A SHOT IN THE DUSK
They returned to their grazing ponies, and at once started the descent
of the mountain, after crossing the ravine where they had seen the
wolf. Blake chose a route that brought them down into the valley above
the waterhole shortly before five o'clock. They cantered the remaining
distance along the wide, gravelly wash of the creek bed to the dike.
Looking down from the dike, they saw that Knowles and Gowan had come
up the creek and were waiting for them in company with the ladies.
Ashton set spurs to his horse and dashed across above the pool, to
descend the slope to the party. Blake descended on the other side, to
water his horse and slake his own thirst.
To Ashton's chagrin, Isobel joined Genevieve in hastening to meet the
engineer. He rode down beside the two men and jumped off to follow the
ladies. But Gowan sprang before him.
"Hold on," he said. "Mr. Knowles wants your report."
"If you'll oblige us, Lafe," added the cowman. "I'm pretty much worked
up."
"You have cause to be!" replied Ashton. "He says the only question
left is whether the water in the canyon is not at too low a level. We
measured across from the creek gulch to the canyon. A tunnel is
practicable, he says."
"Through all that mountain?" scoffed Gowan. "It's solid rock, clean
through. It would take him a hundred years to burrow a hole like
that."
"You know nothing of engineering and its tools. We now have electric
drills that will eat into granite like cheese," condescendingly
explained Ashton.
"Think I don't know that? But just you try to figure out how he's
going to get his electricity for his drills," retorted Gowan.
Without stopping for his disconcerted rival to reply, he turned his
back on him and started towards Isobel. The girl was running up from
the pool, her face almost pitiful with disappointment.
"Oh, Daddy!" she called, "Mr. Blake says that if the water in the
canyon--"
"Needn't tell me, honey. I know already," broke in her father,
hastening to meet her.
She flung her arms about his neck, and sobbed brokenly: "I'm--I'm so
sorry for you, D-Daddy!"
"There, there now!" he soothed, awkwardly patting her back. "'Tisn't
like you to cry before you're hurt."
"No, no--you! not me. It doesn't matter about me!"
"Doesn't it, though! But I'm not hurt either, as yet. It's a long ways
from being a sure thing."
"All the way down to the bottom of Deep Canyon!" put in Ashton.
"And then some!" added Gowan. "I've hit on another 'if,' Miss
Chuckie."
"You have? Oh, Kid, tell us!"
"It's this: How's he going to get electricity to dig his tunnel?"
Blake was coming up from the pool, with his baby in one arm and his
wife clinging fondly to the other. He met the coldly exultant glance
of Gowan, and smiled.
"The only question regarding the power is one of cost, Mr. Gowan," he
said. "There is no coal near enough to be hauled. But gasolene is not
bulky. If there was water power to generate electricity, a tunnel
could be bored at half the cost I have figured. The point is that
there is no water power available, nor will there be until the tunnel
is finished."
"What! You talk about finishing the tunnel? Didn't you say it is still
uncertain about the water?" demanded Knowles.
"I was merely explaining to Mr. Gowan," replied Blake. "The question
he raised is one of the factors in our problem as to whether an
irrigation project is practicable. We now know that we have the land
for it, the tunnel site, the reservoir site--" he pointed to the
valley above the dike--"and I have figured that the cost of
construction would not be excessive. All that remains is to determine
if we have the water. I have already explained that this will require
a descent into the canyon."
"You say that that will decide it, one way or the other?" queried
Knowles, his forehead creased with deep lines of foreboding.
"Yes," replied Blake. "I regret that you feel as you do about it.
Consider what it would mean to hundreds, yes, thousands of people, if
this mesa were watered. I assure you that you, too, would benefit by
the project."
"I don't care for any such benefit, Mr. Blake. I've been a cowman for
twenty-five years. I want to keep my range until the time comes for me
to take the long trail."
"It would be hard to change," agreed the engineer. "However, the point
now is to find what Deep Canyon has to tell us."
"You still think you can go down it?"
"Yes, if I have ropes, a two-pound hammer, and some iron pins;
railroad spikes and picket-pins would do."
"Going to rope the rocks and pull them up for steps?" asked Gowan.
"I shall need two or three hundred feet of half-inch manila," said
Blake, ignoring the sarcasm.
"They may have it at Stockchute," said Knowles. "Kid, you can drive
over with the wagon and fetch Mr. Blake all the rope and other things
he wants. I can't stand this waiting much longer."
"There will be no time lost," said Blake. "It will take Ashton and me
all of tomorrow to carry a line of levels up the mountain."
"Why need you do that, Tom?" asked his wife.
"Yes, why, if all that's left is to go down into the canyon?" added
Isobel, dabbing the tears from her wet eyes.
Ashton thrust in an answer before Blake could speak. "We must see how
high the upper mesa is above this one, Miss Chuckie, and then compare
the difference of altitude with the depth of the canyon, to see whether
its bottom is above or below the bottom of the gulch."
"Oh--measure up and then down, to see which way is longest," said
Genevieve.
"Sorry, ma'am," broke in Knowles. "We'll have to be starting now to
get home by dark. If you think you can trust me with that young man,
I'd like the honor of packing him all the way in. I've toted calves
for miles, so I guess I can hold onto a baby if I use both hands."
"You shall have him!" replied Genevieve, smiling like a daughter as
she met the look in his grave eyes. "Tom, give Thomas to Mr.
Knowles--when he is safe in the saddle."
