VON MINDEN
That evening, after the little fire had burned to a bed of coals, Ernest
said: "About time for the stuff to have come from St. Louis."
"I've been thinking of that," returned Roger. "And we've nearly run
through the Prebles' extra supplies. Why don't you go in to Archer's
Springs and bring a load out. Dick is planning to go day after
to-morrow."
"Wouldn't you rather go?" asked Ernest.
"Not if I can help it."
"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Ernest. "I was afraid you'd want the job, and
even Archer's Springs would look good to me!"
Roger laughed and slapped Ernest on the shoulder. "You homesick
Dutchman! Crazy for the mail, aren't you? There must be something there
from Austin. I'm glad you want to go, for I'd hate the trip. Let's turn
in!"
Wednesday morning, just at dawn, Dick and Ernest, each driving a team,
pulled up before the cook tent where Roger and Qui-tha were finishing
breakfast.
"Charley says you're to come up there for supper to-night," called Dick.
"Felicia has permission to come down to fetch you at five o'clock."
"All right," returned Roger. "When do you expect to be back, Dick?"
"All depends on luck. Perhaps not before Friday noon."
"Take care of Ernest," called Roger as the two teams started on. "He's
flighty!"
"Don't get drowned in that fine well of yours, Rog!" shouted Ernest.
Roger lighted his pipe and helped Qui-tha clean the plates and cups with
sand and old newspaper.
"Don't know how we'll do dishes when the newspapers give out, Qui-tha,"
he said.
"Keep burro. He clean 'em," suggested Qui-tha, with a mischievous grin.
"Wah! Go way! We're not Hualapais like you," retorted Roger.
Qui-tha laughed, and followed Roger to the well. The chill of the early
March morning was beginning to lift.
Roger pulled off his coat, preparatory to dropping down into the well,
then paused. The sun was just lifting over the peaks. The ranch house
was in black shadow. No man with Roger's capacity for work could be
lonely with that work at hand. No man with Roger's fine imagination
could have failed to have felt his pulses quicken at the sudden
conception of the desert's wonders that flashed before his mind as his
outward eye took in the sunrise. He saw in flashing panorama the
desert's magnificent distances, its unbelievable richness of coloring,
its burning desert noons, its still windswept nights, and a vague waking
of passions he never had known stirred within his self and work-centered
soul.
The air was full of bird song. What Ernest called the dawn's enchantment
was just ending. Blackbird and robin, oriole and mocking bird, piped
full-throated from every cactus. To Ernest this was the one redeeming
touch to the desert's austerity. To Roger it was the crowning of an
almost unbearable charm. The sun wheeled in full glory over the peaks.
The adobe flashed out from the shadow and Roger slid down into the well.
He loaded the bucket with broken rock and called to Qui-tha to hoist
away. To his surprise, there was no response. Roger climbed hurriedly
out, calling to the Indian. He looked in the cook tent and the living
tent and then his eye caught Qui-tha's tall figure already diminished by
distance, moving rapidly westward toward the River Range.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "that's cool! I wonder if he took anything with
him but the peroxide bottle?"
A quick inventory showed nothing missing, and with a sigh Roger returned
to the well.
It was slow work, filling the bucket, clambering out to hoist it, then
down again. But at noon, when the sun shone full into the well, Roger
noticed a sudden darkening of the brown rock at the bottom. He seized a
pick and worked rapidly. Water! Not a gushing spring, but a steady
increase of moisture that, as he dug on, became a trickle, then a slowly
rising pool about his ankles.
No discoverer of a noble river ever felt prouder than Roger as, after he
had hoisted out the bucket and tools, he stood at the well's edge gazing
far down at the dirty pool.
He was standing so, a tall figure, his face streaked with dirt and
sweat but with satisfaction radiating from every line of his thin tanned
face, when, "Hello!" called a man's voice behind him.
Roger turned with a jerk. A little gray-headed man and a little gray
burro were standing by the work tent.
"Perhaps I could get something to eat here," said the stranger.
