A week of twenty-below-zero weather opened the month of January and
halted work on the mesa. At that time four miles of canal remained to
be dug. Bryant and Pat Carrigan sat by the stove in Lee's shack and
waited, as the whole camp waited, for the thermometer to rise. On one
of these mornings, when Dave had gone across the street to the
engineers' building, Lee informed the contractor that company funds
were not far from exhausted and related his talk with Gretzinger
before the latter's departure for New York.
"So he would squeeze you out," Pat remarked. "What you might expect
from him, nothing more! I've had the notion for some time that your
cash was getting low, from the way the money has gone."
"I've spent five thousand on engineering, medical, and general
accounts," Lee stated, "twenty thousand on concrete work, and paid you
forty thousand. I've fifteen thousand left from the sale of bonds and
a personal loan I obtained from McDonnell. That will pay for about two
weeks' work. And I think we've made every dollar go as far as it would
under the circumstances."
"My word for that."
"It's this little trick of Menocal's that's burning up good coin.
Sixty thousand would have built the project ordinarily; my estimates
were correct enough. But having to do the job in this infernal weather
is what's raising the cost forty thousand more. I feel like entering
in the ledger 'To account of frost--$40,000.00.' Like that." Lee
scribbled the line on a sheet of paper and handed it to Pat. "But
there's one thing sure, I'll sink the last cent I have in the ground
before I quit and let those Eastern pirates get their claws into me.
I'll have you cut down your force if necessary and string the last
dollar and last day's work out till my three months' grace is up."
"Might try McDonnell for another loan," Carrigan suggested.
"I hate doing that worse than anything I know. He, not the bank, let
me have that twenty thousand on my unsecured note. I had nothing to
offer but my stock in this company, and until the project's finished
that's no better than so much blank paper. Loaned it to me because of
my nerve, he said. And at the time I told him it would be enough money
to carry me through, which I believed. Now to go back to him
again----" Lee stopped, with an expression of deep chagrin upon his
face.
Pat tapped the dottle from his pipe and refilled the bowl. He glanced
once or twice at the engineer during the act.
"You can make a better showing now than before," said he. "Four miles
more and you'll be to the good. One of the excitements of construction
enterprises, and of irrigation projects in particular, I've observed,
is the financing. The more often a man can go and pull his backers'
legs for cash, the better financier he is. It seems to be largely a
matter of keeping at them, talking them to death, wearing them out,
until they weaken and hand over the money. More than one railroad was
built that way. Try it on McDonnell."
"You come with me."
"No, thank you," said Pat, with vigour.
"I thought you wouldn't," said Lee.
He took Carrigan's suggestion, however, and went down through the
bitter cold to see the banker. But the visit was fruitless. The bank
could not make the loan, and money being tight because of first of the
year settlements, McDonnell was not in shape to make it personally,
nor would be in time to render any assistance. He was perfectly
willing, he said, to gamble another twenty thousand on Bryant's
ability to win through, but he did not have the cash. Then he went on
to say that Imogene had been suffering from a slight cold, and that
Ruth Gardner was visiting at present with other friends in Kennard.
Lee had had a telephone call from each of them the morning after
Christmas, thanking him for his gift, and later a letter from Imogene
again expressing her appreciation, with a line that a change in Mrs.
McDonnell's plans had prevented having him with them on Christmas.
Nothing from either since. He now asked the banker to convey to
Imogene his wishes for a quick recovery, then set out for camp.
Ruth--he did not even know where in town to look for Ruth, had he been
so inclined. Engaged! The thing would have been amusing if it was not
so horrible.
"No luck," he said to Pat, briefly, when in his shack warming his
chilled body at the fire. "Your system may work in summer, but all
the money is froze up at this time of year, like everything else."
At the end of the week the winter's frigid grip on the earth relaxed
and a period of mild, almost balmy days followed. Under the noon-day
sun the top ground even softened a little. The camps awoke, the rested
men and horses fell upon their task with new spirit, and excavation
went ahead steadily. If there had been a full force, as Carrigan
pointed out, he could have moved at the rate of a mile in six days
instead of in eight. Still the canal was being built, yard by yard,
rod by rod, until by the middle of January another mile of the total
was finished. The two camps were now easily within sight of each
other, the larger in the south, the smaller in the north, and but
three miles apart across the sagebrush. Moreover, the last stones of
the dam had been laid; it stood completed; and the men who had been
engaged there moved down to add their strength to the north camp.
