
accept the dare of Shanty Madge to touch his tongue to the steel of
the tools. Wild ducks were circling high over the lake, for the water
grasses were full ripe now and drew mallards and canvasbacks and
pintails from afar. Old Man Winter was not far distant, and they worked
early and late to outmaneuver him.
They completed the cabin and the stable of the Mundys first. Then they
went at Joshua’s cabin at the foot of Spyglass Mountain. The work was
kept back by Joshua’s having to leave and haul more building materials,
and on one trip in he found that his telescope had arrived by freight.
The thousand pounds that it represented, when added to a load of
lumber, made the lumber content of that load pretty light. But Cole of
Spyglass Mountain was a boy with a new toy. Nothing would do but that
he should uncrate his treasure and set it up on its pedestal in his
half-completed cabin, which served very well as an observatory then
because the roof was not yet on.
Madge was as enthusiastic as he was, and after a hard day’s work with
saw and hammer she was not too tired to spend hours of the night with
Joshua looking at the heavenly bodies, crowing with delight.
It was a wonderful telescope. The tube was approximately ten feet long,
and the pedestal was of iron. There was a clock attachment which
automatically moved the instrument so that it would follow a stellar
body across the sky without the attention of the operator. There was
a finder, of course, and once the image was settled upon Joshua had
nothing to do but give his every faculty to observation.
Winter was almost upon them by the time Joshua’s cabin and stable were
up. Then Joshua hauled lumber and metal roofing for his observatory.
This he was obliged to leave at the foot of Spyglass Mountain while he
worked at the continuation of his trail to the summit.
Madge had decided to put a team at work clearing the sagebrush--dragging
it down with a length of railroad steel which she had used for like
purposes on the grade. Then, too, there was the winter’s wood to be cut
and hauled. And before the spring drive of the Box-R cattle into the
mountains, the homesteads must be fenced. It seemed that there were a
million things that should be done at once in order to gain time, but
Madge discarded all of them and helped Joshua build his trail.
No amount of argument on his part would change her mind. One look at
the marvels of the skies through the new telescope seemed to have
fevered her with the desire to get the materials for building the
observatory to the top of Spyglass Mountain at the earliest possible
date. So Joshua compromised with her, and they felled trees and hauled
them to the cabins during the crisp mornings and hacked at the trail to
the top of Spyglass Mountain during the mellow afternoons.
They made the trail no wider than necessary for a tandem team to pull a
narrow sled up the steep side. The mountain rose so abruptly from the
gentle slope above the lake that they were obliged to switch back and
forth, make hairpin curves and buttonhook bends, and twist in and out
about great gaunt rocks and clusters of scrubby piñon pines. Spyglass
Mountain was perhaps a thousand feet above the level of the lake, and
a bench mark that Joshua had discovered hidden away in the sage showed
that the lake was about six thousand seven hundred and fifty feet above
the sea. So the telescope, when installed for work on the summit,
would be at an altitude of approximately seven thousand seven hundred
and fifty feet. The mountain was bleak and rugged and dry, for it
overlooked the desert and was under the influence of the desert rather
than the moister country on the coast side of the range. It was a huge,
steep pile of rocks and red-quartz outcroppings, with low piñons, sage,
a few junipers, and an occasional yucca palm to tone down its grimness,
and render its coloring contrasty when the sun so willed. But to Cole
of Spyglass Mountain it was the most wonderful spot on earth!
Snow was flying before the trail had been completed, but this did not
deter the workers. They were nearing the summit now, where the snow
did not lie in drifts as it did down by the lake. Then, the high winds
which arose drove it from the top and sides in fleecy puffs. This
aided the work, but it worried Joshua. An observer cannot expect “good
seeing” when the atmosphere is disturbed by gales. But the high winds,
he had been told, were usually confined to the winter months in that
locality, so the young astronomer was by turns elated and depressed.
Joshua had given up all thought of going East to try and solve the
mystery of Felix Wolfgang’s long-distance persecution. He had been
impulsive when he informed The Whimperer that he would do so, knowing
when he spoke that it would be folly for him to leave the mountains
when so many things demanded his immediate attention. Besides, he would
not have left Madge and her mother to prepare for the coming of a
mountain winter with no man about to help them. Most of their neighbor
homesteaders had left the country as soon as the skies showed blustery
clouds and squalls began to scurry over the lake. And the three had
only a speaking acquaintance with the few who had resolved to brave
the winter through. He was too busy, even, to give Felix Wolfgang much
thought--too happy with Shanty Madge in daylight hours, and with the
precious telescope, dimly outlined in a corner of the cabin, through
moonlit nights.