"Certainly," returned Roger, not too enthusiastically. He did not know
desert hospitality, excepting what he had met at the Preble ranch. The
man turned promptly to the burro.
"I'll take off your pack, Peter, if you see to it that you don't stray."
The burro looked at his master with the gaze of a wise old dog and,
relieved of his pack, moved slowly to the shade of the living tent.
Roger, looking his guest over, from faded overalls and blue flannel
shirt to battered sombrero, led the way into the cook tent.
"Whew!" said the stranger. "Sun's getting higher. Noons are hot. When
did you reach these parts?"
"A couple of weeks ago. My name's Moore,--Roger Moore."
The man nodded. "Mine's Otto von Minden. I'm an engineer. Been in the
desert country ten years."
Roger was moving about, making coffee and slicing bacon. "What are you
doing, prospecting?" he asked.
Von Minden jerked a quick look at Roger from a pair of small brown eyes.
"Yes, I'm prospecting. What are you doing?"
"Experimenting with solar heat. This is the place to get it if this
noon is a promise of more to come."
"Heat!" cried the stranger with sudden excitement. "Heat! God! What I
have known of heat. Blistering, burning, blinding! Nights when the very
star rays scorch and the moon's a caldron of white lava. Ten years of
it, Moore, ten years!"
Roger looked at his guest with interest. "You aren't an American?
There's just a little accent in your speech."
"Me? No. I'm German born and bred. What are you going to do with your
solar heat?"
"Harness it," replied Roger, "and see if I can make it work for me."
"There's a fool born every minute," said Von Minden.
"You're quite right," returned Roger, cheerfully.
There was no further conversation until Roger had put the coffee, bacon
and cold biscuits with a can of pie-fruit on the table. Von Minden fell
to voraciously. His table manners were very bad, his hands were dirty
but there was something about him that interested Roger.
"I've had great trouble getting water," he said. "Just struck it, this
noon. 'Twill be enough for drinking and my condenser, I guess, but
nothing for irrigation."
"Can't do anything with a dug well, here," grunted the guest. "Better
drive one."
"Is the sand really fertile in this region?" asked Roger.
"Fertile? Friend, there's an empire waiting to be born, right here, if
only they can get water and fuel."
"If we can get the fuel we can pump the water," said Roger. "You're
right! There is an empire here. Mineral resources beyond the dreams of
avarice, four or five crops a year of food-stuffs. Why, man, millions of
people could come in here and be self-sustaining."
"What do you mean by 'in here'?" Von Minden spoke sharply.
Roger hesitated. "I mean really something pretty big. A cheap fuel would
open up Arizona, New Mexico, Southern California and Northern old Mexico
as no one can conceive who's not studied the subject. If I can put over
my experiment, I shall add to the potential wealth of this country as no
single individual has ever done. I'm going to get some one's ear at
Washington, some day, if it's not till I'm a doddering old man. We ought
to have Mexico, you know, because when the inland empire begins to grow,
we'll overflow into Mexico. But we never can have her, of course. We can
only hope that she'll grow into a real nation we can neighbor with, like
Canada."
"Ah hah! And how're you going to bring about this millennium?" asked Von
Minden.
But Roger, whose outburst to a stranger had been unprecedented, had
nothing more to say on the subject.
"Will your burro eat table scraps?" he inquired.
"Yes, especially bacon rinds. Oh, Peter, come here, liebchen!" he
called.
There was a sound of little light footfalls in the sand and Peter's wise
gray face appeared in the doorway.
"Come here, sweetheart." The little burro crowded carefully around the
table end until his head rested on Von Minden's shoulder. One by one,
the old prospector handed up the bacon rinds and biscuits to him and
Peter chewed sedately, flopping his ears back and forth.
"You are a good little boy. Now run along out," as the last rind
disappeared and the burro trotted sedately out to browse industriously
among the roots of the cactus.
"He really seems to understand," exclaimed Roger delightedly.
"He _knows_!" cried Von Minden. "And now, tell me about this solar heat.
How are you going to harness it?"