One day toward noon Lee entered his office and to his amazement found
Ruth seated there, glancing over an old magazine and toasting her feet
at the stove. The furs he had given her reposed on his desk, where she
had laid them aside. At his entrance she sprang up, uttered a
delighted exclamation, and rushing forward clasped her arms about his
neck and kissed him.
"Lee, how good it seems to see you!" she said. "After so long! And I
can't thank you enough for those darling furs! I've thought of you so
much, working up here in the cold and alone with just men. My, your
face is like ice! Come to the fire. Poor thing, you look so thin and
tired! I hope that soon you'll be able to rest; I'll make it a point
to see that you do take a long vacation and rest, for you need it."
She concluded with a hug and another kiss.
"Go easy with my ears, Ruth," he said, disengaging her arms. "They
were nipped the other night and are still tender. How did you get
here? I thought you were in Kennard."
He led her back to her seat and began to remove his cap and long
sheep-lined overcoat, saying in an undertone that the weather was
really too warm for the things. Afterward he posted himself by the
stove near her, where he stuffed his pipe with tobacco and began to
smoke, while his eyes considered her face.
"Imo and I returned to Sarita Creek yesterday," she remarked, with an
air of satisfaction. "It was good to be back, too. There has been so
much going on at Kennard that I felt quite worn out; one becomes weary
of too much buzzing around. I don't want any more of it for some time.
And I missed you dreadfully, Lee!" She flashed up a smile at him,
caught his hand for an instant, and gave it a squeeze. A thin stream
of smoke issued from one corner of Bryant's mouth at the action. "The
people were proving somewhat tiresome also. So as the weather had
moderated Imogene and I decided to return to our cabins."
"Has she recovered from her cold?" Lee inquired, raising his look to
the ceiling.
"Oh, yes; entirely. And we're quite comfortable. We had even thought
of having our ponies brought from the stable at Bartolo, so that we
could ride if it grew still milder."
"Risky."
"Well, you're probably right." She paused and scrutinized her toes to
see that they were not scorching. "Charlie brought Imo and me here on
his way home; you can take us back to our cabins when we're ready to
go."
"Imo here?" Bryant's eyebrows lifted.
"Over in the shack Dave called 'the hospital.' Dave was here when we
came and Imo asked him to take her to the place; she had heard
something of an injured man from Louise Graham. Did Louise really help
during an operation?" Lee nodded. "Well, she's odd in many ways. Must
be--what shall I say?--a little thick-skinned not to mind blood and
all the rest of it. And she doesn't go about much; not at all with the
real crowd at Kennard, only with a slow one when she does go. With her
father well off, I'd think she would want to be doing something worth
while. Charlie's still mad for her, but Gretzie thought after he met
her at our cabins that she was too self-conceited. When he asked her
if the men of New York, compared with Western men, didn't impress her
with superiority and smartness of dress, she said, 'Not those of my
acquaintance; they don't try to impress one; it isn't done in their
circle, you know. That's one of the differences in manners, I suppose,
that distinguishes Fifth Avenue from Broadway.' Gretzie was furious.
He had been speaking of Broadway shows and restaurants and things at
the time. He declared later that a little attention had turned her
head, and that what she had said was all rot. I don't care for her,
either. But let us talk of ourselves, Lee."
"Yes, that's more interesting," he remarked, with an accent of irony
that escaped her.
He was curious to learn what this talk was leading to. His curiosity
outweighed the irritation he felt at her calm ignoring of the past
weeks, at her complacent assumption of his love, at the kiss and the
caress she had bestowed, indeed, at her very presence in the room.
"Tell me everything about your work and about yourself," she said,
folding her hands and gazing up at him. "I'm so impatient to hear."
"Nothing worth relating has occurred," he replied.
"You've been well?"
"Oh, quite. This is a regular health resort."
"And you're not working too hard?"
"For a whole week I scarcely stirred from the stove," said he.
"I'm so glad. You had earned a rest. You don't seem worried about
anything, either."
"Worried?" His intonation was that of surprise. Then he added, as if
by after-thought, "Oh, no."
"How relieved I am! I feared you might be worrying your head off about
difficulties--cold weather, the time limit set, perhaps money matters.
I gained the impression somewhere that you might run short before you
finished; I can't just say where I got it. From Imo, perhaps. Nothing
definite, you know. But it's so nice to know that you're no longer
anxious. That means you're sure you'll build the ditch. How much more
is there to do?"
"You can see the north camp out of that window."
