BETH'S DESPERATION
The following day in Goldite was one of occurrences, all more or less
intimately connected with the affairs of Van and Beth.
Bostwick succeeded in making an early start to the southward in his
car. McCoppet had provided not only a couple of men as guides to the
field where Lawrence was working, but also a tent, provisions, and
blankets, should occasion arise for their use.
Beth was informed by her fiancé that word had arrived from her brother,
to whom Searle said he meant to go. The business of buying Glenmore's
mine, he said, required unexpected dispatch. Perhaps both he and Glen
might return by the end of the week.
By that morning's train the body of Culver was shipped away--and the
camp began to forget him. The sheriff was after Cayuse.
Early in the afternoon the body of the girl who had never been known in
Goldite by any name save that of Queenie, was buried on a hillside,
already called into requisition as a final resting place for such as
succumbed in the mining-camp, too far from friends, or too far lost, to
be carried to the world outside the mountains. Half a dozen women
attended the somewhat meager rites. There was one mourner only--the
man who had run to summon Van, and who later had waited by the door.
At four o'clock the Goldite _News_ appeared upon the streets. It
contained much original matter--or so at least it claimed. The account
of the murder of Culver, the death of Queenie, and the threatened
lynching of Van Buren made a highly sensational story. It was given
the prominent place, for the editor was proud to have made it so full
in a time that he deemed rather short. On a second page was a tale
less tragic.
It was, according to one of its many sub-headings, "A Humorous Outcrop
concerning two Maids and a Man." It related, with many gay sallies of
"wit," how Van had piloted Mr. J. Searle Bostwick into the hands of the
convicts, recently escaped, packed off his charges, Miss Beth Kent and
her maid, and brought them to Goldite by way of the Monte Cristo mine,
in time to behold the discomfited entrance of the said J. Searle
Bostwick in prisoner's attire. Mr. Bostwick was described as having
been "on his ear" towards Van Buren ever since.
In the main the account was fairly accurate. Gettysburg, Napoleon, and
old Dave had over-talked, during certain liquifying processes. The
matter was out beyond repair.
Mrs. Dick was prompt in pouncing on the story, hence Beth was soon
presented with a copy. In the natural annoyance she felt when it was
read, there was one consolation, at least: Searle was away, to be gone
perhaps two or three days. He might not see the article, which would
soon be forgotten in the camp.
To culminate the day's events, that evening Elsa ran away. She went
with a "gentleman" lodger, taking the slight precaution to be married
by the Justice of the Peace.
Beth discovered her loss too late to interfere. She felt herself
alone, indeed, with Bostwick away, her brother off in the desert, and
Van--she refused to think of Van. Fortunately, Mrs. Dick was more than
merely a friend. She was a staunch little warrior, protecting the
champion, to anger whom was unhealthy. Despite the landlady's attitude
of friendliness, however, Beth felt wretchedly alone. It was a
terrible place. She was cooped up all day within the lodging house,
since the street full of men was more than she cared to encounter; and
with life all about her, and wonderful days spreading one after another
across the wide-open land, her liberties were fairly in a cage.
From time to time she thought of the horse, awaiting her order at the
hay-yard. She tried to convince herself she would never accept or ride
the animal. She was certain she resented everything Van had done. She
felt the warmest indignation at herself for breaking into bits of song,
for glowing to the tips of her ears, for letting her heart leap wildly
in her breast whenever she thought of the horseman.
Two days went by and she chafed under continued restraints. No word
had come from Bostwick, none from Glen--and not a sign from the
"Laughing Water" claim. From the latter she said to herself she wished
no sign. But Searle had no right to leave her thus and neglect her in
every respect.
The morning of the third long day Mrs. Dick brought her two thin
letters. One had been mailed in Goldite, by a messenger down from the
"Laughing Water" claim. It came from Van. He had written the briefest
of notes:
"Just to send my love. I want you to wear my nugget."
Folded into the paper was a spray of the wild peach bloom.
Beth tried to think her blushes were those of indignation, which
likewise caused the beat of her heart to rise. But her hand fluttered
prettily up to her breast, where the nugget was pinned inside her
waist. Also his letter must have been hard to understand--she read it
seventeen times.
Then she presently turned to the other. It was addressed in
typewritten characters, but the writing inside she knew--her brother
Glen's.
"Dear Old Sis: Say, what in the dickens are you doing out here in the
mines, by all that's holey?--and what's all this story in the Goldite
_News_ about one Bronson Van Buren doing the benevolent brigand stunt
with you and your maid, and shunting Searle off with the Cons? Why
couldn't you let a grubber know you were hiking out here to the desert?