Roger shook his head. "That I won't tell you now. But if you'll come
back in three months' time, I'll show you the plant."
"You're afraid of me, eh? Well, perhaps that's a good idea. Afraid of
me! Afraid of poor old Von Minden! There was a time when--ach!
Well--perhaps you'll let me have a nap here on a bench. Then Peter and
I'll go on up into the ranges."
"Make yourself at home," replied Roger.
Von Minden stretched his short length on the bench and closed his eyes.
Before Roger had finished the dishes he was snoring. The little burro
was standing in the shade of the living tent when Roger came out of the
cook shelter. He looked pathetically small and thin and Roger, who had
taken a great fancy to him, brought him a pail of water, and scratched
his head and talked to him before going on into the tent. Here he was
shortly absorbed in sorting his blue prints. He was studying the ground
plan of the absorber, when an uncanny sense of being watched made him
look over his shoulder. Von Minden, a sawed-off shot-gun aimed at
Roger's back, was standing in the doorway.
"You will come down here and open up the world's best empire, will
you--for America, eh? Not yet, my friend!" Von Minden's voice was husky
and unsteady.
Roger did not move. In fact, he was incapable of moving.
"Look here," he began. Then as in a mist he saw Peter's gray head appear
at his master's elbow and Peter himself, with his pack on his back,
thrust his way past his master into the tent, just as Von Minden pulled
the trigger. The shot seemed to hit everything in the tent but Roger.
The mist before Roger's eyes turned to red and he made a spring for his
guest. But Von Minden turned and fled, Peter after him, straight
eastward across the desert toward the Coyote Range. They ran with
surprising speed. Roger delayed long enough to get Ernest's rifle out of
his trunk. By the time he had loaded it, after searching frantically
several minutes for the box of cartridges, Von Minden and his little
burro were far beyond rifle shot.
Roger started after them, hot foot, swearing viciously as he ran. As he
saw the little German turn into the ranch trail a sudden fear for the
two girls mingled with his anger. But Von Minden did not stop at the
ranch house. As Roger reached the alfalfa field, burro and man veered to
the right, around the adobe and rapidly on up the mountain trail, where
they were quickly lost to view.
Roger saw Charley come hastily out of the house, followed by Felicia and
when, panting and shaken with rage, he reached the house, they were
still looking curiously toward the mountain trail.
"What's the trouble, Roger?" called Charley.
"He shot at me, the damned hound! Tried to kill me!"
He would have passed on up the mountain trail, but Charley had hurried
down the trail and interrupted him quietly, with a steady hand on his
arm.
"It's only Crazy Dutch!" she said. "You mustn't mind him!"
"Mind him!" shouted Roger. "I tell you he tried to kill me."
"You should have kept his gun for him until he was ready to go. That's
what we always do. And as for his taking a pot shot at you, why, that's
all in the day's work in this part of the country."
She smiled as she spoke, looking levelly into his eyes from her splendid
height. Felicia caught his sleeve.
"We were coming down to call on you, Roger, and now you've spoiled it,"
she said.
"Sit down on the steps and cool off a little," suggested Charley. "You
know you can always kill Crazy Dutch if you want to. He's always around.
He's really a dear old man when you come to know him. He's helped me out
here many a time when Dick's been sick or away." She was smiling still
more broadly as she led Roger to the steps. He felt as if he were being
hypnotized.
"But he tried to kill me," he repeated feebly, as Charley stood his
rifle in a corner of the porch and sent Felicia for a cup of water.
"Poor child! Did he try to kill you?" Charley patted his arm as if he
were a small boy. "Sit down in the shade here. I know you think we're
all crazy down here and I guess we are. But you'll get fond of poor
Crazy Dutch yourself. Dick loves him and he tried to shoot Dicky, when
they first knew each other."
The red mist cleared suddenly from Roger's vision. He drank deeply of
the water Felicia brought him and looked at Charley curiously. She was
the first person since his mother had died who had been able to ease his
outbursts of temper. Felicia was still aggrieved. She looked at Roger
reproachfully.
