THE MEETING AT HEART'S DESIRE
_How Benevolent Assimilation was checked by Unexpected Events_
There are two problems in life, and only two: food and love.
Civilization offers us no more, nor indeed does barbarism; for
civilization and barbarism are not far apart. The great metropolis
which sent its emissaries out to the little mountain hamlet never held
within its teeming confines any greater or graver questions than those
which were now to come before the town meeting of Heart's Desire.
Down at the stone hotel of Uncle Jim Brothers the tables had been
cleared away to make room for this event, the first of its kind ever
known in that valley. Heretofore there had been no covenant among
these men, no law save that which lay in leather on each man's thigh.
It was a land of the individual; and a sweeter land than that for a man
was never known in all the world. Now these men were coming together
to debate what we call a great question, but what is really a small
question--that of an organization under the laws of what is denominated
civilization; that compact which the world devised long ago, when first
man's flocks and herds became of value, and against which the world has
since then rebelled, and ever will rebel, until there is no longer any
world remaining, nor any worth the name of man.
The long room, low and bare, was filled with silent, bearded men. Two
or three smoky little lamps but served to emphasize the gloom. At the
farther end, on chairs raised a few inches above the level of the
floor, sat John Ellsworth and Porter Barkley. The latter was the first
to address the meeting, and he made what might have been called an able
effort.
Ignoring the fact that civilization had been summoned to the bar of
Heart's Desire for trial, and assuming that barbarism was put upon its
defensive, he pointed out to the men of Heart's Desire that they had
long been living in a state of semi-savagery. To be sure, they had not
yet had among them men of executive and organizing minds, but the
fulness of years had now brought this latter privilege.
He paused, waiting a space for applause, but no applause came. He felt
upon him scores of straight-forward eyes, unwavering, steady.
The town, in its new shape, he hurried on to explain, ought, of course,
to wipe out and forget its past. Even the name, "Heart's Desire," was
an absurd one, awkward, silly, meaning nothing. They had tremendous
coal-fields directly at their doors. He suggested the name of
Coalville as an eminently practical one for the reconstructed
community. His suggestion brought out a stir, a shuffle, a sigh; but
no more.
Mr. Barkley declared that there must be a fundamental revolution as to
the old ideas of Heart's Desire. There had been no courts. There had
been no government, no society. It was time that the old days of the
mining camp and cow town were done, time that miner's law and no law at
all should give way to the laws of the Territory, to the laws of the
United States government, and to the greater law of industrial progress.
He additionally, and with a hardening of his voice, pointed out that,
under the provisions of the laws of society and civilization, property
belonged only to the man who held the legal title to it. The gentlemen
representing this new railroad were the first to assume legal title to
this town site; they had taken all necessary steps, and intended to
hold this town site in the courts as their own. Their expenses would
be very large, and they proposed to be repaid. They felt that their
holdings in the valley would warrant them in going ahead rapidly with
their plans of development. They had bought some few claims in the
coal-fields, had filed on others for themselves, and had taken over
other and abandoned claims on both sides of the valley. Their
disposition was not to be hostile. They hoped, after the preliminary
organization of the town government should have been completed, to have
the unanimous ratification of all their actions. They felt most
friendly, most friendly indeed, toward the hardy citizens of this
remote community. They proposed to help them all they could. He felt
it a distinguished privilege for himself to be the man to take the
first steps for the organization of the new commercial metropolis of
Coalville.
But it was distinctly to be understood by all that the gentlemen whom
he represented did not propose to entertain, and would not tolerate,
any interference with their plans. He begged, in conclusion, to
present to them, with the request for a respectful and intelligent
hearing, that able, that distinguished, that benevolent gentleman, well
known in financial circles of the East, Mr. John Ellsworth of New York,
who would now address them.
Barkley sat down, and, with customary gesture of the orator, passed his
handkerchief across his brow. Then he gazed up, surprised. The
applause was long in coming. He straightened in his chair. The
applause did not come at all. The men of Heart's Desire sat hard and
grim, each silent, each looking straight ahead, nor asking any counsel.
