RABBIT TAIL'S GANG
The dust storm died down almost as rapidly as it had risen. By four
o'clock the three were on their way home across the strange sea of sand.
They had reached the home range before Roger said to Charley,
"By Jove, you never did show me the Indian writing! What do you mean by
such subterfuge? Couldn't you think of any other way to entice a man for
a stroll?"
"There were inscriptions all around you!" exclaimed Charley. "You were
leaning against the drawing of a horse, all the afternoon. Where were
your eyes?"
"That portion of them not blinded by sand was on you, my dear."
"Tut! Tut! Don't try freshman blarney on me, Roger! I'm getting too old
for it. Besides one man doesn't blarney another."
Roger looked at Charley quickly. "Hum!" he said, "I'm not at all sure
but what you're totally feminine and that I'm a fool."
"Here's the home trail," said Charley. "I hope they haven't worried
about us."
Elsa was waiting supper for them and the look of relief on her face as
they came in at the door told the story of the day's anxiety.
"Gustav and I have been frantic!" she said. "You poor things! Where did
the storm catch you?" Then without waiting for an answer she went on.
"We kept the pump going off and on all day. In fact just as steadily as
the Lemon would let us, which was not very steadily, you can be sure.
But I'm so afraid that the second field is gone. The sand was not so bad
this time but the heat was frightful. I don't see how anything green
could stand up against those heat blasts. The thermometer here in the
adobe was 118 deg. at five o'clock this afternoon."
Charley pulled off her hat and sank into a chair. "Well," she sighed,
"why worry! Seems to me I've had all the troubles known to women and I'm
not going to let the mere loss of the family fortune ruin an otherwise
perfect day."
Elsa looked at the two sharply. But Charley went on serenely. "I've been
drowned in sand. I've been bullied and baked and burned, I've been----"
"Good gracious, Els, feed her! She's delirious with hunger!" said Roger.
"Well, of course," exclaimed Elsa, "if the owner of that magnificent
alfalfa crop----"
She was interrupted by a cheerful call from Gustav who was in the
corral.
"Hello, Dick! Hello! How vas the leg?"
Elsa set the coffee pot hastily on the table. The smile left Charley's
face as Dick came slowly over the porch and paused just within the door.
"Well," he said huskily, "the bad egg is back."
"How's the leg?" asked Roger, stiffly.
"All right except for a little lameness. I'll sit down though, if you
don't mind."
Dick sank wearily into a chair and there was a moment's silence. Roger
could not have believed it possible for a human being to have changed as
had Dick in less than a month. His ruddy brown hair was sprinkled
with gray. He was thin, and his usually round face was sunken of cheek
with heavy lines showing around his eyes and at the corners of the
mouth.
"Supper's just ready," said Elsa. "You must be hungry, Dick." Dick
pulled himself slowly out of his chair.
"Charley," he said, "and all the rest of you, I've just a few things I
want to tell you before I try to pick up the old threads. Nothing you
folks can say or do to show how you despise me can hurt me. I'm too low
in my own opinion--At first, that afternoon Roger brought Felicia home,
I made up my mind to kill myself. The only thing that kept me from it
was realizing that Charley couldn't stand much more without losing her
mind."
He paused to look at Charley, but she only gazed at him silently in
return and he went on.
"When I went into Archer's Springs, I hadn't the slightest intention of
ever coming back here. But lying there on the flat of my back, I came to
the conclusion that the one way to help Charley endure what's happened
would be to have it make a man of me. Then perhaps in the years to come,
she would grow to think of Felicia as if she were thinking of the
ordinary death of a lovely little child and not with the hell of remorse
she's having now. As for me, I'll always have that remorse. That's
common justice. But there's no reason why Charley should have it.
"I guess that's about all, except this. For two weeks I've gone over
every afternoon to the saloon and sat there for two or three hours. And
the sight and smell of the booze for the first time in my life made me
want to vomit."
Dick paused again, trembling visibly and staring at Charley.
