THE OLD WOUND.
Nash’s hesitation was but of a second’s duration. With an exclamation
of wrath and disappointment he thrust his gun back to his pocket, and
leaped forward. He reached the pipe line, vaulted it, and plunged
fearlessly in the general direction taken by the stranger. Once he
heard the sound of falling rocks. Encouraged, he doubled his speed,
only to trip upon an unseen root and sprawl heavily. The very forces
of nature seemed pitted against him, for no sooner had he regained his
feet than the half twilight died away, and the mountain slope became
wrapped in a confusing blanket of gloom.
In another hour--perhaps before then--the moon would creep over the
distant coast range, and bathe the quiet world in silver; until then
all hope of pursuit was futile. He stumbled on, groping his way back to
the pipe line. Once there, he listened hopefully for some sign, some
slight noise that might guide him, but his anxious ears were unrewarded.
When at last he returned to the high trail he found only his pony
awaiting him. Miss Breen had vanished as suddenly and as mysteriously
as had the man she warned.
It was quite useless, he knew, to remain where he was. The chances of
following the stranger were becoming more and more hopeless. So he
climbed into the saddle, and allowed his pony to pick its way slowly
and carefully along the trail.
What a puzzle this was, to be sure, he reasoned to himself. Undoubtedly
the man he had seen, who, thanks to the girl’s warning, had escaped,
was none other than the person instrumental in the previous night’s
adventure. The fact that he was carrying a sledge hammer gave added
proof to this suspicion, to say nothing of his fright at Nash’s abrupt
interruption. And yet, what had led Miss Breen to cry out just at the
moment when his capture seemed certain? What connection had she with
this slinking intruder?
Mentally Nash recalled to mind the maps he had stumbled upon; those
cleverly executed and highly technical drawings. And how intensely
interested she had been in the construction work; what unusual
questions she had asked.
In spite of this Nash could not bring himself to the point of
suspecting the girl of being an accomplice of the man who had
committed, or intended to commit, such dastardly outrages. Some of her
actions were puzzling, he admitted, and yet she seemed to be cast in
too fine a mold for such an association.
Upon his return to his cabin, an hour later, Nash found Hooker awaiting
him. Hooker came regularly from Los Angeles twice or three times
a month, bringing letters and specifications from Sigsbee and the
construction board of engineers.
“Hello, Nash,” he said. “You’re late to-night. I’ve been waiting since
five o’clock.”
“I am a bit later than usual,” Nash admitted. “We’ve been troubled with
bursted water mains lately. Some vandal has been smashing them with a
sledge. I’ve been trying to get at the bottom of the mystery.”
Then, as briefly as possible, he told Hooker of the previous night’s
accident. Of the recent affair he mentioned not a word.
“Nasty business,” answered Hooker. “If it isn’t stopped it’s likely
to put you away behind on your contracts. So far, however, Sigsbee is
highly elated over your work, Nash. Don’t mind me telling you so, do
you? It might seem funny, coming from one in my position, eh? But I’m
as glad as the boss. He gave me the same opportunity--and I fell down.
Maybe it was the booze, and maybe again it wasn’t. Anyhow, I’m glad to
see you’re making good.”
“What’s the occasion for to-night’s visit?” Nash asked. “Anything new?”
Hooker brought out some folded papers, spreading them upon the table.
“These are the rest of the steel specifications,” he said, running his
fingers down the list of numbers. “You’ve followed the others, haven’t
you?”
“To the hair’s breadth,” Nash replied.
“Ordered the siphon steel?”
“All of it. In fact, to-day I started construction of the big siphon
across Soledad Cañon.”
“Good for you!” Hooker’s eyes brightened. “That’s speedy work, all
right, Nash. Sigsbee wants to see Camp Forty-seven get the first siphon
completed. It’ll carry a hundred-dollar bonus if you complete it before
the fifteenth.”
“I’ll win it.”
Hooker’s face glowed with admiration. “Nash, you’re a brick. I never
saw a fellow put so much enthusiasm into his work.” Then, after a
moment, he added: “Not having any trouble, are you?”
“Trouble? None, except that water main being smashed. Why?”
Hooker shrugged, and turned the subject with a laugh. “Oh, nothing in
particular, Nash. Only, you know, a man in your position is always
hated by some of the workers. I guess you can take care of yourself,
can’t you? You’re no weakling. And remember, this isn’t New York.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nash asked, not liking the other’s tone.
“Well, if you should--hurt a man out here--it wouldn’t be necessary to
disappear,” Hooker answered. “I believe that was the reason for your
departure from New York, wasn’t it?”
Nash calmly ignored the insinuation, gathered up the papers Hooker had
brought, and fastened them with the others on his board.
“Sigsbee send any further orders?” he asked, after he had finished.
“That’s all, Nash. I came down from San Fernando in his car. The moon’s
up now, so I might as well be hitting the trail back. Like to take a
little spin?”
“Not to-night, thank you,” Nash replied. “Got too much work to do.”
Hooker frowned, and shrugged his shoulders. Before leaving the cabin he
turned, and said: “Don’t take things so serious, Nash. I didn’t mean
anything when I said you----”
“Of course you didn’t,” Nash interrupted dryly. “Convey my best wishes
to Sigsbee, will you?”
Hooker went out, slamming the door behind him. Long after the sound of
the chugging motor had died away on the still night air, Nash remained
bending over his desk, marshaling into order the confusing rows of
figures, transferring the totals from his memorandum book to the
ledger, and preparing, as he always did, for the work of the coming day.
The subject touched upon by the old foreman brought back an instant
and bitter flood of memories; but he fought against them, crushed them
back, firm in his resolve not to allow the past to interfere with the
duties on hand.