The party that had gathered to see the last stone of the great Sangre de
Cristo dam swung into position was far larger than Winston had expected.
Elijah was not among them. Winston had spared no effort to find Elijah
and to deliver to him another message to the effect that he was once
more a free man. Messengers had been sent to his ranch; but he had left
home and Amy had not seen him for several days; she supposed him to be
in Ysleta. Parties had scoured the mountain in the vicinity of the dam,
but in vain. It was clear that Elijah was purposely in hiding and that
the exercises at the dam must be carried on without him.
Ysleta was largely represented. Winston was at first surprised, then
deeply grateful for the genuine interest which even the wildest boomers
displayed in his work. As, one by one, in pairs or in groups, they took
him cordially by the hand, congratulated him on the successful
completion of a great piece of work, compared the lasting utility of his
work with their own ephemeral and selfish efforts, a wave of
self-reproach swept over him. These were the people whom, in season and
out, he had condemned as greedy, selfish, unprincipled sharks. For the
first time in his life, he began to realize the fact that, even in the
worst of humanity, there is a soul of goodness, a soul that is only
obscured, never extinguished. In deep contrition, he reviewed his
attitude of mind toward Elijah. He saw him in a new light, the light of
kindliness that was radiating from those whose hearts he had condemned
as black with unscrupulous greed. He pictured Elijah, shunning his
fellow men like a hunted animal, the warmth of his good intentions
changed to the biting flame of bitter resentment against those who were
to profit by his success, and who had turned from him at sight of the
first shadow that had fallen upon him. He reproached himself for not
having gone directly to Elijah on the first suspicion of defalcation,
for not having pointed out to him his error, for not having pleaded with
him to face the consequences of his wrong doing, to endeavor to set
himself right. He contrasted his self-righteous conduct with that of
Helen Lonsdale, her readiness to stand by Elijah, to assume her own
share of blame for Elijah's mistaken actions. He had assumed that,
because certain of Elijah's actions had been criminal, Elijah was a
criminal by instinct, and he, a friend, an intimate business associate,
had treated him as one, but made no effort at reclamation.
Winston's was not an emotional nature, but the circumstances in which he
was placed, played upon his calmly balanced mind, until he saw his own
self-righteous errors and condemned himself as sharply as he had
condemned Elijah. He was recalled to himself by the proffered hand of
one of the most successful and as he deemed him, one of the most
heartless of Ysleta's boomers.
"Say, Ralph, old man, I want to do myself the honor of shaking hands
with the real thing. This work," he swept his hand with a comprehensive
gesture which included the dam, the canal, and the waiting hillsides,
"makes us feel like thirty cents Mexican. It don't come with the real
plunk from us, you know, but it's real just the same. Ysleta wasn't
worth whooping for, but we whooped. We whooped for cash. Some of us got
it; but what we got, others lost, and we knew it. But you fellows have
helped us to make good. With this thing in working order," he again
pointed to the dam, "Ysleta will make good in time."
"I know it," Winston's voice was regretful, "but the beginning, end and
middle of this whole business, is a hunted man who dares not show his
face, even to those whom he had every reason to believe were his
friends."
The man looked sharply at Winston.
"You mean 'Lige Berl?"
"Yes, the best man of us all."
"You're right there. And say, Ralph, you just listen. We all know about
this Pacific business. It was a mistake on 'Lige's part, that's all.
He'll make good, if he gets a chance, and by God, we're going to stand
by and see that he gets it."
Winston's grasp tightened on the hand he held.
"It's all straightened out now, if we only knew where he was."
The work at the dam called for Winston's attention. As he passed through
a bowing, smiling group, he came face to face with Helen. She was
laughing and chatting with some Ysleta acquaintances. She darted an
eager, inquiring look at Winston as he came towards her. In obedience to
an unvoiced bidding, she joined Winston as he passed by. Beyond the
hearing of the group, her look changed to one of anxiety.
"Have you seen anything of Elijah?" she asked.
"Not a thing. Helen, I'm worried about Elijah. He has been home, but has
gone again and I can't find him in the mountains. I have sent men
everywhere."
There were tears in Helen's eyes. They did not fall; they only softened
and intensified their depths.
"I hoped to see him here. If we could only get word to him about
Seymour." After a moment's hesitation, she added: "I have had several
strange letters from him, but no clue as to where they were sent from."
Winston's glance wandered to the group of Ysleta men.
"It just crushes me, Helen, to think that these men are actually truer
to Elijah than I have been."
"No, don't blame yourself too much. I know more now than I did when you
and Uncle Sid held me up that day in the office, and--Oh, I cannot talk
about it, Ralph! It is all unspeakably awful."
Helen turned abruptly away and joined Uncle Sid at the foot of the great
derrick which was to swing the last stone into place.
Winston glanced quickly at her, but she was talking eagerly with Uncle
Sid, her somber mood apparently quite gone. He turned inquiringly to the
foreman, who nodded his head in reply.
"Come, Helen; they are ready for us." He took Helen by the arm to steady
her, and together they started out over the foot-way on the crest of the
dam, Helen a little in advance of Winston.
"Don't look down," he continued, "it may make you dizzy."
"Dizzy!" she repeated derisively, "why I could walk a slack rope. It's
great! I don't wonder that you are an engineer."
"This is easy, doing things, when some one tells you what to do and what
for."
"Thanks! You are original and independent. So am I." With reckless
daring she freed her arm from Winston's detaining hand, and before he
could prevent, she was skipping over the dizzy walk far ahead.
"Stop, Helen, stop! It's dangerous!" His voice was commanding.