"I'm sorry, Dick," she said, her lips stiff, yet quivering. "I'm going
to try to care for you again. But I don't know whether I can or not.
Every night when I go to bed I see first your face that night all red
and bloated and distorted, then Felicia's, the way Roger and I found
her. I--I've got lots to forget, Dick."
"God knows you have, Charley. But you're going to give me one more
trial, aren't you? Please, Charley!"
"Try if you want to, Dick. I don't seem to care, one way or the other."
Dick's head dropped to his chest. With a little inarticulate cry, Elsa
ran across the room and pulling Dick's head over to rest on her soft
breast, she kissed him on the forehead.
"I care, Dicky!" she cried. "I care! It's my whole life whether you make
good or not."
Dick lifted his agonized face and stared into Elsa's tear wet eyes. A
slow, twisted smile touched his lips.
"Oh, Elsa! Oh, Elsa!" he breathed. "I think you've saved my soul alive!"
He turned his face against her and Elsa, clasping the gray-touched head
to her, looked at the others fiercely.
"Now, who hurts Dick, hurts me!"
Roger dropped his hand on Charley's shoulder. "Then look to it that he
never hurts Charley again," he said sternly.
There was a silence, broken by Gustav, who came into the kitchen with
the milk pail.
"Elsa, make me the pans ready!" he called.
"Coming, Gustav," answered Elsa in her normal voice. "The rest of you
sit down to supper. Gustav and I won't be a minute."
"Better wash up, Roger," said Charley. "Dick, your room is ready for
you!" and she disappeared into her own bedroom.
When they finally sat down to the belated supper, Roger began at once to
tell of the crop conditions and of the call on old Rabbit Tail.
"Let's see, this is Friday and he promises the gang here on Monday. I
think we'd better get busy to-morrow and make the drill connections on
the old Lemon. What do you think of the whole scheme, Dick?"
"I think it's perfect!" exclaimed Dick.
"Perfect if my engine works," said Roger. "But even if it doesn't,
you'll still have the old Lemon and a real well. So I'll have done you
no harm."
"Have you got to dismantle that condenser to move it?" asked Dick.
"Pretty thoroughly, I'm afraid. But if the Indians are any good at
all--"
"If Rabbit Tail brings his pet gang," said Dick "there'll be four first
class machinists in it, trained at Carlisle. Fellows who work only when
they please, but Lord, they are wonders. I saw them put up an oil engine
once that had been badly smashed en route. It was a poem, I tell you."
"Heaven send them then!" exclaimed Roger. "If they put this thing over
for us, I'll pay for it in cold cash as soon as I get it."
"Rabbit Tail won't take money for this deal," said Charley.
"The others will, but they won't ask for it." Dick filled his pipe, and
pushed his coffee cup away with a little smile for Elsa.
"My debts are getting so large now," mused Roger, "that I can begin to
take a sort of pride in them. Gustav, as Dick's home now, will you come
down to the Plant in the morning?"
And at Gustav's nod Roger made his adieux and went home to bed.
Monday dawned with the usual promise of merciless heat. It seemed as if
the torrid days of late summer were harder to bear than July had been.
Though there was an occasional dust storm, the air was quiet except for
the little gusts of burning wind. These gusts were too transitory to
carry a sand storm. But all day long, tall spirals of sand, like water
spouts, whirled across the desert. One struck Dick's corral, during his
absence, ripped off the roof of the tool house and overturned the
watering trough. Several days later, one brought up against the
condenser and after knocking off the thatch, collapsed, deluging the
apparatus with sand. There was something uncanny about these gigantic
figures, whirling suddenly across the desert, now viciously ripping up a
cholla or a Joshua tree, now collapsing ridiculously against a rock.
It was now too, that thunderstorms were occasionally heard in the
distant western ranges, though rain seemed forever denied to the desert
valleys. But on the Sunday noon before Rabbit Tail's gang was to arrive,
the impossible happened. Roger and Gustav were eating their monotonous
lunch of corned beef and canned brown bread when a curious roar broke
the desert silence. As the two men looked at each other questioningly,
there was a deafening crash and a huge deluge of water smashed down on
the cook tent. The sun-baked canvas was like a sieve and in a moment
both men were saturated.