"We were coming down to call on you and now you've spoiled it."
Roger jumped to his feet with a laugh. "I'll go home at once. Come
along."
"No, we've got to dress up. It's going to be a regular call," said the
child.
"We were coming down about half past four to bring you back to supper
with us," said Charley.
Roger was suddenly conscious of the fact that he had a day's beard on
his face. He started down the trail, hastily, after retrieving his gun.
"I'll be glad to see you ladies whenever you call," he said, "but I'm
not going to promise not to shoot Crazy Dutch if he comes round again."
The call, which was made with due ceremony at the hour mentioned, was a
great success. Roger, fresh shaved, and quite recovered from the shock
of Von Minden's visit, played host with just enough formality to delight
Felicia. Charley was deeply interested in the plans for the Sun Plant.
It was the first time Roger had explained his general scheme of solar
heating to her and he was surprised by her eager intelligence.
The sun was setting when they started back to the ranch house, with
Felicia chatting like a magpie. Roger did the milking and the other
chores, by the light of a "bug."
Charley gave them a simple supper, but the beans and bacon, hot biscuit
and canned blackberries seemed extraordinarily delicious to Roger. He
and Felicia washed the supper dishes while Charley put a batch of bread
to rise.
The evening tasks finished, they established themselves before the
living-room fire. Roger lighted his pipe.
"Can't I sit up till quarter after eight to-night, Charley?" asked
Felicia.
"You wanted to do that last night," replied Charley.
"And you wouldn't let me. Won't you to-night?"
"No, dear."
"Then," great eyes on the implacable face of the alarm clock, "I've only
five minutes to sit up. Charley, I can't bear it."
"Oh, yes, you can," said Roger. "Think how awful it would be if you had
to go to bed at half-past seven. That's what happened to me when I was
your age."
"Didn't your mother love you? I don't see how she could help it. You
must have been a cunning boy."
"I was a long-legged, awkward, freckle-faced brat, but she loved me.
Mothers are like that."
Felicia nodded understandingly but did not take her eyes from the clock.
"There it goes, that nasty little minute hand! I'm sorry I ever learned
to tell time."
"Say good night to Roger, Felicia, and run off to bed. There's a dear."
Felicia rose obediently, put her arms around Roger's neck and kissed
him. "I don't like a man's kiss, when it tastes of tobacco," she said,
"but I suppose I might as well get used to it for when we're married,
Roger."
"I'm sorry," said Roger, meekly. "I'll give up smoking if you really
want me to."
Felicia giggled, picked up her doll, then turned to look at the clock.
It pointed to one minute after eight. She put out her tongue at her
enemy, then dragged slowly into the bedroom which she shared with
Charley, and shut the door.
Roger and Charley smiled at each other. "Were you a chatterbox, too, at
her age?" he asked. "I can't remember that you were."
"Dick says I was."
"But you're very silent for a girl. What has changed you?"
Charley laughed, then answered soberly: "The desert."
They both sat looking at the fire after this. The silence had lasted
some time when Charley said thoughtfully: "And so a big dream will
materialize in our valley after all. I can't tell you how glad I am."
"Why?" asked Roger, with interest. "Did Dick come out here with a big
dream?"
"Yes, we were going to make the desert blossom like the rose. We were
going to have the biggest alfalfa ranch in the southwest."
"Well, you've got a good start, haven't you?"
Charley shook her head and lapsed into silence again. Roger refilled his
pipe and replenished the fire. The flames leaped up and turned the gray
Navajo to rose color. The night wind which Roger had learned to expect
about nine o'clock swooped down the chimney. The faint bark and long
drawn howl of a coyote pack sounded from the valley and from behind the
adobe rose a whimper that increased to a scream that was almost human.
Roger sat forward in his chair.
"Wild cats!" said Charley. "Dick and I both have shot several but we
can't get rid of them."
"Look here," exclaimed Roger. "I'm going to stay here all night."
"What's the matter? Afraid to go home?"
