A week later the long-belated big storm appeared at hand. McDonnell
telephoned Bryant one morning, a morning in February now, that the
weather forecast predicted blizzard conditions sweeping down the Rocky
Mountain region from the Northwest. A mile of excavation yet remained
to do. Lee at once sent Saurez and other Mexicans abroad in the native
settlements with offers of double wages and this drew the most
indolent back to camp again. They were flung into the night shift,
which toiled with increased vigour at news of the impending storm. For
two days and nights the desperate effort was pushed while the sky
continued clear, with the crews of both camps attacking the iron earth
and steadily forging closer.
Bryant scarcely slept during that time, or ate. Toward morning, when
the night shift went off, he would cast himself down fully dressed and
drawing the blankets to his chin sleep restlessly for two or three
hours, then again rise to drive the work. The third day came sunny and
quiet, but with heavy warmth in the air wholly strange to the season.
During the night both Lee and Pat had continually and anxiously
watched the peaks of the Ventisquero Range for portent of the change
imminent in the weather; and now on this morning they beheld about the
crests long, low-lying layers of gray cloud.
Again McDonnell telephoned, but now with particulars of the storm. It
was general in character, covering the states from the Canadian line
southward, with very low temperatures and raging furiously, destroying
wire communications and blocking railroads, and at the moment was
bearing down across Utah, Colorado, and Kansas. The entire region from
the Pacific coast to the Mississippi was in its grasp.
"Ten days is all that's left of our time," Lee said to the contractor,
with a heavy heart. "And no one can tell how long this weather spree
will last."
"It's not a mile we've got to go any more, any way. With what we'll do
to-day it will be half a mile of dirt moved in three days. That leaves
but half a mile. This storm may be played out when it reaches us." But
the worry on his face showed that he put little faith in this
possibility.
What he stated in regard to the ditch was true. The work of night and
day had eaten well into the remaining mile between the two camps. To
be sure, it had been rushed work: the sides of the ditch were gouged
and ragged, the bottom uneven and rutted, and the removed dirt was
piled anywhere along its banks. But nevertheless there was a canal,
dug on grade and to measurement, and capable of carrying water.
During the afternoon a pair of men drove two lines of waist-high
stakes to mark the survey of the short section of ground yet
untouched, doing this under Carrigan's supervision. In case snow came,
he told Lee, he wanted something he could see. "Nine hundred yards of
unbuilt ditch will be lying buried," he added, "and I don't propose
to paw up the whole mesa finding this section."
About four o'clock Bryant rejoined him.
"Still lovely," said Pat with a grin. "I've just set some plows
tearing up the scalp on another two hundred yards. If this storm will
just hang off for three or four days longer, it can come and welcome.
I'll have my fresnos stacked and waiting to go down to Kennard."
"Take a look at the northwest," said Bryant, significantly.
A smoky haze lay along the horizon.
"Aye, I see. That's her hair blowing out ahead. There will be plenty
of wind after awhile, I'm thinking. Get word to the men in camp, will
you, to make all the tents tight."
At sundown the haze in the west had thickened somewhat. The air,
however, remained warm, almost oppressive, and the sharp cold that
usually fell at night was wanting. The Ventisquero Peaks were hidden
by a mass of cloud. At seven o'clock the night crew began work, as
ordinarily; no wind was stirring and the steam that came from the
horses' nostrils was light.
"I'm taking a little time to skip down to Sarita Creek and see if
those girls are still there. If they took a notion to stick, they'd
try to do it, whether McDonnell sent after them or not. But I'll pry
them out. If the storm breaks in a hurry, get the men and teams into
camp at once. Don't take any chances, Pat." Thus spoke Bryant.
"Aye, I've seen blizzards before," was the reply.
Lee sped rapidly toward Sarita Creek, with the headlights of his car
casting their glow before him upon the dark road. The silence of the
night was broken only by the steady humming of his engine. The mesa
seemed very hushed, unstirring, unnatural.
When he reached the girls' cabins, he saw that the windows of each
were lighted. The girls were there. What incredible folly! Then his
lamps brought into view an automobile. He breathed relief. Someone had
come for them. Alighting he walked forward and knocked on Ruth's door.
When it was opened by Ruth, he discovered Gretzinger seated within.
"Oh, it's you, is it? Well, come in," Ruth said.
She wore a pink party gown, with her throat and smooth, round arms
showing through some filmy stuff that was part of the creation. Bryant
had never seen her so dressed; she looked very youthful and charming,
almost beautiful.
"There's a party at Kennard to-night," said she, before Lee could open
his mouth to make an explanation of his presence, "and Mr.
Gretzinger's taking me. He just came. Sorry you chose to-night to
call, Lee. And we're starting immediately." She reached forth and gave
Lee a pat on the cheek, at the same time smiling.
Bryant continued stony under the touch, under the smile, under the
false affection. He gazed at her and detected beneath her apparent
good spirits and loveliness a suppressed excitement. His glance went
to Gretzinger; the man was observing them with a restless, frowning
face. On the instant the truth flashed into Bryant's brain. She was
cunningly playing him off against the New Yorker, using him as a lay
figure in her despicable game, bestowing endearments to anger
Gretzinger and arouse his jealousy.
"I came to tell you a big storm is brewing," he said quickly. "You and
Imogene must plan to stay in Kennard for some time. If a heavy fall of
snow occurs, the mesa will be closed for ten days or two weeks with
the temperature very low."