"A cloud burst!" exclaimed Roger, grinning fatuously at the delicious
sensation of wet clothing and skin.
"Gott, vat a country!" cried Gustav.
Roger's grin disappeared. "The living tent, by Jove!" Heedless of the
blinding torrent, he dashed to the tent where all the morning he had
been sorting and checking drawings and notes. He stopped in the doorway
appalled. Everything in the tent was dripping. Drawings, instruments,
camera, open trunks and bedding were flooded. The patient work of months
must be done over.
"Hang this infernal desert!" roared Roger. "This is the last straw!"
He stood glowering at the wreckage, water pouring over his head and
shoulders, when, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain ceased. Roger
looked out the door. Every grain of sand, every cactus spine bore a tiny
rainbow. The whole desert floor was a mosaic of opals. The sky was of a
blue too deep, too brilliant for the eye to endure. As Roger stood with
mouth agape he was thrilled by a sensation he had not before
experienced. The desert, ordinarily entirely odorless, gave forth a
scent. Just for a moment a pungent perfume for which he could find no
adjectives swept softly to his nostrils and was gone. Roger stood a
moment longer as if transfixed. Then he smiled and turning into the
tent, he began to repair the damage done.
Promptly at eight o'clock on Monday morning, Roger and Dick, at work on
the Lemon, were greeted by a pleasant
"How! Boss!"
Standing by the corral in various attitudes of ease, all of them smoking
cigarettes, were the members of Rabbit Tail's gang. They were lean,
powerful fellows, most of them young. They were dressed almost with the
similarity of a uniform, black trousers, blue flannel shirts, girdled
with a twist of bright colored silk, a bandanna twisted and tied filet
wise about the head. Most of them wore their black hair waist long, but
there were four men with short hair and Roger wondered if these were not
the machinists of whom Dick had spoken.
"Any of you men ever drill a well?" asked Roger. Two of the older men
promptly nodded. "All right, Dick, here you are. Rabbit Tail, how many
burros did you bring? Thirty. By Jove, that's fine! Now three of you
must start clearing this space between the corral and pump house. See, I
have it all pegged out. But, Rabbit Tail, I want all the mechanics down
at the Plant."
The old Indian nodded, then said, "Where's Charley? You tell her come
out here."
"She's up at the house," said Dick. "There she is, on the porch with the
squaw. Oh, Charley! Come here!"
Charley came rapidly down the trail. Old Rabbit Tail shook hands with
her solemnly. "Here is the gang. Old Rabbit Tail keep promise, see? I
tell all these men why we come. See? They glad do this for white squaw
good to Injuns. You say 'How' to them."
Charley's fine eyes deepened with unshed tears. "I am so grateful to all
of you!" she exclaimed. "I want to shake hands with each of you," and
she went down the line, the strangers among the Indians looking at her
with frank curiosity and interest.
This little ceremony having been completed to Rabbit Tail's obvious
satisfaction, the old chief set his men at the tasks designated at the
Ranch and then with the rest of the gang and the string of burros, he
followed Roger down to the Plant.
That was a mad week. The Indians showed a willingness to work that Roger
had never seen equaled by white men. They were as curious about the Sun
Plant as children and deeply interested in Roger's explanation of it.
Their general intelligence Roger found to be high above that of the
average gang of whites. He never before had had the thrill of working
with a crowd of mechanics who combined skill, intelligence and interest
to this degree. The four machinists proved to be all that Dick had said
and more. In all his life, Roger had never had so deeply satisfying a
seven days. This, in spite of the fact that he worked like his men from
daylight until dark, stopping only to eat the bountiful meals that the
girls, with the Indian women, prepared at the ranch. This, in spite of
ferocious heat and almost insuperable mechanical difficulties owing to
the lack of lifting and trucking facilities.