Roger grinned. "Yes, but I'm more afraid to leave you two girls here
alone."
"My good man, I've been staying here alone about every two months for
four years. I'm not a bit afraid."
Roger looked at her keenly, but her deep eyes did not waver. "You may
have got used to it," he said obstinately, "but I'll wager anything that
when you first came you were just paralyzed with fear."
"I was indeed!" Charley shook her head as if in wonder at that early
fear. "I used to barricade myself in the bedroom and slept with the
little .22 at the head of the bed."
"I don't see how your brother--" began Roger.
"He _had_ to go," interrupted Charley. "Don't you try to prove that Dick
isn't devoted to me, for he is. He had to see the doctor because he came
out here with bad lungs. He's all cured of that now. No one could be
more of a dear than Dick, when he's--well."
She spoke with such vehemence, leaning forward in her chair with such a
depth of protest in her wide eyes that Roger was surprised.
"Good Lord, I wasn't criticizing Dick. I think he's a fine chap. Only I
don't think a girl ought to be sleeping alone, twenty-five miles from
the nearest neighbor."
"I'm safer here alone than I would be in St. Louis or Chicago,"
exclaimed Charley, leaning back in her chair with a little laugh. "Now
tell me what you are going to do after your Sun Plant begins to pump
water?"
"Try to get money interested in developing this and other waste
countries. There are untold mineral riches in these ranges, if only
there were a cheap way to get them out. Now don't get excited as Crazy
Dutch did and shoot me up! By the way, he told me his name was Otto von
Minden."
Charley nodded. "I believe he comes of good family. He speaks the finest
kind of Berliner German. Poor old thing!"
Roger snorted. "I'll _poor_ him when I catch him! I'll have him
committed to an asylum."
Charley laughed. "You'd have hard work getting that done. Asylums are
rare here and every one is fond of the little German. I wish I knew as
much as he does about German literature. Some day I'm going to Germany.
It must be a wonderful country."
"Did you learn German in college?"
"In High School and the University both. I'd like to have had some
French too, but there were no native French teachers and I didn't fancy
learning French with somebody's accent plus my own. On the other hand
the German teachers and the courses they offered were fine. I feel as if
I knew more about Germany than any other country outside the United
States."
"So do I," replied Roger, thoughtfully.
"I think that instead of getting Crazy Dutch committed you'd better get
to know him," Charley went on. "He's so well connected in Germany, in
spite of his forlorn appearance, he might prove a valuable acquaintance
for you."
Roger, whose wrath against Von Minden had disappeared much to his own
astonishment, nodded his head, and once more silence fell between them.
It was ten o'clock when Roger next observed the inexorable hand of the
alarm clock.
"I wish I'd never learned to tell time," he said as he rose reluctantly,
"and I wish you'd tell me as much about yourself as I've told you about
me."
"There's so little to tell," protested Charley.
"Oh, there's a great deal to tell," contradicted Roger. "The chief thing
being why the desert has changed you from a chatterbox to a Sphinx."
"That you'll never know! Run along home now before the coyotes or Von
Minden get you."
Roger grinned and said good night.
He was up with the birds the next morning, prepared to give a long day's
work to cleaning the well and covering it. It was not yet noon when he
saw a curious procession moving toward the camp along the Archer's
Springs trail. It appeared to consist of a small string of burros, led
by a bright red or pink umbrella.
"I thought somebody said the desert was lonesome," said Roger to
himself. "Me--I run a regular wayside inn." He lighted his pipe and sat
down on the well curb to wait. Gradually he discerned that the pink
parasol, undulating now against the sapphire of the sky, now against the
dancing yellow of a sand drift, was upheld by a woman who sat astride a
tiny burro. It was ten minutes after he discovered this that the lady
rode majestically into the camp and dismounted, with magnificent
gesture, throwing one leg over the burro's drooping head. The three
burros who were strung behind her stopped in their tracks as though half
dead.
