RECLAMATION
Even with the mutual assistance that they could give one another, and
with the certain knowledge that the descent was possible, the rescuers
had no easy task following the trail "broken" by Ashton. Their very
numbers prevented them from going down as fast as he had gone. On the
other hand, those on the upper part of the life-line could steady
their companions over ledges and down the steeper crevices, while the
leaders helped the ones who followed by hammering footholds in the
rock and at the very worst places driving in picket-pins to hold the
extra ropes brought down for the purpose.
Still, Deep Canyon was Deep Canyon--the ladder it offered was a ladder
of Titans. Many long hours of waiting passed after the rescuing party
disappeared among the shadows less than a third of the way down the
steep-sloping precipices, before they came struggling upwards again
into view of the anxious watchers on the brink. The sun had circled
well over into the western sky.
There was yet a thousand feet for the rescuers to clamber, hauling
and pushing up in their midst the heavy body of the injured engineer.
All during the first half of the ascent Blake had made the task as
easy as he could by the strenuous exertion of the great strength still
left in his arms and his sound leg. But at last the bandages that
bound his broken leg had chafed in two on the rough ledges; and even
his iron nerve had not long been able to withstand the torture of the
twisting break.
He now dangled helpless in the sling by which they had secured him.
Half the time he was mercifully unconscious; the other half his jaw
was set rigid and his lips were compressed to stifle his groans of
agony. Whenever possible Ashton climbed beside him, striving to ease
the roughness of the ascent.
A full hour before they reached the top, the thin-faced consumptive
surgeon arrived from Stockchute with his splints and medical case.
Waited upon by Isobel and Genevieve, he was fully recovered from the
exertion of his ride when at last the panting rescuers came toiling up
to the brink.
Eager hands dragged the unconscious engineer to the top and carried
him to where the surgeon sat waiting. A few of the watchers lingered
to help the rescuers over the rim; then they, too, hurried away to see
if Blake had survived that terrible ascent. For the last two hundred
feet he had looked like a dead man. There was no cheering. Deep Canyon
had been conquered; but it was yet to be seen whether the victory had
not been won at a disastrous cost.
The sheriff and his nine men sank down on the grassy slope, gasping,
outspent. Ashton collapsed in their midst. He was more than outspent;
he was utterly exhausted. The instant he had seen Blake lifted over
the rim-rock, he had given way to the strain of his frightful
exertions. When a man sent by Isobel came hurrying to the rescuers
with water and coffee, Ashton was unable to move or speak. The man had
to hold him up and pour the coffee down his throat.
One by one, the sheriff and the others staggered up and went to join
the silent group about Blake. No one left that circle of watchers.
They were waiting for the result of the surgeon's efforts to
resuscitate the unconscious man. It was a desperate fight. But the
surgeon had won a place in the forefront of his profession before the
white plague had driven him from New York to this health-giving
wilderness. He knew all the latest, most wonderful methods of
resuscitation. And he had for assistants two who loved and were loved
by his patient.
When at last the announcement was made that the engineer had come out
of his swoon and probably would live, the sheriff and all the members
of the posse not employes of Knowles prepared to ride down to Plum
Creek ranch for the night. The cowman ordered his men to go down with
the party, to water the horses and bring back food and water for the
camp. The surgeon had said that his patient could not be moved for
many days.
But before the party rode off, each man, from the sheriff to the
youngest of the punchers, came to where Ashton was still lying on the
grass, and took his limp hand in theirs. They did not grip it, for the
tattered glove and shredded bandages were wet with blood; nor did they
put into speech what they thought of him. A gruff word or two of
fellowship and parting was all they gave him. Yet he saw and knew that
he had won his place among these reddest blooded of all red-blooded
men.
When one of his fellow employes came to him, leading Rocket, he sought
to summon strength enough to rise, but found that he could not even
turn on his side. He had driven his body to superhuman efforts. He
must now pay the price. At his request, he was lifted up on Rocket,
but he could not hold up his head, much less his body. They laid him
again on the grass, and told Knowles his condition, before they rode
off.