For the first four days of the week, Dick was quite despondent about the
water problem. But on Friday afternoon, as Roger was superintending the
reerection of the condenser, he heard a wild shout and beheld Dick and
his four helpers laughing and slapping each other's backs, knee deep all
of them in a stream that gushed into the ditch from the new well.
"My luck has turned!" roared Dick. "My luck has turned! Look at it! Look
at it! It will water fifty acres. I'll bet there won't be an inch of
water left in the range. Wow!" and he plunged full length into the
little crystal stream, his helpers following suit with a shout.
It was the signal for a general recess. And the men, including Roger,
took a ducking and returned to work steaming but unspeakably
rejuvenated. The sudden appearance of the water seemed to Roger like a
happy omen for the whole endeavor and it would have been difficult to
tell who was the most enthusiastic for the rest of the day, Roger or
Dick.
Rabbit Tail's week was a full seven days. At five o'clock Sunday
afternoon, the absorber was finished. The old tool shed stood remade,
roughly to be sure, but securely, into an engine house. The condenser
was half finished, the engine was standing in its new home, dismantled
in parts but quite ready for Roger to adjust when the new parts should
arrive.
When the old iron triangle called supper, Rabbit Tail sauntered up to
Roger.
"Good job, Boss, huh?"
"Fine! The best ever! Rabbit Tail, the country is missing some wonderful
mechanics and engineers in not getting you Indians interested in
civilization."
The old chief grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "To-night, we go," he
said.
"Let me keep Jo and the other three machinists," pleaded Roger. "I'm
sure they'll be interested in finishing the condenser for me."
"Ask 'em," grunted Rabbit Tail.
"Come along," said Roger and he strode over to the bench where the four
Indians were fitting together the condenser pipe. They looked up and
grinned affably at Roger.
"Rabbit Tail says you fellows may stay and help me finish this
condenser, if you will. I know I can find the money to pay you for it.
How about it?"
Jo, the spokesman, was a tall thin Indian, with a fine brow and
intelligent eyes.
"No, I guess we'll go on back to camp, Mr. Moore," he said.
"But I thought you were interested in what I am trying to put over,"
exclaimed Roger.
"So we are. It's always interesting to learn what you whites are trying
to do. You work so fearfully hard that we Indians are always curious to
find out the idea back of the work. But as for helping you do the
work--well, it's like this, you folks are always mighty interested in
what we Indians do--making blankets or pottery or building hogans or
making ceremonial altars. But I don't notice any of you really wanting
to help us."
Roger cast a bewildered look about him but the other bronzed faces
betokened full acquiescence with Jo's words.
"But why did you learn your trades so well?" he asked, finally.
"Interested in the idea--and it helps us compete with the whites, when
necessary!"
"Then you really don't care about my finishing the plant?"
"Why should we?" returned Jo.
Roger sighed and scratched his head. "Then why did you come at all?"
"The chief asked us and we knew Charley. She's been kind to me and I
wanted to help her out."
"If the whole gang of you would give me just two more days we could
finish in good shape," pleaded Roger.
"You can get along," replied Jo. "We've done what we promised."
"Yes, you have, and a bully job. But--well, I'm floored. I just can't
get your point of view." Roger's voice was rueful.
Jo laughed. "And we can't get yours."
There was an extra good supper that night and formal thanks on the part
of Charley. Then, in the moonlight, the whole picturesque caravan moved
off up the mountain trail.
Charley, returning to the living room, said, "Well, children, I'm
cheerful in spite of the fact that there's not two days' food left in
the house."
"I've got a little credit still at Hackett's," said Roger. "I think
Gustav had better go in to Archer's in the morning. I think my freight
must be there from the Dean and we should be hearing from Ernest."
Dick, smoking in the doorway, nodded, then repeated the remark that he
had made on the average of once an hour ever since Friday. "There isn't
a well like mine in a radius of a hundred miles."