Roger rose and doffed his hat. This was the largest woman he ever had
seen. She was easily three inches taller than Roger and splendidly
proportioned, huge of shoulder, broad of hip, but without an ounce of
fat upon her. Her face was gaunt and brown: thin lips, long thin nose,
gray eyes set deep, iron gray hair straggling over her forehead from
under a dusty pink sunbonnet. She wore a linen duster buttoned close to
her chin.
"How do you do, sir," she said in a pleasantly modulated voice. "My name
is Clarissa Foster von Minden."
"Mine is Roger Moore. Won't you come into the cook tent and let me get
you some lunch?"
"Yes, thank you," looking about her with keen interest. "This is the
place."
Roger, lighting the gasoline stove, looked at his caller inquiringly.
She smiled at him as she pulled off her sunbonnet and dust coat,
revealing a robe of pink calico not unlike an old fashioned "mother
hubbard."
"I am a disciple of the Yogis, Mr. Moore. I dreamed that my husband was
to be found in such a camp as this and here I am."
"I suppose you're referring to Otto von Minden. Yes, he was here
yesterday. He's a genial soul. He tried to shoot me."
Mrs. von Minden nodded. "That's Otto. He had those ways. I've not seen
him for five years. No bacon, Mr. Moore. I never touch animal fats. Just
some tea, fruit and crackers. Later, I'll unpack some olive oil which
you may use when cooking for me."
Roger nearly dropped the tea kettle. His mouth fell open as he stared at
his caller.
"Don't be startled, my friend," she cried. "Great things are to come to
you if you obey the Voices. And I've brought my own tent and supplies."
"But your husband isn't here, madam," protested Roger. "To tell you the
truth, I wouldn't have him about the place. He's just plain crazy."
"Oh, no, he's not crazy. He's had a touch of the sun, undoubtedly. But
he's not crazy. He's a brilliant man. I can make him very useful to
you."
Roger scratched his head and grinned. "You haven't by any chance had a
touch of the sun yourself, Mrs. von Minden?"
The lady laughed. "I must seem so to an outsider. You are still on the
first plane while I am on the seventh."
"I'll water the burros while the kettle boils," said Roger hastily. He
provided plentifully for the poor brutes, at the same time gazing
desperately toward the ranch house. He felt badly in need of advice.
As if in answer to his need he saw a tiny figure come down the trail
from the corral. It was Felicia, evidently coming to the Sun Plant.
Roger slipped into the living tent and wrote a hasty note to Charley,
apprizing her of events and begging her to come to his aid. By the time
he had established Mrs. von Minden at her luncheon, Felicia reached the
camp. But before his visitor caught sight of her, he had sent the child
back with the note. He felt immeasurably relieved when this was
accomplished.
"Now, madam," he said, "perhaps you would not mind resting here in the
cook tent while I finish covering in the well. It is dangerous to leave
it open with all the people that run about the desert in this
neighborhood."
Madam graciously gave her assent and Roger fell to work briskly,
laughing now and again to himself in a half vexed way. Sooner than he
had dared hope, Charley and Felicia appeared. Leaving Felicia to watch
the burros, Roger led Charley into the living tent and gave the details
of his predicament. Charley laughed quietly but immoderately and Roger
joined her.
"How many crazy people have you in the desert?" he asked, finally.
"Uncle Otto is the only one I've known in my four years here. You're
having wonderful luck. And the old boy has always pretended he's a
bachelor."
"Perhaps he'll shoot her on sight," said Roger in a hopeful voice.
"Oh, what an awful thing to say!" protested Charley.
"Wait till you see the dame," returned Roger. "Charley, I can't have her
staying the night here and I don't dare to send her up to your place.
She might run amuck."
"Pshaw, no, she won't! I'll take care of her. Show me the lady."
Roger led the way to the cook tent. Mrs. von Minden sat on a bench, her
back against a tent pole, her eyes closed. She opened them, however,
when Roger spoke her name and acknowledged the introduction to Charley
and Felicia with considerable air. She refused Charley's offer of
hospitality, with utter finality.
"Here my Yogis directed me, and here I must stay until my husband comes.