The cowman fetched the surgeon, who felt the pulse of the exhausted
man, gave him a pellet, and hastened back to Blake. In a few moments
Ashton's feeble, racing pulse became calm and slow, the wild whirl of
his thoughts lulled. He sank into profound slumber.
When he awoke the sun of another day was just clearing the great white
peaks of the snowy range. He was outstretched on a soft bed of
blankets spread over a thick layer of pine needles. Above his face
sloped the roof of a small tent. He had been cared for--but there was
no one watching at his bedside. He thought he understood, and smiled
in bitter resignation.
When he moved, racking pains shot through his stiff muscles. Only the
renewed life that surged through his veins enabled him to turn and
twist and bend until the pains subsided to a dull aching and he was
able to command his limbs. His hands were swathed fast in bandages. He
tore them off with his teeth until the fingers were free enough for
use. After much effort, he succeeded in forcing his swollen feet into
his boots.
In the midst Yuki, the Jap cook, appeared before the low entrance of
the tent and sank down on his knees to set a trayful of food beside
the occupant. He hissed a pleasant, "Good morning, Mistah Lafe!" and
was gone before Ashton could reply. The aroma of hot coffee and the
savory smell of chicken broth forced Ashton to forget all else than
that he was famished. Besides the coffee and broth, there was a nogg
of eggs and thick cream slightly flavored with whiskey. He drank one
liquid after the other with the greediness of a starving man; nor did
he stop until he had drained the last drop of all three. He could have
followed with a hearty meal of solids, but the fluids were enough to
stimulate him to renewed energy.
He crept out of his tent and looked around. Up where they had carried
Blake from the precipices stood a larger tent. Near it, under a
low-growing pine, the surgeon lay rolled in a blanket, fast asleep.
Some distance away, in the other direction, Yuki and two of the ranch
hands were building a stone fireplace. Beyond them were picketed three
horses, the nearest of which was Rocket.
Ashton stood up and started rapidly towards the big rawboned horse.
Within a few yards, however, his pace slackened. He faltered and
stopped to look back at the larger tent. After a pause, he turned
about and slowly approached the tent.
As he drew near he heard a murmur of voices barely distinguishable
above the booming of the canyon. Again he faltered and stopped and
stood hesitating. The open front of the tent faced at right angles to
his line of approach. As he hesitated, he saw Isobel's head appear,
veiled in the loose meshes of her chestnut hair. She looked about
towards him, and drew back with a startled little cry.
He turned away to go to Rocket. A quick heavy step sounded behind him.
Knowles had sprung out of the tent and was striding to overtake the
retreating man.
"Hold on, Lafe," he ordered. "Where you going?"
Ashton faced him with quiet resolution. His eyes were dark with
misery, but his once lax mouth was strangely like Blake's in its firm
full lines.
"There's only one thing for me to do, Mr. Knowles," he replied. "I am
going away. Your daughter will understand why."
"How're you going?" asked the cowman, his face impassive.
"I traded with Miss--Miss Knowles for Rocket. Didn't she ever tell
you?"
"Don't matter if she did. Rocket wasn't her hawss to trade."
"Then, unless my pony is up here, I shall walk down as far as the
ranch," said Ashton. He added with bitter humiliation: "It's well I
have learned about Rocket in time. I've done enough, without adding
horse thief to the list. I would have started at once, but I could not
leave until I had asked about Mr. Blake. I wished to thank him for all
that he has done for me."
"All that he--!" echoed Knowles. "If you want to know, it was a mighty
narrow squeak. But we pulled him through. He's awake now and says he's
doing fine. He wants to talk to you."
"I should like very much to do as he wishes, Mr. Knowles, but
I--cannot bear to--meet her. You may realize that it is hard enough at
best."
"_Sho!_ If that's all," readily reassured the cowman, "I'll ask
Chuckie to go out and hide in the bushes."
"But I could not allow that, you know."
"Then I figure you've got to come anyhow. Can't let you go off without
saying good-by to him and Jenny."
"Jenny?" repeated Ashton.
"It's all in the family now," explained Knowles. "Tom has been telling
us how he's got that irrigation project all figured out in his head.
He was saying what he and Jenny had planned to do for us even before
Chuckie let out her secret. Come on and hear the rest."