"Then I'll pack my things in my suit-case so that I can remain that
long," Ruth exclaimed. "I'll stay with Mabel Seybolt. Imogene's uncle
sent up his car this morning, but I didn't imagine there was any
really bad storm coming and sent it back. I doubt if the snow amounts
to much, anyway. The weather's too warm." Nevertheless, she began to
fill a suit-case.
"I'll tell Imogene also," Lee said.
Ruth's eyes turned toward Gretzinger with an inquiring look.
"There won't be room for three of us, will there?"
"No," he answered.
Her regard still continued directed at him.
"I'm sure there won't be," she said, with conviction. "It probably
won't storm before to-morrow, in any case. I'll tell Mr. McDonnell in
the morning and he can send up his big car for her."
"Or you can take her to town yourself," Gretzinger added in an
indifferent tone.
"I can't spare the time," Lee said.
"But dearie, I'll be done packing in two minutes, while it will take
Imogene half an hour," Ruth replied. "She's too slow to wait for. And
she has one of her eternal headaches, too."
Ruth was hurriedly removing articles from her trunk to the suit-case.
"Listen, please," Lee said, addressing her. "If Imo remains she may
become snowbound, and if snowbound, freeze. I can't go, I can't
possibly go. With this storm coming, I must stay at camp. As things
are, a blizzard may put me out of business."
Ruth straightened up to confront him.
"You mean the work would stop, that you couldn't finish it on time?"
"That's just what I mean."
"Why?" Gretzinger spoke. "You have ten days left."
"Yes, and what are ten days with two feet of snow on the ground and
the mercury forty below zero?" Bryant retorted.
Gretzinger stood up, glanced at his watch, and buttoned his overcoat.
He then bent down and set to work buckling the straps of the suit-case
Ruth had closed.
"You do seem to get into every possible kind of trouble, Lee," the
girl said.
"Perhaps I do. But the point now is about Imogene. Will you take her
with you, or not?"
"Mr. McDonnell can send for her to-morrow; that will be soon enough."
"My God, you leave her! With a blizzard coming!"
"I don't think there'll be a blizzard. Or if there is, she can get
along comfortably till her uncle comes."
"Are you ready, Ruth?" Gretzinger asked, impatiently.
"Yes, as soon as I fasten my gloves. Anyway, Lee, you can take her to
Kennard if you want to. It's because you're just obstinate. Besides,
she didn't have to come up here; I told her so; I could have got along
without her--much better, probably, for she's always finding fault;
she came on her own responsibility and so can look out for herself;
and if you're so anxious for fear she'll freeze, why, take her. It
won't make any difference about your ditch that I can see, for you say
you'll very likely lose it, anyway. Now you'll have to excuse us;
we're going. Blow out the light, please, and lock the door, our hands
are full. Give the key to Imo to keep."
Two minutes later Gretzinger's car was gone with a swirl of the
headlights as it circled and with a sudden roar of its exhaust. Lee
extinguished the light and closed the cabin. To him that little house
seemed poignant with tragedy; and he knew, whatever came, his foot
would never be set in it again.
He found Imogene sitting beside her sheet-iron stove, wrapped in a
quilt and coughing.
"I heard your car come after his; I knew it was you," she greeted him.
Lee regarded her closely.
"You're sick," he said. "You ought to be in bed. Ruth stated that you
had a headache and now I discover you in a coughing fit bad enough to
take off your head. Is your throat sore?"
"A little."
"Why in the name of all that's sensible haven't you gone to your
uncle's? I begin to think you're unbalanced."
"I explained my reasons once, Lee." She coughed again, then continued,
"Ruth and I quarrelled Christmas because of actions of hers and aunt
said she must leave the house. That's why you were not asked then. But
she made it up afterward and so I came when she did, for she was
determined to live here where she could be free. I just had to come."
"And now she's leaving you in the face of the worst storm this winter,
the ingrate!" Bryant exclaimed. "To-night's work finishes her with me.
She may go to eternal damnation so far as I'm concerned. I'm done! She
refused, she would have left you here to freeze, she set your life
against her convenience! And after you had sacrificed your comfort and
undergone hardships to save her good name! There's no limit to her
selfishness and miserable hypocrisy. Our efforts and consideration
haven't restrained her a particle, and she will tread the road she
chooses irrespective of our desires or feelings. What fools we've
been! You and I, Imogene Martin, aren't going to chase a
will-o'-the-wisp any longer. We've wasted enough time on this delusion
of saving Ruth Gardner; if she's to be saved, she must save
herself--and if she will not do that, then the whole world together is
of no avail. You're never going to come here again, or have anything
to do with her, or let her have a part in your life. Nor am I. She
walks out of our book, and we draw a pen across the bottom of the
page."
Imogene had covered her face with her hands during his terrible
denunciation and was weeping softly. She knew it was true. She knew
that Ruth had gone out of her life, for such baseness as her one-time
friend had shown was not to be forgiven.
"You're right--I can't go on here longer," she sobbed. "I'm sick, I'm
really sick. I've been barely crawling about for the last two days.
And she knew it and left me! Oh, Ruth, Ruth!"
"And would have left you, storm or no storm, and whether I came or
not! In order to be alone with Gretzinger!" Her heart-breaking sobs
went on. "Don't weep, Imogene. Put her out of your mind." He gently
placed an arm about her shoulders. "Come, I will take you to Louise."
That she had been "crawling about the last two days" was apparent when
she attempted to rise. Her strength suddenly vanished, her knees gave
way. Bryant secured her coat and cap, wrapped her in blankets from the
bed, and carried her out to the car. Then he put out her lamp and
locked the door.
And that turning of the lock, Lee felt, terminated a painful chapter
of his life.