Even Gowan cracked a smile at this cautious qualification. He hastened
to bring Isobel's horse and hold him for her--which gave Ashton the
opportunity to help her mount. Both services were needless, but she
rewarded each eager servitor with a dimpled smile. When Blake handed
the baby up to Knowles, his wife, untroubled by mock modesty, gave him
a loving kiss. He lifted her bodily into the saddle, and she rode off
with her three companions.
Isobel, however, wheeled within the first few yards, and came back for
a parting word: "You can expect us quite early tomorrow. We will
overtake you on your way up the mountain. I wish Genevieve to see the
canyon. Good night--Pleasant dreams!"
She had addressed Ashton, but her last smile was for Blake, and it was
undisguisedly affectionate. As she loped away after the others, Ashton
frowned, and, picking up his rifle, started off up the valley. Blake
was staring after the girl with a wondering look. He turned to cast a
quizzical glance at the back of the resentful lover.
When the latter had disappeared around the hill, the engineer took the
frying pan and walked up into the creek bed above the dike. After
going some distance over the gravel bars, he came to a place where
the swirl of the last freshet had gouged a hole almost to bedrock.
Scooping a panful of sand and gravel from the bottom of the hole, he
went back and squatted down beside the pool within easy reach of the
water.
He picked the larger pebbles from the pan, added water, and began to
swirl the contents around with a circular motion. Each turn flirted
some of the sand and water over the pan's beveled edge. Every little
while he renewed the water. At last the pan's contents were reduced to
a half dozen, irregular, dirty, little lumps and a handful of "black
sand" in which gleamed numbers of yellow particles.
Blake put the nuggets into his pocket and threw the rest out into the
pool. He returned to the tent and sat down to re-check his level-book
and his calculations on the approximate cost of the tunnel. Sundown
found him still figuring; but when twilight faded into dusk, he put
away his fieldbook and started a fire for supper.
He was in the act of setting on a pan of bacon when, without the
slightest warning, a bullet cut the knot of the loose neckerchief
under his downbent chin. In the same instant that he heard the ping of
the shot he pitched sideways and flattened himself on the ground with
the chuck-box between him and the fire. A roll and a quick crawl took
him into the underbrush beyond the circle of firelight. No second
bullet followed him in his amazingly swift movements. He lay
motionless, listening intently, but no sound broke the stillness of
the evening except the distant wail of a coyote and the hoot of an
owl.
Half an hour passed, and still the engineer waited. The dusk deepened
into darkness. At last a heavy footfall sounded up on the dike. Blake
rose, and slipping silently to the tent, groped about until he found a
heavy iron picket-pin.
Someone came down the slope and kicked his way petulantly through the
bushes to the dying fire. He threw on an armful of brush. The light of
the up-blazing flame showed Ashton standing beside the chuck-box,
rifle in hand. But he dropped the weapon to pick up the overturned
frying pan, which lay at his feet.
"Hello, Blake!" he sang out irritably. "I supposed you'd have supper
waiting. Haven't turned in this early, have you?"
"No," replied Blake, and he came forward, carelessly swinging the
picket-pin. "Thought I saw a coyote sneaking about, and tried to trick
him into coming close enough for me to nail him with this pin."
"With that!" scoffed Ashton. "But it would do as well as my rifle. I
took a shot at a wolf, and then the mechanism jammed. I can't get it
to work."
"You fired a shot?" asked Blake.
"Yes. Was it too far off for you to hear? I circled all around these
hills."
"No, I heard it," replied Blake, looking close into the other's sullen
face. "You may not have been as far away as you thought."
"I was far enough," grumbled Ashton. "I've walked till I'm hungry as a
shark."
"Do you realize that you want to be careful how you shoot with these
high-power rifles?" asked Blake. "They carry a mile or more."
"I've carried mine more than that, and _it_ won't carry an inch,"
complained Ashton. "Wish you would see if you can fix it, while I get
on some bacon."
Blake took his scrutinizing gaze from his companion's face, and picked
up the rifle. Ashton showed plainly that he was tired and hungry and
very irritable, but there was no trace of guilt in his look or manner.
While he hurriedly prepared supper, Blake took apart the mechanism of
the rifle. He discovered the trouble at once.
"This is easy," he said. "Nothing broken--just a screw loose. Have you
been monkeying with the parts, to see how they work?"
"No; I don't care a hang how they work. What gets me is that they
didn't work!"
"Queer, then, how this screw got loose," said Blake as he tightened it
with the blade of his pocket knife. "It sets tight enough. Of course
it might have come from the factory a bit loose, and jarred out with
the firing; but neither seems probable."
"Is it all right now?" queried Ashton.
"Yes.--Seems to me someone _must_ have loosened this screw."
"What's the difference how it happened, if it will not happen again?"
irritably replied Ashton. "Guess this bacon is fried enough. Let's
eat."
Blake recoupled the rifle, emptied the magazine, tested the mechanism,
refilled the magazine, and joined his ravenous companion in his
ill-cooked meal.
Immediately after eating, Ashton flung himself down in the tent. A few
minutes later Blake crept in beside him and struck a match. The young
man had already fallen into the deep slumber of utter physical and
mental relaxation. Blake went outside and listened to the wailing of
the coyotes. Difficult as it was to determine the direction of their
mournful cries, he at last satisfied himself that they were circling
entirely around the camp.
A watchdog could not have indicated with greater certainty that there
was no other wild beast or any human being lurking near the waterhole.
Blake crept back into the tent and was soon fast asleep beside his
companion.