Ellsworth felt the chill which lay upon the audience, and understood
its meaning. He stood before them, a rather portly figure, clean,
ruddy, well clad, fully self-possessed, and now, by intent,
conciliatory. With hands behind his back, he told a certain funny
little story with which he had been wont to conquer, at least in social
gatherings. No ripple came in response. The eyes of the men of
Heart's Desire looked as intolerably keen and straight at him as they
had at his predecessor. He could feel them plainly in the gloom beyond.
Unconsciously on the defensive now, he explained in detail the
undeniable advantages which would accrue to Heart's Desire on the
advent of this railroad and the carrying out of the plans that had been
outlined. He did not deny that he considered the opinion of his
counsel valid; that the valley was in effect open to settlement; that
they had taken steps to put the first legal possession in their own
names. Yet, he stated, although they had taken over a number of claims
to which there seemed to be no legal title, they did not propose to
interfere, if it could be avoided, with the holdings of any man then
living in Heart's Desire. The re-survey of the town would naturally
make some changes, but these should sit as lightly as possible upon
those affected. Of course, the railroad company could condemn and
confiscate, but it did not wish to confiscate. It desired to take the
attitude of justice and fairness. The gentlemen should bear in mind
that all these improvements ran into very considerable sums of money.
A hundred miles of the railroad below them must pass over a barren
plain, a cattle country and not an agricultural region, and hence
offering relatively small support to a railroad enterprise. As yet,
artesian water was unknown in that country, and might remain always a
problem. No natural streams crossed that great dry table land which
lay to the west, or the similar plateau to the east. All their hopes
lay in this one valley and its resources, and while without doubt those
resources were great, while the coal-fields upon the one side of the
valley and the gold claims upon the other had been proved beyond a
peradventure to be of value, the gentlemen should nevertheless remember
that all this road building and mine developing cost money, a great
deal of money. Of course, no capital could be invested except under
the protection of a stable and adequate system of the law.
These gentlemen before him, Ellsworth said in conclusion, had chosen
for their habitation one of the most delightful localities he had ever
seen in all his travels. He congratulated them. He looked forward to
seeing a prosperous city built up in this happy valley. The country
was changing, and it must change, the line of the frontier passing
steadily from the east to the west across the continent. They could
not forever escape civilization. Indeed, it had now come to them. He
hoped that they would receive it, and that they would receive him as
their friend.
As he closed, Ellsworth found himself not dictating, but almost
pleading. The stern gravity of his audience removed the edge of any
arrogance he might have felt. He sat down and in turn passed his hand
across his forehead, as perplexed as had been Barkley before him. Both
grew uneasy. There was a shifting in the seats out in the half-lighted
interior before them, but there came no sound of applause or comment.
Ellsworth leaned over and whispered to his associate.
"There's something up," said he. "We haven't got them going. What's
on their minds? Where's Anderson? He ought to be here. Get him, and
let's nominate him for mayor, or something. This thing's going to
split!"
"I'll go out and find him," whispered Barkley, and so slipped out of
the room.
He did find him, aloof, alone, pacing slowly up and down the street,
the one man needed by both divergent interests, and the one man absent.
"Good God! Anderson," protested Barkley. "What are you doing out here
by yourself? We need you in there. They're like bumps on a log. We
can't get them started at all."
"That's funny," said Dan Anderson.
"Funny! I don't _think_ it's very funny. You are the one supposed to
understand these men, and we want you now to deliver the goods."
"If you will pardon me, sir," said Dan Anderson, facing him with his
hands in his pockets, "I don't exactly like that expression."
"Like it or not," retorted Barkley, hotly. "You belong in there, and
not out here in the moonlight studying over your maiden speech. What
are you afraid of?"
"Of nothing," said Dan Anderson, simply. "Or, of nothing but myself."