"I know it is. That's where the fun comes in." Over her shoulder she
flung him a mocking glance from reckless eyes.
Winston dared make no quick move that would increase her danger. He
could not understand the spirit of bravado that had come over her. A
sigh of intense relief escaped him as she grasped one of the staying
ropes and swung inside the enclosure, which, hanging far out over the
abyss, railed in the space where the last stone was to be laid.
"It's no credit to you," he said sternly, "that your childish prank
hasn't ended in tragedy."
Helen was conscious of a creeping thrill as she looked into Winston's
eyes. They were like poles of a dynamo, with thousands of volts of
energy waiting to leap out, if the safety line was crossed. She felt as
if she were dangerously near the line.
"Be thankful for your mercies," she said lightly. "No tragedy has
happened."
Winston wanted to say more, but an expectant crowd was waiting.
"Well, go ahead," he said. "You're in command now."
"I don't know where to begin, but I'm not old enough yet not to take a
dare."
Out on one of the abutments, a great derrick rose; near its foot an
engineer stood with his hand on the throttle of an engine. Helen waved
her hand, looking defiantly at Winston.
There came the short, sharp bark of the engine, the groaning of rope and
timber as the locking stone swung in the air, turned, poised high above
them; them slowly began to sink to its position. Under Winston's
directions, her small, firm hands guided the great block, as it settled,
then came to a rest. The fall ropes slackened, and Helen unclasped the
tackle. Amidst the cheers of the watchers on the abutments, the boom of
the derrick swung free. The last stone had been laid in the Sangre de
Cristo dam.
Helen turned to Winston. Her great, black eyes were solemn.
"It is finished now, isn't it Ralph?"
"It is."
Helen sighed deeply. It suggested relief from a long, anxious strain.
"Thunder and Mars, Helen! Isn't there anything more in life for you? I
can imagine Alexander heaving that sigh when he realized that he'd done
the whole world."
"That's where Alexander and I separate. I'm relieved, not regretful."
Winston spoke with feeling.
"It must be a relief, Helen. No one has done more for this work than
you."
Helen's reply was unguarded.
"I wasn't thinking of myself."
Winston looked up in unfeigned surprise.
"You weren't?"
"Let's not talk of this now. It's finished."
"Tell me what you meant."
Helen looked at Winston. There was a suggestion of yielding in her eyes.
Her lips trembled on the verge of speech; then they set, voiceless. Why
should she tell Winston of her fears of Elijah? That, driven to
desperation, as she knew he was, she feared that in some way he would
thwart the work that was now completed.
"Sometime, perhaps; not now." She was not quite herself. "This will stay
here forever?" She evidently wished to be reassured.
"Unless something happens."
"But what can happen?" She questioned anxiously.
"A very simple thing might destroy the whole thing in an hour."
Helen's face grew white.
Winston noted the look, but failed to assign the correct reason for it.
Helen had given more to the work than he had thought.
"There's no danger, really." Winston spoke with conviction. "It's just
this. We've built a rip-rap dam with a stone facing. No amount of water
behind it can ever move it. Yet if by chance the water should flow over
the crest, it would go in an hour."
"What's to prevent it?" Helen's voice was sharp.
"The waste weir." Winston pointed to the stone paved canal on the far
side of the dam. "We know the rainfall here. That spillway will handle
twice the amount."
"But if it should become choked?"
"We have the flood gates." Winston pointed to the two great shafts that
reached up from the base of the dam, crowned with grooved wheels.
"But suppose they should get wedged so they could not be opened?"
"Then I would advise you to get out of the way! What's the matter,
Helen?" Winston grew suddenly conscious that there was more in Helen's
persistent questions than appeared on the surface.
Helen did not reply.
"Couldn't all this have been provided against?"
"Yes; but it would have cost more money than we had to put in. It's safe
enough, if we watch out."
Helen laid her hand on Winston's arm. Her eyes were deep and anxious.
"Watch out day and night, Ralph. There is danger, grave danger."
Winston was thoroughly aroused.
"You know something that you are concealing from me. Tell me!"
"I have told you enough to put you on your guard. I can't tell you any
more. I don't know any more."
Helen turned resolutely toward the foot-way. Winston walked silently
beside her. He wanted to know more, but he felt the uselessness of
words. As soon as he could free himself from the friends who thronged
around him and Helen, he sought out Uncle Sid and told him of Helen's
warning.
"What do you make out of it?" he asked.
"No more than you do, I guess."
"You think Elijah is at the bottom of it all, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. I'm sure of it."
"Why didn't she tell me then?" Winston burst out.
"Well, women are queer creatures." Uncle Sid spoke meditatively. "They
see more sides to a man than we do, an' when he's down, they stay by him
closer. I sometimes think that Helen knows more about 'Lige than we do;
anyway, she's mighty suspicious of him, but she's goin' to give him
every chance to get up, an' at the same time she's lookin' out that no
one gets hurt when he's flappin' his heels around, tryin' to make his
feet. What are you doin' to shut off any deviltry?"
"I've put on extra watchmen, day and night, and I've got men out hunting
Elijah."
"I guess that's all that you can do."
Winston meditated long over Helen's warning and Uncle Sid's explanation
of her conduct. The idea of Elijah's trying to injure the dam finally
seemed too monstrous to be entertained. It occurred to him to remain at
the dam and not trust to watchmen; but this was impossible. He had other
pressing duties demanding him. Nothing could happen this night; the next
would be spent at the mouth of the canyon. The day following he would
send some of his young assistants in place of the Mexicans.