Why all this elaborate surprise--this newspaper wireless to your fond
and lonesome?
"What's the matter with your writing hand? Is this Van-brigand holding
them both? What's the matter with Searle? I wrote him two or three
aeons ago, when he might have been of assistance. Now I'm doing my
eight hours a day in an effort to sink down to China. I'm on the
blink, in a way, but not for long, for this is the land where
opportunity walks night and day to thump on your door--and I'll grab
her by the draperies yet.
"But _me_!--working as a common miner!--though I've got a few days off
to go and look at a claim with a friend of mine, so you needn't answer
till you hear again.
"If Searle is dead, why don't he say so? I only touched him for a few
odd dollars--I only needed a grub-stake--fifty would have done the
trick--and he doesn't come through. And nobody writes. I guess it's
me for the Prodigal, but when I do get next to the fatted calf I'll get
inside and eat my way out by way of his hoofs and horns. Why couldn't
you and Searle and the maid come down and have a look at me--working?
_It's worth it_. Come on. Maybe it's easier than writing. Yours for
the rights of labor, GLEN."
Astonished by the contents of this communication, Beth read it again,
in no little bewilderment, to make sure she had made no mistake. No
letter from herself? No word from Searle? No answer to Glen's request
for money? And he had only asked for a "few odd dollars?" There must
be something wrong. He had sent the most urgent requirement for sixty
thousand dollars. And she herself had written, at once. Searle had
assured her he had sent him word by special messenger. Starlight was
less than a long day's ride away. Glen had already had time to see
that account in the paper and write.
She had no suspicions of Bostwick. She had seen Glen's letter and read
it for herself. And Searle had responded immediately with an offer to
lend her brother thirty thousand dollars. There must be some mistake.
Glen might be keeping his news and plans from herself, as men so often
will. Searle might even have overlooked the importance of keeping Glen
fully posted, intending to go so soon to Starlight. Her own letter
might have miscarried.
She tried to fashion explanations--but they would not entirely fit.
Searle had been gone three days. He had gone before the Goldite _News_
was issued. The paper had arrived at Glen's while the man in his car
had failed.
For a moment she sickened with the reflection that Searle might once
more have fallen captive to the convicts, still at large--and with all
the money! Then she presently assured herself that news so sinister as
this would have been very prompt to return.
It was all too much to understand--unless Glen were ill--or out of his
reason. His two letters, the one to Searle and this one to herself,
were so utterly conflicting. It was not to be solved from such a
distance. Moreover, Glen wrote that he was off on a trip, and asked
her to wait before replying. It was irritating, all this waiting,
alone here in Goldite, but there seemed to be nothing else to do.
The long morning passed, and she fretted. In the afternoon the Goldite
_News_ broke its record. It printed an extra--a single sheet, in
glaring type, announcing the capture of the convicts. By a bold and
daring coup, it said, the entire herd of criminals, all half starved
and weakened by privations, had been rounded up and transported back to
prison. Unfortunately, the report was slightly inaccurate. Matt
Barger, the leader in the prison delivery, and the most desperate man
in the lot, had escaped the posse's vigilance. Of this important
factor in the welcome story of the posse's work Goldite was ignorant,
and doomed to be in ignorance a week.
The news to Beth was a source of great relief. But her troubles in
other directions were fated to increase. That evening three men called
formally--formally, that is to say, in so far as dressing in their best
was concerned and putting on their "company manners." But Beth and
courtship were their objects, a fact that developed, somewhat crudely
with the smallest possible delay.
One of these persons, Billy Stitts by name, was fairly unobjectionable
as a human being, since he was a quaint, slow-witted, bird-like little
creature, fully sixty years of age and clearly harmless. The others
were as frankly in pursuit of a mate as any two mountain animals.
Beth was frightened, when the purport of their visit flashed upon her.
She felt a certain sense of helplessness. Mrs. Dick was too busy to be
constantly present; Elsa was gone; the ways of such a place were new
and wholly alarming. She felt when she made her escape from the three
that her safety was by no means assured. Her room was her only
retreat. Except for Mrs. Dick, there was not another woman in the
house. She was wholly surrounded by men--a rough, womanless lot whose
excitements, passions, and emotions were subjected to changes
constantly, as well as to heats, by the life all around them in the
mines.
That night was her first of real terror. Every noise in the building,
and some in the streets, made her start awake like a hunted doe, with
imaginings of the most awful description. She scarcely slept at all.