Gustav brought back two weeks' food supply, the freight from the Dean
and letters from Ernest. They were very noncommittal but cheerful. He
had cleared up the misunderstanding with the Smithsonian Institution,
but as yet had no money and did not know when he could get back.
"Well," said Roger, "we've got grub for a week or so. I'm not quite sure
whose grub it is. These two camps seem to me to have become helplessly
entangled."
"Who cares!" said Elsa.
"Not you, young woman," returned Charley, dryly. She still seemed
indifferent to Dick but there was no mistaking her warm enthusiasm over
Elsa as a sister.
"I'm going to cut the first five acres to-morrow," said Dick. "That will
solve the most pressing problems. The second field is dead. I'm going to
plow it under. But I should worry. That's the best well in a radius of a
hundred miles."
"Well, I'll assemble my engine." Roger tamped down the tobacco in his
pipe. "The Lord send that it goes together right."
"Amen to that," said Charley, while the others nodded.
Another two weeks passed in unremitting industry, but by the second
Saturday night, Roger with a sigh of unutterable satisfaction announced
himself ready for a test of the plant on Monday. It was mid-September
now, and it seemed as if the heat were a little less intense. The
nights, at any rate, were not so parching. In spite of the sadness that
would not lift, the little community was experiencing some of the
contentment that comes from hard work and sympathetic companionship.
Roger was finding that the regular, well cooked meals and the home life
of the adobe was making a great difference in his mental as well as his
physical condition. In spite of the nerve strain of the past months, he
was beginning to feel that life never had been so much worth while as
now.
On the Sunday afternoon before the test of the rebuilt plant, Ernest,
driven by Hackett, jogged up to the corral.
After the noisy and excited greetings and after Ernest's delight over
the moving of the plant had been expressed, Ernest slapped Roger on the
back. They all were talking at once, on the adobe porch.
"Here, put your eye on that, you emaciated desert blister!"
Ernest pulled a bill case carefully from his inner breast pocket and
carefully extracted a check which he handed to Roger. It was for five
thousand dollars. Roger stared at it stupidly.
"Browning! Who on earth is he?" he ejaculated.
"Smithsonian! I had the check made out to me. It was simpler. But I'm
going to make it payable to you, right now."
He sat down at the table, pulled out his fountain pen and, signing the
check, handed it over to Roger. The room was silent for a moment then,
"Ernest," faltered Roger, his thin tanned face working. "I can't tell
you--why old man, if I'd had a brother he couldn't have done for me what
you have done. It's wonderful! How did you do it, Ern?"
Ernest beamed. "There's more where that came from. They're crazy about
your whole scheme."
Roger stood staring at his friend, lost in admiration. "You are a
genius, Ernest! Your talents as a salesman are lost on a college
professor."
"Don't you think it! When I'm made President of the University, it will
be because of my talents as a salesman."
Everybody laughed. "Ernest, do tell us how you did it," urged Elsa.
"Wait a minute!" cried Roger. "What shall I do with the check?" holding
it as if it were alive and dangerous to the touch.
"Put it in your pocket, you chump! Then have a talk with Hackett. He has
a connection with a bank at Los Angeles and he does a lot of banking for
the miners south of Archer's Springs. He'll take care of it for you."
"I can't carry it in the pocket of my shirt, I perspire so!" protested
Roger. "Why not shift it to Hackett right now?"
"So be it!" returned Ernest, wearily. "Must I hold your hand while you
do it! Say, did you move my clothes up here?"
"Our living tent is just the other side of the old tool house," replied
Roger. "Come along, old man, and get rid of your store clothes. You look
like a tenderfoot."
"Farewell to decency again!" groaned Ernest.
"When you come back, supper will be ready," called Elsa.
Hackett was sitting in the shade of the engine house and Roger reached
an understanding with him very quickly. He undertook to act not only as
Roger's banker but as his purchasing agent as well, and Roger undertook
to furnish him with a list of tools and machinery before his return to
Archer's Springs at dawn.
