THE CHALLENGE
If love begets love and deceit begets deceit, then Wunpost was repaid
according to his merits when Wilhelmina laid claim to his dog. She did
it in a way that was almost coquettish, for coquetry is a form of
deceit; but in the morning, when he was gone, she put his dog on his
trail and followed along behind on her mule. And this, of course, was
rank treachery no less, for her purpose was to discover his mine. If she
found it, she had decided in the small hours of the night, she would
locate it and claim it all; and that would teach him not to make fun of
honest poverty or to try to buy kisses with gold. Because kisses, as she
knew, could never be true unless they were given for love; and love
itself calls for respect, first of all--and who can respect a boaster?
She reasoned in circles, as the best of us will when trying to justify
doubtful acts; but she traveled in a straight line when she picked up
Wunpost's trail and followed him over the rocks. He had ridden out in
the night, turning straight up the ridge where the mountain-sheep trail
came down; and Good Luck bounded ahead of her, his nose to the ground,
his bobbed tail working like mad. There was a dew on the ground, for the
nights had turned cold and, though he was no hound, Good Luck could
follow the scent, which was only a few hours old. Wunpost had slept till
after midnight and then silently departed, taking only Old Walker and
his mate; and the trail of their sharp-shod shoes was easily discernible
except where they went over smooth rocks. It was here that Wunpost
circled, to throw off possible pursuit; but busy little Good Luck was
frantic to come up to him, and he smelled out the tracks and led on.
Wunpost had traveled in the night, and, after circling a few times, his
trail straightened out and fell into a dim path which had been traversed
by mules once before. Up and up it led, until Tellurium was exhausted
and Wilhelmina had to get off and walk; and at last, when it was almost
at the summit of the range, it entered a great stone patch and was lost.
But the stone-patch was not limitless, and Wilhelmina was
determined--she rode out around it, and soon Good Luck dropped his nose
and set out straight to the south. To the south! That would take him
into the canyon above Blackwater, where the pocket-miners had their
claims; but surely the great Sockdolager was not over there, for the
district had been worked for years.
Wilhelmina's heart stopped as she looked out the country from the high
ridge beyond the stone-patch--could it be that his mine was close? Was
it possible that his great strike was right there at their door while
they had been searching for it clear across Death Valley? It was like
the crafty Wunpost always to head north when his mine was hidden safely
to the south; and yet how had it escaped the eyes of the prospectors who
had been combing the hills for months? Where was it possible for a mine
to be hid in all that expanse of peaks? She sat down on the summit and
considered.
Happy Canyon lay below her, leading off to the west towards Blackwater
and the Sink, and beyond and to the south there was a jumble of
sharp-peaked hills painted with stripes of red and yellow and white. It
was a rough country, and bone dry; perhaps the prospectors had avoided
it and so failed to find his lost mine. Or perhaps he was throwing a
circle out through this broken ground to come back by Hungry Bill's
ranch. Wilhelmina sat and meditated, searching the country with the very
glasses which Wunpost himself had given her; and Good Luck came back and
whined. He had found his master's trail, it led on to the south, and now
Wilhelmina would not come. She did not even take notice of him, and
after watching her face Good Luck turned and ran resolutely on. He knew
whose dog he was, even if she did not; and after calling to him
perfunctorily Wilhelmina let him go, for even this defection might be
used.
Wunpost was so puffed up with pride over the devotion of his dog that he
would be pleased beyond measure to have him follow, and from her lookout
on the ridge she could watch where Good Luck went and spy out the trail
for miles. It was time to turn back if she was to reach home by dark,
but that white, scurrying form was too good a marker and she followed
him through her glasses for an hour. He would go bounding up some ridge
and plunge down into the next canyon; and then, still running, he would
top another summit until at last he was lost in a black canyon. It was
different from the rest, its huge flank veiled in shadow until it was
black as the entrance to a cavern; and the piebald point that crowned
its southern rim was touched with a broad splash of white. Wilhelmina
marked it well and then she turned back with crazy schemes still chasing
through her brain.
Time and again Wunpost had boasted that his mine was not staked, and
that it lay there a prize for the first man who found it or trailed him
to his mine. Well, she, Wilhelmina, had trailed him part way; and after
he was gone she would ride to that black canyon and look for big chunks
of gold. And if she ever found his mine she would locate it for herself,
and have her claim recorded; and then perhaps he would change his ways
and stop calling her Billy and Kid. She was not a boy, and she was not a
kid; but a grown-up woman, just as good as he was and, it might be, just
as smart. And oh, if she could only find that hidden mine and dig out a
mule-load of gold! It would serve him right, when he came back from Los
Angeles or from having a good time inside, to find that his mine had
been jumped by a girl and that she had taken him at his word. He had
challenged her to find it, and dared her to stake it--very well, she
would show him what a desert girl can do, once she makes up her mind to
play the game.
He was always exhorting her to play the game, and to forget all that
righteousness stuff--as if being righteous was worse than a crime, and a
reflection upon the intelligence as well. But she would let him know
that even the righteous can play the game, and if she could ever stake
his mine she would show him no mercy until he confessed that he had been
wrong. And then she would compel him to make his peace with Eells
and--but that could be settled later. She rode home in a whirl, now
imagining herself triumphant and laying down the law to him and Eells;
then coming back to earth and thinking up excuses to offer when her
lover returned. He might find her tracks, where she had followed on his
trail--well, she would tell him about Good Luck, and how he had led her
up the trail until at last he had run away and left her. And if he
demanded the kiss--instead of asking for it nicely--well, that would be
a good time to quarrel.