The following day old Billy Stitts called again, very shortly after
breakfast. He proved such an amiable, womanly old chap that he was
almost a comfort to the girl. She sent him to the postoffice, for a
possible letter from Glen. He went with all the pleasure and alacrity
of a faithful dog, apologizing most exuberantly on his return for the
fact that no letter had come.
She remained in the house all day. The afternoon brought the two rough
suitors of the night before, and two more equally crude. Mrs. Dick, to
Beth's intense uneasiness, regarded the matter as one to be expected,
and quite in accord with reason and proper regulations. A good-looking
girl in camp, with her men-folks all giving her the go-by--and what
could you expect? Moreover, as some of these would-be courtiers were
husky and in line for fortune's smile, with chances as good as any
other man's, she might do worse than let them come, and hear what they
had to say. It was no girl's need to be neglected as Searle and Van
were patently neglecting Beth.
This was the stage in which Beth at length began to meditate on Spartan
remedies. The situation was not to be endured. No word had come from
Searle. The world might have swallowed him up. She was sick of
him--sick of his ways of neglect. And as for Van----
There was no one to whom she could turn--unless it were Glen. If only
she could flee to her brother! She thought about it earnestly. She
tried to plan the way.
Her horse was at the hay-yard. Starlight was only one day off in the
desert. The convicts were no longer about. If only she could ride
there--even alone! An early start--a little urging of the pony--she
could fancy the journey accomplished with the utmost ease; then
scornful defiance, both of Bostwick and of Van.
But a woman--riding in this lawless land alone! She was utterly
disheartened, disillusionized at the thought. It would be no less than
madness. And yet, it seemed as if she must presently go. Searle's
silence, coupled to conditions here, was absolutely intolerable.
With plans decidedly hazy--nothing but a wild, bright dream really
clear--she questioned Billy Stitts concerning the roads. He was
familiar with every route in miles, whether roadway, trail, or "course
by compass," as he termed trackless cruising in the desert. He gave
her directions with the utmost minutae of detail as to every highway to
Starlight. He drew her a plan. She was sure that she could almost
ride to Starlight in the dark. What branches of the road to shun,
which trails to choose, possibly, for gaining time, what places to
water a famishing horse--all these and more she learned with feverish
interest.
"Now a man would do this," and "a man would do that," said Billy time
after time, till a new, fantastic notion came bounding full-fledged
into Beth's anxious brain and almost made her laugh with delight. She
could _dress as a man_ and ride as a man and be absolutely safe on the
journey! She knew a dozen unusual arts for dying the skin and
concealing the hair and making the hands look rough. Make-up in
private theatricals, at professional hands, she had learned with
exceptional thoroughness.
She would need a suit of kahki, miners' books, a soft, big hat, and
flannel shirt. They were all to be had at the store. She could order
her horse to be saddled for a man. She could readily dress and escape
unseen from the house. In a word, she could do the trick!
The plan possessed her utterly. It sent her blood bounding through her
veins. Her face was flushed with excitement. She loved adventure--and
this would be something to do!
Nevertheless, despite all her plans, she had no real intention of
attempting a scheme so mad. Subconsciously she confessed to herself it
was just the merest idle fancy, not a thing to be actually ventured, or
even entertained.
That night, when she was more beset, more worried than before, however,
desperation was increasing upon her. The plan she had made no longer
seemed the mere caprice of one in pursuit of pleasure--it appeared to
be the only possible respite from conditions no longer to be borne.
When the morning came, after a night of mental torture and bodily fear,
her patience had been strained to the point of breaking, and resolve
was steeling her courage.
The word that should have come from Searle was still delinquent. But
old Billy Stitts brought her a letter from Glen.
"Dear Sis: I can only write a line or two. Had a thump on the head,
but it didn't knock off my block. Don't worry. All right in a few
days, sure. Guess you couldn't come, or you'd be here, in response to
my last. But Searle might show up, anyhow. You can write me now.
Hope you're well and happy. Is the brigand still on the job? Can't
really write. With love, GLEN."
Her heart stood still as she; read her brother's lines, in a scrawled
hand indicative of weakness. She resolved in that instant to go.
"Mr. Stitts," she raid in remarkable calm, for all that she felt, "my
brother needs some clothing--everything complete, boots, shirts, and
all. He's just about my size. I wish you'd go and buy them."
"Lord, I know the best and the cheapest in camp!" said Billy eagerly.
"I'll have 'em here before you can write him your letter--but the stage
don't go back till Friday."
She had given no thought to the tri-weekly stage. She dismissed it
now, with a wave of gratitude towards Van for the horse--gratitude, or
something, surging warmly in her veins. She almost wished he could
ride at her side, but checked that lawlessness sternly. She would ride
to Glen alone!