Gustav was waiting impatiently during the interview, and when Roger said
with a sigh:
"Well, I guess that covers everything, Mr. Hackett," Gustav put in
quickly:
"Did Ernest tell you there is var in Europe. The Vaterland, England,
France, Belgium. Mein Gott, you should see the papers they brought."
"Good heavens! War! You don't mean it! Not a real one," cried Roger.
"Yes, more or less real! Of course, Germany will be in Paris any time
now, and that will end it," said Ernest.
"But what is it all about? War! I can't believe it." Roger looked over
the breathless, shimmering desert to the far calm blue of the River
Range.
"Nobody knows exactly who started it or why," said Hackett. "Looks to me
though as if Germany was trying to hog Belgium."
"Belgium deserves to be hogged," exclaimed Ernest, who had changed his
clothes, "after her Congo history."
"But if it is var, I must get back to the Vaterland," cried Gustav.
"Oh, as to that," returned Ernest, "I saw Werner in New York and he said
for you to stay here till you heard from him. He plans to be down this
way, this fall."
Gustav grinned. "That vas good. I don't vant to go, sure."
"Were you in New York?" asked Roger vaguely. "War in Europe! I can't
realize it."
"Why try?" suggested Ernest. "It'll be over before you succeed. What's a
war in Europe to us, anyhow? Let's go in to supper."
War was indeed a vague and shadowy affair to the little desert
community: quite overshadowed by the importance of Ernest's successful
trip. Roger did brood a good deal for a day or so over the disclosures
in the bundle of newspapers, then the excitement of the testing of the
plant swallowed everything else in life.
There was no ceremony about this test. The memory of that other trial,
with little Felicia as the central figure, was too fresh and too
poignant. Just before the girls called breakfast on Monday morning,
there sounded a soft chug, chug from the new engine house. It was so
very soft that at first Charley thought she must be mistaken. Then she
slipped out to see. Roger, his hot face tense and eager, was standing
before his engine watching the perfect mechanism play.
"Look at her, Charley! Look at her! Isn't she a dream? Ernest, look at
that indicator--does she do any work? Has she power? Why man, she could
pull the waters of the Yangtse Kiang up through the bowels of the earth
and throw 'em on Dick's alfalfa fields!"
Ernest stood staring at the engine, round eyed, his mouth open! "Man,
what have you been putting over on me! Why, Rog, the old girl is
practically noiseless. Throw in the pump, will you?"
Dick promptly threw in the pump, but almost immediately roared. "Hey,
slow her down! Slow her down! She's going to pull the pump up by the
roots."
"Rog, let's see your drawings a minute, you old sly boots, you!" said
Ernest.
"You will laugh at me and tell me to increase the absorber area, will
you!" exclaimed Roger. "Why, old man, I've developed _the_ low
temperature, high speed engine! It's the one the world has been looking
for for years!"
In all the years Ernest had known his chum, he never had heard him
express such enthusiasm as this, over his own work. Ernest's eyes were
still staring, his mouth still open.
"I believe you have, Rog! I believe you have! Lord, I wish I'd known
this when I went East."
"No more sweating down to Hackett's for gasoline, eh?" exclaimed Dick.
Roger grinned. "Day before yesterday's sun is turning the wheels just
now. Come on in to breakfast, folks. We can leave her to herself for a
while."
Then, as Elsa and Dick followed Ernest up the trail, Roger lingered to
wipe a gauge tenderly with a bit of waste. As he did so, he noticed
that Charley was standing in the doorway, her eyes fastened wistfully on
the whirring fly wheel. She looked very like Felicia in her blue denim
blouse and skirt and once more that old confusion of personalities
flashed over Roger.
"It's--it's like Felicia's own engine, somehow," said Charley. "She did
love to help you so. I wish she knew."
"Charley, dear girl--we miss her so, don't we!" Roger half whispered.
Charley's lips quivered and Roger, hastily wiping his hands, took one of
hers and carried it to his lips. "You are so like her!" he said. "So
like her!"
Then, they turned slowly and joined the others at breakfast.