THE WILLIE MEENA
The morning had scarcely dawned when Wilhelmina dashed up the trail and
looked down on the Sink below; and Wunpost had been right, where before
all was empty, now the Death Valley Trail was alive. From Blackwater to
Wild Rose Wash the dust rose up in clouds, each streamer boring on
towards the north; and already the first stampeders had passed out of
sight in their rush for the Black Point strike. It lay beyond North
Pass, cut off from view by the shoulder of a long, low ridge; but there
it was, and her claim and Wunpost's was already swarming with men. The
whole town of Blackwater had risen up in the night and gone streaking
across the Sink, and what was to keep those envious pocket-miners from
claiming the find for their own? And Dusty Rhodes--he must have led the
stampede--had he respected his partners' rights? She gazed a long
moment, then darted back through the tunnel and bore the news to her
father and Wunpost.
He had slept in the hay, this hardy desert animal, this shabby,
penniless man with the loud voice of a demagogue and the profile of a
bronze Greek god; and he came forth boldly, like Odysseus of old when,
cast ashore on a strange land, he roused from his sleep and beheld
Nausicaa and her maidens at play. But as Nausicaa, the princess,
withstood his advance when all her maidens had fled, so Wilhelmina faced
him, for she knew full well now that he was not a god. He was a
water-hole prospector who for two idle years had eaten the bread of
Judson Eells; and then, when chance led him to a rich vein of ore, had
covered up the hole and said nothing. Yet for all his human weaknesses
he had one godlike quality, a regal disregard for wealth; for he had
kept his plighted word and divided, half and half, this mine towards
which all Blackwater now rushed. She looked at him again and her rosy
lips parted--he had earned the meed of a smile.
The day had dawned auspiciously, as far as Billy was concerned, for she
was back in her overalls and her father had consented to take her along
to the mine. The claim was part hers and Wunpost had insisted that she
accompany them back to the strike. Dusty Rhodes would be there, with his
noisy demands and his hints at greater rights in the claim; and in the
first wild rush complications might arise that would call for a speedy
settlement. But with Billy at his side and Cole Campbell as a witness,
every detail of their agreement could be proved on the instant and the
Willie Meena started off right. So Wunpost smiled back when he beheld
the make-believe boy who had come to his aid on her mule; and as they
rode off down the canyon, driving four burros, two packed with water, he
looked her over approvingly.
In skirts she had something of the conventional reserve which had always
made him scared of women; but as a boy, as Billy, she was one partner in
a thousand, and as carefree as the wind. Upon the back of her saddle,
neatly tied up in a bag, she carried the dress that she would wear at
the mine; but riding across the mesa on the lonely Indian trail she
clung to the garb of utility. In overalls she had ridden up and down the
corkscrew canyon that led to her father's mine; she had gone out to hunt
for burros, dragged in wood and carried up water and done the daily
duties of a man. Both her brothers were gone, off working in the mines,
and their tasks descended to her; until in stride and manner and speech
she was by instinct, a man and only by thought a woman.
The years had slipped by, even her mother had hardly noticed how she too
had grown up like the rest; and now in one day she had stepped forth
into their councils and claimed her place as a man. Yes, that was the
place that she had instinctively claimed but they had given her the
place of a woman. When it came to prospecting among the lonely peaks she
could go as far as she chose; but in the presence of men, even as an
owner in the great mine, she must confine her free limbs within skirts.
And, though she had come of age, she was still in tutelage--with two men
along to do her thinking. Wunpost had made it easy, all she had to do
was stand pat and agree to whatever he said; and her father was there to
protect her in her rights and preserve the family honor from loose
tongues.
They skirted the edge of the valley, keeping up above the Sink and
crossing an endless series of rocky washes, until as they topped the
last low ridge the Black Point lay before them, surrounded by a swarm of
digging men. It jutted out from the ridge, a round volcanic cone
sticking up through the shattered porphyry; and yet this point of rock,
all but buried in the wash of centuries, held a treasure fit to ransom a
king. It held the Willie Meena mine, which had lain there by the trail
while thousands of adventurers hurried past; until at last Wunpost had
stopped to examine it and had all but perished of thirst. But one there
was who had seen him, and saved him from the Sink, and loaned him her
mule to ride; and in honor of her, though he could not spell her name,
he had called it the Willie Meena.
Billy sat on Tellurium and gazed with rapt wonder at the scene which
stretched out below. Wagons and horses everywhere, and automobiles too,
and dejected-looking burros and mules; and in the rough hills beyond men
were climbing like goats as they staked the lava-crowned buttes. A
procession of Indian wagons was filing up the gulch to haul water from
Wild Rose Spring and already the first tent of what would soon be a city
was set up opposite the point. In a few hours there would be twenty up,
in a few days a hundred, in a few months it would be a town; and all
named for her, who had been given a half by Wunpost and yet had hardly
murmured her thanks. She turned to him smiling but as she was about to
speak her father caught her eye.