It was almost Machiavellian, the way she schemed and plotted, and upon
her return home she burst into tears and informed her mother that Good
Luck was lost. But her early training in the verities now stood her in
good stead, for Good Luck was lost; so of course she was telling the
truth, though it was a long way from being the whole truth. And the
tears were real tears, for her conscience began to trouble her the
moment she faced her mother. Yet as beginners at poker often win through
their ignorance, and because nobody can tell when they will bluff, so
Wilhelmina succeeded beyond measure in her first bout at "playing the
game." For if her efforts lacked finesse she had a life-time of
truth-telling to back up the clumsiest deceit. And besides, the
Campbells had troubles of their own without picking at flaws in their
daughter. She had come to an age when she was restive of all restraint
and they wisely left her alone.
The second day of Wunpost's absence she went up to her father's mine and
brought back the burros, packed with ore; but on the third day she
stayed at home, working feverishly in her new garden and watching for
Wunpost's return. His arm was not yet healed and he might injure it by
digging, or his mules might fly back and hurt him; and ever since his
departure she had thought of nothing else but those Apaches who had
twice tried to murder him. What if they had spied him from the heights
and followed him to his mine, or waylaid him and killed him for his
money? She had not thought of that when she had made their foolish bet,
but it left her sick with regrets. And if anything happened to him she
could never forgive herself, for she would be the cause of it all. She
watched the ridge till evening, then ran up to her lookout--and there he
was, riding in from the _north_. Her heart stood still, for who
would look for him there; and then as he waved at her she gathered up
her hindering skirts and ran down the hill to meet him.
He rode in majestically, swaying about on his big mule; and behind him
followed his pack-mule, weighed down with two kyacks of ore, and Good
Luck was tied on the pack. Nothing had happened to him, he was safe--and
yet something must have happened, for he was riding in from the north.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she panted as he dropped down to greet her, and
before she knew it she had rushed into his arms and given him the kiss
and more. "I was afraid the Indians had killed you," she explained, and
he patted her hands and stood dumb. Something poignant was striving
within him for expression, but he could only pat her hands.
"Nope," he said and slipped his arm around her waist, at which
Wilhelmina looked up and smiled. She had intended to quarrel with him,
so he would depart for Los Angeles and leave her free to go steal his
mine--but that was aeons ago, before she knew her own heart or realized
how wrong it would be.
"You like me; don't you, kid?" he remarked at last, and she nodded and
looked away.
"Sometimes," she admitted, "and then you spoil it all. You must take
your arm away now."
He took his arm away, and then it crept back again in a rapturous,
bear-like hug.
"Aw, quit your fooling, kid," he murmured in her ear, "you know you like
me a lot. And say, I'm going to ask you a leading question--will you
promise to answer 'Yes'?"
He laughed and let her go, all but one hand that he held, and then he
drew her back.
"You know what I mean," he said. "I want you to be my wife."
He waited, but there was no answer; only a swaying away from him and a
reluctant striving against his grip. "Come on," he urged, "let's go in
to Los Angeles and you can help me spend my money. I've got lots of it,
kid, and it's yours for the asking--the whole or any part of it. But
you're too pretty a girl to be shut up here in Jail Canyon, working your
hands off at packing ore and slaving around like Hungry Bill's
daughters----"
"What do you mean?" she demanded, striking his hands aside and turning
to face him angrily, and Wunpost saw he had gone too far.
"Aw, now, Wilhelmina," he pleaded, then fell into a sulky silence as she
tossed back her curls and spoke.
"Don't you think," she burst out, "that I like to work for my father?
Well, I do; and I ought to do more! And I'd like to know where Hungry
Bill comes in----"
"He don't!" stated Wunpost, who was beginning to see red; but she rushed
on, undeterred.
"----because you don't need to think I'm a _squaw_. We may be poor,
but you can't buy _me_--and my father doesn't need to keep
_watch_ of me. I guess I've been brought up to act like a lady, if
I did--oh, I just hate the sight of you!"
She ended a little weakly, for the memory of that kiss made her blush
and hang her head; but Wunpost had been trained to match hate with a
hate, and he reared up his mane and stepped back.
"Aw, who said you were a squaw?" he retorted arrogantly. "But you might
as well be, by grab! Only old Hungry Bill takes his girls down to town,
but you never git to go nowhere."
"I don't want to go!" she cried in a passion. "I want to stay here and
help all I can. But all you talk about now is how much money you've got,
as if nothing else in the world ever counts."
"Well, forget it!" grumbled Wunpost, swinging up on his mule and
starting off up the canyon. "I'll go off and give you a rest. And maybe
them girls in Los Angeles won't treat me quite so high-headed."
"I don't care," began Wilhelmina--but she did, and so she stopped. And
then the old plan, conceived aeons ago, rose up and took possession of
her mind. She followed along behind him, and already in her thoughts she
was the owner of the Sockdolager Mine. She held it for herself, without
recognizing his claims or any that Eells might bring; and while she dug
out the gold and shoveled it into sacks they stood by and looked on
enviously. But when her mules were loaded she took the gold away and
gave it to her father for his road.
"I don't care!" she repeated, and she meant it.