"I fear I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Knowles. I--"
"No, you don't," rejoined the cowman. "After what you've done you
can't make me believe you're afraid of anything. You'll come and face
it out before you go."
The misery in Ashton's eyes deepened, and his lips tightened.
"Very well. Since you put it that way, I shall do as you wish, sir."
When he followed Knowles around to the door of the tent, Isobel, who
was hastily braiding her loose hair, drew back into the far corner and
averted her face from him. But Genevieve met him with a radiant smile
and motioned him to kneel down beside her husband.
Blake, with one thick arm crooked about his sleeping son, lay with his
eyes closed. His big square face was drawn and pallid, but there was a
smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. As Ashton knelt beside him
he looked up and lifted his free hand.
"You wouldn't take it--down there," he said.
Ashton flushed. "You know why."
"You'll take it now," said Blake, with quiet confidence.
"I will. I am going away," replied Ashton as he held out his bandaged
hand.
The big palm closed over it in a clasp as gentle as it was strong.
"No, Lafe. I've got hold of you now. I can't let you go. I need you in
my business. We're organizing the Belle Mesa Irrigation and
Development Company.--How do you like my new name for Dry Mesa? Mr.
Knowles puts in the reservoir site in exchange for water on his other
land, a tenth share in the company, and a royalty of half the gold we
placer out of the reservoir bed. As Jenny is to put up all the
capital, she and I will take the lion's share. That will leave a tenth
for you and a tenth for Belle."
Ashton sought to draw his hand away. "It is very good of you, Mr.
Blake. But I cannot accept--"
"Yes, you can. You can't help yourself. Besides, I've an idea a man
always does better by his work when he has a stake in the undertaking.
You're to be our Resident Engineer, you know."
"Resident Engineer?" repeated Ashton, paling and flushing. "Mr. Blake,
I--I--It's impossible that you can mean--"
"Make it 'Tom'! You'll have to brush up on mining engineering, too.
There's the bonanza."
"Oh, yes, Tom!" exclaimed Genevieve. "Tell him about the gold mine."
"I was going to keep still about it till I had the apex located," he
said. He looked full at Ashton. "But there's no one here that the
secret will not be as safe with as it is with me. Besides, it's all in
the family. I found the vein a thousand feet up the chute of Dry Fork
Gulch. We will name it the Genevieve Lode. There are six of us here,
counting Tommy. Each of us gets a sixth interest."
Ashton was now pale. "Mr. Blake--Tom, I cannot! If I were fit to stay
and work for you--as an axman--anything!--"
Blake's eyes twinkled. "Then your sixth will have to go to Belle."
"Mine too, Tom," hastily put in Knowles.
Blake looked down solemnly at his youthful heir. "Hear that, Tommy?
Guess we'll have to pull out, too, and make it half and half to the
ladies." He looked up at Ashton with a swift change from mock to real
gravity. "We've got to begin by installing a turbine power-plant down
here. Where will I find another engineer with nerve enough to go down
these cliffs? I need you, Lafe."
"I am very sorry, Tom." Ashton drew his hand from Blake's wearied
clasp, and rose.
Isobel slipped past him and stood with her arms outstretched across
the entrance of the tent. There was a dimple in each of her blushing
cheeks; her eyes were radiant with tenderness and love.
"No, you can't get away!" she declared. "Don't you see how we've got
you corralled?"
"That's what," confirmed Knowles. "I promised her to rope and hogtie
you if you made a break."
Ashton was gazing into the girl's eyes, his own shining with reverent
adoration.
"Isobel?" he whispered.
"Let us go up on the ridge and look out over our mesa," she murmured.
"Wait a moment, dear," interposed Genevieve. "Lafayette, I wish to
tell you that as soon as Tom and I return to Chicago, we shall go to
your father. I feel certain that when he hears--"
"No, no!" begged Ashton. "You must wait. Promise that you will wait. I
have only begun to make a beginning. Wait until I see if I can--" He
straightened and looked at Isobel, his head well up, his eyes as
resolute as his mouth. "Wait until I have proved what I am."
"Come," said Isobel. "We're going to look at our dry mesa that we are
to reclaim and make into a garden with the waste waters of the
depths."