"Put on your dress," he said, and she retired, red with chagrin, to
struggle into that accursed badge of servitude. It was hot, the sun
boiled down as it does every day in that land where the rocks are burned
black; and, once she was dressed, she could not mount her mule without
seeming to be immodest. So she followed along behind them, leading
Tellurium by his rope, and entered her city of dreams unnoticed. Calhoun
strode on before her, while Campbell rounded up the burros, and the men
from Blackwater stared at him. He was a stranger to them all, but
evidently not to boom camps, for he headed for the solitary tent.
"Good morning to you, gentlemen," he called out in his great voice;
"won't you join me--let's all have a drink!"
The crowd fell in behind him, another crowd opened up in front, and he
stood against the bar, a board strewn thick with glasses and tottering
bottles of whiskey. An old man stood behind it, wagging his beard as he
chewed tobacco, and as he set out the glasses he glanced up at Wunpost
with a curious, embittered smile. He was white-faced and white-bearded,
stooped and gnarled like a wind-tortured tree, and the crook to his nose
made one think instinctively of pictures of the Wandering Jew. Or
perhaps it was the black skull-cap, set far back on his bent head, which
gave him the Jewish cast; but his manner was that of the rough-and-ready
barkeeper and he slapped one wet hand on the bar.
"Here's to her!" cried Wunpost, ignoring the hint to pay as he raised
his glass to the crowd. "Here's to the Willie Meena--some mine!"
He tossed off the drink, but when he looked for the chaser the barkeeper
shook his head.
"No chasers," he said, "water is too blasted scarce--that'll be three
dollars and twenty-five cents."
"Charge it to ground-rent!" grinned Wunpost. "I'm the man that owns this
claim. See you later--where's Dusty Rhodes?"
"No--_cash_!" demanded the barkeeper, looking him coldly in the
eye. "I'm in on this claim myself."
"Since when?" inquired Wunpost. "Maybe you don't know who I am? I am
John C. Calhoun, the man that discovered Wunpost; and unless I'm greatly
mistaken you're not in on anything--who gave you any title to this
ground?"
"Dusty Rhodes," croaked the saloon-keeper, and a curse slipped past
Wunpost's lips, though he knew that a lady was near.
"Well, damn Dusty Rhodes!" he cried in a passion. "Where is the crazy
fool?"
He burst from the crowd just as Dusty came hurrying across from where he
had been digging out ore; and for a minute they stood clamoring, both
shouting at once, until at last Wunpost seized him by the throat.
"Who's this old stiff with whiskers?" he yelled into his ear, "that
thinks he owns the whole claim? Speak up, or I'll wring your neck!"
He released his hold and Dusty Rhodes staggered back, while the crowd
looked on in alarm.
"W'y, that's Whiskers," explained Dusty, "the saloon-keeper down in
Blackwater. I guess I didn't tell you but he give me a grubstake and so
he gits half my claim."
"_Your_ claim!" echoed Wunpost. "Since when was this your claim?
You doddering old tarrapin, you only own one-third of it--and that ain't
yours, by rights. How much do you claim, I say?"
"W'y--I only claim one third," responded Dusty weakly, "but Whiskers, he
claims that I'm entitled to a half----"
"A half!" raged Wunpost, starting back towards the saloon. "I'll show
the old billygoat what he owns!"
He kicked over the bar with savage destructiveness, jerking up a
tent-peg with each brawny hand, and as the old man cowered he dragged
the tent forward until it threatened every moment to come down.
"Git out of here!" he ordered, "git off of my ground! I discovered this
claim and it's located in my name--now git, before I break you in two!"
"Here, here!" broke in Cole Campbell, laying a hand on Wunpost's arm as
the saloon-keeper began suddenly to beg, "let's not have any violence.
What's the trouble?"
"Why, this old spittoon-trammer," began Wunpost in a fury, "has got the
nerve to claim half my ground. I've been beat out of one claim, but this
time it's different--I'll show him who owns this ground!"
"I just claim a quarter of it!" snapped old Whiskers vindictively. "I
claim half of Dusty Rhodes' share. He was working on my grubstake--and
he was with you when you made your strike."
"He was not!" denied Wunpost, "he went off and left me. Did you find his
name on the notice? No, you found John C. Calhoun and Williemeena
Campbell, the girl that loaned me her mule. We're the locators of this
property, and, just to keep the peace, we agreed to give Dusty one
third; but that ain't a half and if you say it is again, out you
go--I'll throw you off my claim!"
"Well, a third, then," screeched Old Whiskers, holding his hands about
his ears, "but for cripes' sake quit jerking that tent! Ain't a third
enough to give me a right to put up my tent on the ground?"
"It is if I say so," replied Wunpost authoritatively, "and if
Williemeena Campbell consents. But git it straight now--we're running
this property and you and Dusty are _nothing_. You're the minority,
see, and if you make a crooked move we'll put you both off the claim.
Can you git that through your head?"
"Well, I guess so," grumbled Whiskers, stooping to straighten up his
bar, and Wunpost winked at the crowd.
"Set 'em up again!" he commanded regally and all Blackwater drank on the
house.