I will be no burden, after my tent is set up, if the young man will cook
for me. And my gray hairs are sufficient chaperone."
"But I will not cook for you," said Roger very firmly. "My partner and I
find it hard enough work cooking for ourselves. We are under great
nervous and physical strain, Mrs. von Minden, and I must tell you
frankly, it will be extremely inconvenient to have you here. This rough
camp is no place for a woman."
"No place for a woman, eh?" repeated Mrs. von Minden. "Why it's paradise
compared to some of the places Otto von Minden has kept me in." She rose
suddenly and began to pace the sandy floor, a majestic figure in spite
of her grotesqueness. "What was I when he found me, an unsophisticated
girl of twenty, living in my quiet New Hampshire home. He promised me
everything--travel, court life, the emperor's favor. What does he give
me but desert camps? Camps where he and I were the only human beings
within a thousand miles. Camps where I worked like any squaw--where a
bit of tent and a blanket made our entire equipment. Five years ago he
left me. I've taught school long enough to save money for an outfit and
now I shall not leave till I have found him and given him the message of
the Yogis."
"But, Mr. von Minden comes to see me every once in a while. You'll be
much more apt to find him at the ranch than here."
"Here I must stay," reiterated the unwelcome guest, with a sudden quaver
in her voice that made Roger say hastily:
"Oh, very well! Mrs. von Minden. If you'll show me which is your tent
pack, I'll try to make you comfortable."
"I'll stay and help," said Charley.
"So will I," cried Felicia. "I'd love to unpack the burros. All the
bundles are so knobby. Are there any doll dishes there, Mrs. von
Minden?"
As if she saw the child for the first time, Mrs. von Minden gazed at her
in astonishment. "Why, my dear, how much you look like your sister! No,
there are no doll dishes there, I'm sorry to say. Come, children!" and
her pink robe blowing she led the way to the patient burros.
"Isn't this fun?" whispered Charley to Roger.
"Maybe! But how'll I explain to Ernest?"
The mere thought of this sent Charley off into a gale of laughter that
caused Mrs. von Minden to ask sharply:
"What is so funny?"
"I'm just laughing at what Mr. Moore's partner and my brother will say
when they get in some time to-night and find a lady established here,"
answered Charley frankly.
The visitor smiled grimly and set about her unpacking. The particularly
knobby bundle which had fascinated Felicia proved to be a rocking chair,
enwrapped by the canvas tent. There was a compact little cooking outfit,
several large books on Occultism, an air mattress, two pink quilts, a
pink pillow and a suitcase of clothing. One burro was loaded with
provisions, consisting of olive oil, sugar, coffee, flour and canned
cheese.
Roger knocked together a crude tent frame and stretched the tent over
it, Mrs. von Minden directing while Charley and Felicia tugged with him.
The guest refused to allow Roger to make a bunk for her. The Yogis, it
seemed, had told her to sleep on the ground. When the mattress and
rocking chair and a box for a table had been established in the tent
Madam expressed herself as satisfied.
"You may rest now, children," she said, "while I concentrate."
"By the way," suggested Roger. "How about the burros? With all the good
will in the world, I can't feed them, for I have no fodder."
"You have a ranch, Miss Preble," said Mrs. von Minden. "I will pay you
for boarding them. What is the charge?"
"My brother will take care of that on his return," answered Charley.
"We'll lead them up when we go home."
"You're not going yet, Charley," exclaimed Roger, in alarm. "You must
stay to supper."
"I never was so popular in my life," laughed Charley. "Of course I'll
stay. Let me have a look at the new well, Roger. Do you think it's going
to meet your demands?"
She crossed the camp to admire the new pump, Roger following.
"I don't think it will do more than supply engine and camp needs,"
replied Roger. "I don't know whether to go ahead, prospecting for water,
or to erect the plant first."
"Why don't you erect your plant, then if you don't find enough water
after drilling for it, with your engine, move up to the ranch and use
our spring. I'm not trying to graft something free. We'll be glad to pay
for it. But our old gasoline engine is an awful lemon and it's going to
be an awful job to keep up the supply of gasoline."
