PREPARING THE NET FOR A DRAW
Beth Kent, as the sun was going from the sky, fell down three times in
utter exhaustion. She and the others had come to within a mile of the
"Laughing Water" claim. Pratt was far away in the rear, on the last of
his stations. Glen, in the lead, was forging ahead on a second supply
of strength. Hidden from the sight of either of the others, Beth was
ready for collapse.
But onward crept that merciless ribbon of steel that Glen was dragging.
Three times the girl rose and stumbled onward, up the last acclivity.
Her legs were like lead. She stubbed her toes on every rock. She
could almost have cried with the aches of weariness. It seemed as if
that terrible hill unfolded new and steeper slopes for every one she
climbed.
She went down repeatedly. To have lain there, hungry, but indifferent
to anything but sleep, would have been the most heavenly thing she
could conceive. She was literally falling up the hill, with all her
machinery slumping towards inertia, when finally Pratt, on his distant
hill, sent the signal for Glen to halt.
"All right, Beth--rest!" he called from the end of the chain, and she
sank at once in her tracks.
It was almost dusk when Pratt came toiling up the hill. Glen had come
down to Beth's position. He too was thoroughly tired. How the line
had come out was more than he could care. But Beth, with the last of
her flickering strength, arose to hasten Pratt.
"No use in the three of us being seen," he said, planting his transit
in the sand, but making no effort to adjust it to a level. "That ridge
there overlooks the claim. I'll climb up alone and take a bird's-eye
view."
"We're as near as that!" cried Beth in startled surprise. "Then what
do you think? Does the line include the claim?"
"I'll have to look around from the ridge," repeated Pratt with
aggravating caution. "You can wait ten minutes here."
He started laboriously up the slope--and Beth stood tensely watching.
She thought she saw him top the ridge, but he disappeared from sight.
The darkness was gathering swiftly in all the desert world. The girl's
excitement and impatience grew with a new flare up of energy. To think
that Searle was so near at hand, with fate a-hover in the air, sent her
pulses bounding madly.
It seemed as if Pratt would never return from the hill. She could
almost have dashed to the summit herself, to learn the outcome of their
labors. Then at last, from a small ravine, not far away, he appeared
in his leisurely manner.
Beth ran along the slope to meet him.
"Well?" she cried. "What did you find?"
He smiled. "Unless I'm crazy, Lawrence is either a liar or a fool.
That claim is safe outside the line by nearly an eighth of a mile."
"Oh!" cried the girl. She collapsed on the ground and sobbed in
exhaustion and joy.
She could go no further. She had kept her strength and courage up for
this, and now, inside the goal, she cared not what might happen.
They camped upon the spot. The man with the car, which had taken them
out, had been ordered to meet them down at Reservation town--the
mushroom camp which had sprung into being no more than a week before
the rush. All the way down there Pratt continued alone. He and the
chauffeur, long after dark, returned with provisions and blankets.
They had driven the car as far as possible, then climbed the ravine on
foot.
At nine o'clock Beth was asleep beneath the stars, dreaming of her
meeting with Van.
At daylight all were up, and in the chill of the rarified mountain air
were walking stiffly to the car. The chauffeur, who had slept in his
machine, promised breakfast by eight at Mrs. Dick's. He tore up the
road and he tore away their breath, but he came into Goldite half an
hour ahead of time, and claimed he had driven "pretty slow."
Meantime, the night in the mining-camp had brought no untoward
excitement. Van, at his tent, with the covered figure lying on the
earth, had welcomed his partners at midnight with the news that a
"homeless and worn-out pilgrim of the desert" had come desiring rest.
He was sleeping hard; he was not to be disturbed. In the morning he
was scheduled to depart.
Tired to utter unconcern, the three old worthies made their beds with
Van beside the man at peace. And the whole five slept with a trust and
abandon to nature that balanced the living and the dead.
Van was out, had eaten his breakfast, and was waiting for the sheriff
when Beth and her party returned. He beheld them, felt his heart lift
upward like a lever in his breast, at sight of Beth in her male attire,
and grimly shut his jaws.
Christler, the sheriff, arrived a little after eight, bringing in a
wounded deputy. Barger had shot him in the thigh. Van did not wait
for his man to eat, but urged him home to his bachelor shack and sat
him down to a drink of something strong, with a cracker to munch for a
meal.
Christler was tired. He was somewhat stout; he had been in the saddle
almost constantly for weeks, and now, as a victim of chagrin and
disappointment, he was utterly dejected and done.
"Good Lord, Van, ain't a man to breathe--hain't he got no rights to
live, whatsoever?" he inquired. "You'd chase me up, or somebody would,
if I was in my grave."
"You'd break out of your grave," Van told him, "if you knew what's
going on."
Christler looked dubious, draining at his glass.
"Well, I dunno. It 'ud have to be something pretty rich."
"Bill," said Van, "you're going to stand in and work with me as you
haven't worked for a year. It's going to be worth it. Opal McCoppet,
and one Searle Bostwick, of New York, have stolen my claim by
corrupting Lawrence for twenty thousand dollars, running a false
reservation line, and maybe putting Culver out of the way because he
was square in his business."
Christler paused in the act of biting his cracker.
"What!"
"There's going to be something doing, Bill," Van added, leaning forward
on the table. "I'm going to round up all this gang to-day if it kills
you to keep on the trail."
Christler still sat staring.
"By the Lord Harry!" he said. "By the Lord--but, Van, I didn't come
home to rest. I've got Barger going, somewhere, shot to a sieve. But
he's some disappeared. If that ain't just my luck! I'm goin' to git
him though, you bet! Lord!--my pride--my profession pride--not to
mention that little old reward! I admit I want that money, Van. I
reckon I've pretty near----"
"Yes, you've earned it," Van interrupted. "I'm going to see that you
get it. Bill, but first you get busy with me."
"You'll see that I get----" Christler put the cracker in his mouth.
"Don't talk to a genuine friend like that. I'm tired already."
"Are you?" said Van. "Let's see. Barger is here--in camp."
Up shot the sheriff as if from the force of a blast.
"What!" he shrilled. "Barger! Van, I'll----"
Van grinned.
"Don't forget you're tired, Bill. Matt won't get away."
"Good Lord, boy--tell me where's he at!" cried Christler, dancing on
the floor as he strapped his guns upon him. "Me a-thinkin' I had shot
him up and all this time----"
"You shot him enough, poor devil," Van interrupted quietly. "He's dead
in my tent on the hill."
The sheriff paused with one hand held in the air.
"Dead! Crawled all the way to Goldite!" He started for the door.
"Hold on," said the horseman, blocking his path. "I told you Matt
can't get away. We're going out to get Lawrence first, and then
McCoppet and his friend."