It is a good thing the wind does not blow from the same direction all
the time. Things would never grow straight if it did. And if one
emotion persists too long the human mind becomes even worse twisted
than a tree. For that reason, if we are normal, buoyance and
depression, ecstasy and pain follow each other as regularly as ripples
on a stream. It is good they do, but it is hard to believe it when we
are down in the trough of the wave.
As Bob started away with the promise of Jim Crill to lend him the money
for the Red Butte Ranch, his blood was pumping faster than the running
engine of his car. But directly enthusiasm began to slow down.
Suppose he lost--what an appalling debt for a man working at a hundred
and fifty a month! It never figured in Bob's calculation to settle his
debts in red ink. And there were chances to lose. The lawyer was
waiting for him at the hotel when he returned.
"I saw Jenkins," he reported. "Says they paid $20,000 for the Red
Butte lease last spring. Half of it for bonus on the lease, and half
for the equipment. He claims the mules and equipment are easily worth
$10,000; and he offers to sell lease and all for that, but won't
consider a dollar less. I heard on the street this evening that a
Chinaman had offered them $7,500. I have an option on it until eleven
o'clock in the morning at $10,000."
"Thanks, T. J." Bob was figuring in his mind the basis of this price.
"I'll let you know before that time." He went up to his room to think
it out. He could hardly see any chance for loss, yet of course there
was. If this was such a sure thing, why had not some of the more
experienced cotton growers in the valley jumped at it? But Bob
dismissed that line of reasoning with a positive jerk of his head.
That was a weak man's reason--the excuse of failures, sheep philosophy.
Every day of the year some new man came into a community and picked up
a profitable opportunity that other people had stumbled over for years.
The lease was certainly a bargain; the land was in excellent condition,
and there would be no difficulty about labour with plenty of Chinese
and Mexicans. The price of cotton could scarcely go lower. Bob had no
fear of that. Then what were the dangers? The chance of a water
shortage was remote. There had been little trouble about water. Of
course bad farming could spoil a crop; but Lou Wing was an expert
cotton grower, and you could trust a Chinaman's vigilance. With Lou as
a partner he could be sure the crop would receive proper attention.
"It seems good!" Bob walked out of his room on to the balcony that ran
the length of the hotel and stood overlooking the twinkling lights of
the town. Calexico was getting to be quite a little city, and the
string of lights were flung out for half a mile to the east and north.
Across the line the high-arched sign of the Red Owl already winked
alluringly.
He looked at his watch. It was only a quarter past eight. He turned
back to his room, took his violin from the battered trunk, went to the
garage, and in fifteen minutes was chugging south between the rows of
cottonwood and willows that stood dim guardians in the night against
the desert.
Imogene Chandler heard the machine coming. She put on her new spring
coat and came out into the yard. The night was a little cool, and that
new coat was the first article of wearing apparel she had bought for
herself in three years.
"I'm glad you brought your fiddle again," she said as Bob came into the
yard. She was bare-headed, and her hair showed loose and wavy in the
starlight. "I've felt rather lilty all day." She snapped her fingers
and danced round in a circle. "Just a little hippety-hoppety," she
laughed, dropping down upon the bench. "Sit down and play to us--me
and this wonderful night."
"I want to talk first." He laid the fiddle across his knees. In spite
of the spell of the desert, figures were still running through his head.
"How like a man!" she said, mockingly. "And is it about yourself?"
"Of course," he replied, soberly. "You don't think I'd waste gasolene
to come down here to talk about any other man, do you?"
"Before you begin on that absorbing subject," she bantered, "tell me,
will our cotton now sell for enough to pay Mr. Crill that note?"
"Yes, but you are not going to sell it. He has extended the note
another six months. Cotton is going up this fall."
"Isn't that great!" she exclaimed. "Here we have money enough for
another crop, and can speculate on last year's cotton by holding for
higher prices. Why, man, if it should go to ten cents we'd clear
$3,000 on that cotton above what we already have."
"Yes, and if it goes to twelve, you'll have $4,500 to the good."
He sat still for a moment, gripping the neck of his fiddle with his
fingers as though choking it into waiting.
"Well?" she prompted.
"I've got a chance for something big." He got up and walked, holding
the fiddle by the neck, swinging it back and forth. "If I put it
through, it will be a fortune; but if I fail I'll be in debt world
without end--mortgaged all the rest of my life!"
Walking back and forth before her in the starlight he told Imogene
Chandler of the big opportunity--of the rare combination of
circumstances which made it possible for him, without property or
backing, to borrow one hundred thousand dollars for a crop; and
marshalled his reasons for belief in its success. "The water might
fail," she suggested, when he had finished and sat down again with the
fiddle across his knee.
"Yes, it might," he admitted.
"The Chinamen might get into trouble among themselves or with the
Mexicans and leave you at a critical time."
"Possibly."
"The duty might be raised on cotton," she added.
"Yes," he confessed.
"But," she continued, "there is one thing much more likely than any of
these--a thing fairly certain. Reedy Jenkins will fight you in every
way he can invent. First he'll fight to get your money; and then he'll
fight you just for hate."
"I have thought of that," Bob again got up, moved by the agitation of
doubt. If it were his own money to be risked he would not hesitate a
moment--but one hundred thousand dollars of another man's money and his
own reputation!
"For these reasons," continued Imogene Chandler, "I advise you to go
into it--and _you'll_ win.
"Now play to me."