Late one afternoon they finished the trail, laid down their picks and
shovels, and stood side by side looking down on the wind-swept desert
four thousand feet below them, stretching away in three directions,
an awe-inspiring sight under the mystic spell of the fleeting winter
afternoon.
“Isn’t it glorious!” Madge exclaimed. “I feel like a bird. Like an
eagle. If I had wings that I could lift, and could soar away over that
tantalizing yellow waste, away over those calico buttes far to the east
that seem to be calling me, I--I-- Well, I’d just lift ’em and soar,
that’s all.”
“And where would you end?” asked Cole of Spyglass Mountain softly.
“I’d never end, I guess. I’d keep on soaring forever.”
“And never come back to Spyglass Mountain?”
“Well, when I wanted to rest and lay my plans for another soar,
perhaps.”
“I’d be here waiting for you,” he told her significantly.
“Would you? Keeper of my home port of the skies? If I could soar
away, east and west and north and south, I think I’d like to keep
this pinnacle in mind. I would become confused, perhaps, and lose my
bearings. Then I could turn and head for Spyglass Mountain again, which
seems to me to overlook the earth and sky. And you’d be here to correct
my course for me and point out where I had missed the way. Then I’d
rearrange my ruffled feathers and try once more; and you’d watch me
through your telescope until I’d be only a tiny speck a thousand miles
away. Oh, this is silly, isn’t it?”
“Madge,” he said, and his tone trembled, “I want you never to forget
what you’ve just said. It isn’t silly. If Spyglass Mountain turns out
to be the ideal place for astronomical observations, I shall always be
here--always, that is, as human beings speak of always in connection
with their brief lives. You may soar away--something tells me that you
will. But remember--I’ll always be here waiting for your return.
“Dear girl, you don’t want money--you don’t want life, as most folks
speak of life. You were born for the outdoors, for the freedom that
it offers. You have never tasted the artificialities of life in the
cities, and therefore you think you want to. But if you go you’ll come
back as straight as the crow flies--back to the mountains and the
deserts and the places where quiet reigns. It’s born in you, and you
can’t escape it. You’ll come back to Spyglass Mountain!”
“How do you know that, Joshua?”
“It’s easily explained: Never have I heard from you a murmur of
discontent over the solitude of these vast mountains. Like myself, you
are one who can be alone for days at a time, with the bleak peaks about
you or the mocking sandy wastes of the desert, and be content with
only them and your thoughts for company. We are rare, Madge. Such an
unanswering solitude as would drive many people insane, we thrive on.
I say we are rare. I mean that a man and a woman who both possess that
quality rarely meet each other and--and fall in love. That is--I mean,
of course-- Well, I love _you_; I’ve told you so. And you should forget
everything else and let yourself love me. You can’t afford to take
chances by letting yourself love another man, who might take you to the
cities, where you imagine you want to go. For as sure as spring follows
winter Spyglass Mountain will call you back. And then--if _he_ doesn’t
want to come?
“What if a night on the desert, with the moaning of the wind in the
greasewood bushes and the half-mournful, half-mocking laugh of the
coyote, strikes terror to his heart? What if the constant roar of a
waterfall gets on his nerves instead of soothing him to sleep, as it
would soothe you and me? And _you_ must have these things. So one of
you must sacrifice to the very core of your being--and that means a
life of suffering and discontent for the one who is biggest of heart
and gives in to the other. And that one, Shanty Madge, will be you.”
“And how do you know that, O sage?”
“Listen: Because those who are born to the open spaces, those who
love the unanswering solitudes and are at peace with God and Mother
Earth--they are always the ones who make the sacrifice. Because their
souls are big like the mountains--their vision is wide like the
desert--their courage is like the rocks--their hearts are kind and
sheltering like the trees. Yes--like the trees! The great-hearted trees
that shelter men for ages, and then go down before man’s ax with one
long groan of anguish, surrendering everything!”
With her bare head bowed, and the winter wind whipping her crinkly
bronze-gold hair, the little gypo queen stood listening. And in her
eyes, as she lifted them to his, a miragelike moisture gleamed. She
took his hand.
“Let’s go down, my poet-astronomer,” she said. “We must get a good
sleep to-night and be up early. It will be a long, hard job to sled the
lumber for our observatory to the top of Spyglass Mountain.”