Ruth rose and went to the window indicated, where she stood surveying
the men and teams at work beyond the camp and the stretch of
sagebrush extending to the white specks of tents in the distance.
"That's all that's left to do, Lee?"
"That's all. Three miles."
"Charlie Menocal hasn't said anything about it lately."
"Knowing Charlie, I'm amazed," he commented.
Ruth resumed her seat and proceeded to toast her toes anew. Her
glances from time to time were directed at Lee's countenance somewhat
speculatively. Several times she smoothed her dress with slow
attention. Lee continued his deliberate smoking.
"Well, it's a great comfort to know that you're well and that
everything is proceeding so brightly," she stated, at length. "You
must take time to run down and see me, now that I'm back. I'm not
going to be satisfied with anything less than almost every evening
with you. Bring along one of those nice engineer boys for Imogene
while we talk."
Lee gave a shake of his head.
"Don't count on me," he said. "We're doing night work as well as day.
We're near the end. Have to push the job. Little time to spare." He
jerked the phrases forth shortly, one after another.
"Do try to come once in a while, though," she responded, gazing about
the room in a way that gave her speech a perfunctory character. That,
at any rate, was the impression made upon Lee; and he continued to
puzzle his brain as to what underlay it all--what motive, what object.
At the same time he was sickened by the suave interest she pretended,
by her shallow insincerity. "I've wondered if I could be of any help
here to you," she went on. But a sharp movement on his part caused
her to say, "Still, I know a man doesn't like a girl messing up his
work. That's one reason I've been careful not to propose it before, or
even to make the demands on your time that some girls would have made.
I'll be glad when the project is out of the way; then we can begin to
plan for ourselves." She cast her eyes upward at space. "There are
lots of things to decide--where to live, and so on. You come soon and
we'll set some of them down on paper for consideration."
Lee could not escape that feeling of perfunctoriness in her twitter of
talk. It went no further than that, however; he had no chagrin or
repugnance or anger at the thin duplicity, not even at her complacent
confidence in his stupidity and infatuation. For to count on his being
blind to the past and deluded by her words, she could only believe him
both stupid and infatuated. He was quite calm. His actual state of
mind was, more than anything else, one of detachment. He imagined that
he had come to a point where she was incapable of arousing in him any
kind of sentiment or passion.
Presently she took up her furs and walked humming about the office as
she adjusted them.
"I'd like to stay all day, but must be going," she said. "Imo and I
were wondering, by the way, if you could send us a man with some
tar-paper to line our cabins."
"Of course. I'll send him after dinner. And he can chop you some wood
and bring your water."
She stood for a little examining a blue-print tacked on the wall.
"That's like the one Mr. Gretzinger sometimes carries," she remarked.
"I suppose he'll be returning one of these days. Not that it matters;
he was tiresome at times, like Charlie Menocal." She studied the lines
of the map attentively. "He appeared anxious to get to New York. Said
something about a sweetheart there. You'll be glad if he doesn't come
back to bother you again, won't you, Lee dear?" She swung about,
laughing.
"Oh, he'll show up."
"I wasn't sure; he said he thought not."
Lee emptied and put away his pipe.
"He'll come," was his assured reply.
"Then he must have been 'kidding' me."
Her thoughtful air returned. She picked a raveling from her sleeve,
and stroked her fur, and inspected the tips of her gloves, and untied
and retied the strings of her cap--all with an inscrutable face. Then
suddenly her mind appeared to be made up.
"Well, dear, run and bring your car and we'll pick up Imogene," she
said, giving him a quick pat on the cheek.
Lee experienced an inward and involuntary shrinking at that touch. He
no more could have returned the caress than he could have risen off
the ground into the air, like those floating figures depicted in
sacred paintings. After all, she was quite capable of stirring a
sentiment in his heart--a sentiment of aversion.
"Go join Imo," he replied. "One of the boys will bring the car to the
hospital and take you home. Impossible for me to drive you there
to-day."
That was it--impossible, literally impossible, for his whole being was
in revolt. The threshold of the door might have been a dead-line; he
was unable to cross it, at any rate. With a stony aspect he watched
her depart and wave a hand back at him from a distance and at last
disappear. Then he closed the door and leaned his head against it,
with his features drawn in an expression of pain and desperation. His
position was diabolical. She meant to hold him to his word; she
believed he loved her; and, anyway, she had him fast in a coil. Yes,
she had him fast. And he did not love her, not at all. On the
contrary, he detested her--detested her with all his heart, almost to
hatred, utterly.