"Jove! My first customer? Charley, you're a peach!" exclaimed Roger. "I
suppose I might put my plant up on your place to begin with. But no,
this is the spot the Smithsonian picked, it's government land, and to
move now might make endless complications. But you'll have your pumping
plant, Charley, before any one else does. And we'll make the alfalfa
crops pay for it."
Charley nodded, then gasped, "Look, Roger! Oh, if Ernest and Dick could
only steal in now!"
The guest had pulled her rocker out before the tent flap and was seated
in it, eyes closed, hands clasped over her stomach, immovable except for
a light swaying of her chair.
"Concentrating, I suppose," muttered Roger. "Charley, I'll bet the old
bird will never leave me. I have the feeling."
"What on earth does she mean by concentrating?" gasped Charley, through
her laughter.
"Oh, it's some of that occult rot, I don't doubt," groaned Roger.
"Charley, stay till the fellows come. I'm frightened."
"On the contrary," laughed Charley, "I'm going to get us all an early
supper and put those burros to bed before dark."
She was as good as her word. The afterglow had not faded from the sky
when Roger returned to the camp, after helping Charley with her chores.
His guest had retired to her tent and Roger withdrew to his and threw
himself down on his cot to await the return of Dick and Ernest.
It was midnight when the teams rattled into camp. Roger hastened out at
once.
"We'll unhitch and leave both wagons here to unload in the morning,"
said Ernest.
Dick already was silently unchecking his horses, returning only a grunt
to Roger's greeting.
"I'll go with you, Dick, and take our team to the corral," said Roger.
"Don't be a fool!" growled Dick. "I'll take them without any help. If
I've got to board 'em, I'll do the work for 'em. Don't you butt in!" He
mounted one of his own horses and stringing the others behind, he rode
off under the starlight.
"For the Lord's sake!" exclaimed Roger, following Ernest into the tent,
"what's the matter with Dick?"
Ernest tossed a pile of mail onto the trunk beside the candle. "I
haven't the remotest idea. He was as jolly as usual when we had our
supper at sunset. About an hour ago I spoke to him and he took my head
off. I haven't tried him since. Sweet for poor Charley."
"I didn't know he was subject to grouches," mused Roger. "Say, Ern,
before I read the mail, I've got some news for you."
"Qui-tha done some real work?" asked Ernest with a yawn.
"Oh, Qui-tha! I'd forgotten him. He departed that morning without a
farewell. We have, however, another guest, who is at this moment asleep
in her own tent, near the cook house."
"Get out, Roger! It's too late for joking. Let me get to bed."
"A regular lady, Ern, six feet two or three in height and as near as I
can make out she's here for keeps. She's Von Minden's wife."
Ernest stopped yawning. "Who the deuce is Von Minden?"
"Oh, I forgot to mention him. He's the man who tried to shoot me
yesterday."
Ernest stared at Roger incredulously. "Rog, what's the matter with you?
You're positively maudlin."
Roger chuckled. "Next time you want excitement, Ernie, don't go to
Archer's Springs. Stay right at home here in the God-forsakenest spot on
earth. Now I'll make my story as short as I can, but you've got to hear
it to-night. I can't sleep with it on my chest and she's liable to break
loose with something any time."
He finished his story as rapidly as possible, Ernest's consternation
growing as he proceeded.
"But, my Lord, Rog, she can't stay here!" he cried.
"So I told her. So Charley told her. But she's here. In her tent. On her
air mattress. Her rocking chair beside her. Her books on occultism at
her head."
"I was going to ask you to read that letter from Washington to-night,"
said Ernest, feebly, "but I feel that I need immediate rest. I'll go up
in the morning to see Dick and if he still has his grouch with him, I'll
bring him back to tackle the lady."
Roger yawned. "Guess I will leave the mail until morning. That woman
has exhausted me more than any job we've tackled yet."
He blew out the candle and in a few moments the little camp was silent
in the star glow.