"But we need another strong talk to stir them up."
"Go make it, then."
"What's that!" cried Barkley, sharply; "you'll not come in."
"No, I'm done with it."
"Why, damn your soul! man, you don't mean to tell me that you've
flunked--that you've gone back on us?"
Dan Anderson bit his lip, but continued silent.
"You've taken our money!" exclaimed Barkley. "We've hired you, bought
you! We won't stand for any foolishness, and we won't put up with any
treachery, I want you to understand that. Your place is in there, at
the meeting--and here you are standing around as though you were
mooning over some girl."
"I hadn't noticed the moonlight," said Dan Anderson. "As to the rest
of it, the street of this town has usually been free for a man to think
as he pleased."
"You're a traitor and a squealer!" cried Barkley.
"You're a damned cad!" retorted Dan Anderson, calmly. He stepped close
to the other now, although his hands remained in his pockets. "I
dislike to make these remarks to an oiled and curled Assyrian ass," he
went on, smiling, "but under the circumstances, I do; and it goes."
Porter Barkley, dominant, arrogant, aggressive, for years accustomed to
having his own way with men, felt a queer sensation now--a replica,
fourfold intensified, of that he had experienced before the silent
audience he had left within. He was afraid. Dan Anderson stepped
still closer to him, his face lowered, his lips smiling, his eyes
looking straight into his own.
"It's just what I said," began Barkley, desperately, "I told
Constance--"
The wonder was that Barkley lived, for the resort to weapons was the
only remedy known in that land, and Dan Anderson knew the creed, as
Barkley should have known it. His weapon leaped out in his hand as he
drew back, his lean body bent in the curve of the fanged rattler about
to strike. He did strike, but not with the point of flame. The heavy
revolver came to a level, but the hooked finger did not press the
trigger. Instead, the cylinder smote Porter Barkley full upon the
temple, and he fell like a log. Dan Anderson checked himself, seeing
the utter unconsciousness of the fallen man. For a moment he looked
down upon him, then walked a few steps aside, standing as does the wild
stag by its prostrate rival. The fierce heats of that land, still
primitive, now flamed in his soul, gone swiftly and utterly savage. It
was some moments before he thrust the heavy weapon back into its
scabbard, and, turning, strode toward the door.
As he entered the crowded room he was recognized, and heard his name
called again and again. The audience had wakened, was alive!
Ellsworth, sitting, alone and anxious, looked up hopefully and beckoned
Dan Anderson to his side. The latter seemed scarce to know him, as he
walked to the end of the hall and, without preliminary, began to speak.
"Gentlemen," said he,--"boys--I am glad to answer you. I have twice
been invited to speak at this meeting. Rather I should say that I am
now invited by you. A moment ago I was commanded, ordered to speak, by
a man who seemed to think he was my owner.
"He thought himself my owner by reason of this!" He drew from his
pocket the roll of bills which had been untouched since he had received
them at Sky Top. "Here's my first fee as a lawyer. It's a thousand
dollars. I wanted the money. My business is that of the law. I am
open to employment. You ought not to blame me--you shall not blame
me." He held the money in his hand above his head.
The silent audience looked at him gravely, with eyes level and
straight, as it had regarded the speakers preceding him.
"But--" and here he stiffened--"I did not know I was asked to help
steal this town, to help rob my friends. These men have proposed to
take what was not theirs. They have wanted no methods but their own.
They have not asked, but ordered. If this is their way, they'll have
to get some other man."
The men of Heart's Desire still looked at him gravely, silently.
"Now," said Dan Anderson, "I've had my chance to choose, and I've
chosen. The choice has cost me much, but that has been my personal
cost, with which you have nothing to do. I am throwing away my chance,
my future, but I do throw them away!"
As he spoke he flung at Mr. Ellsworth's feet the roll of bills. "Sir,"
said he, "it is the sense of this meeting that the railroad shall not
come into Heart's Desire. Is it so?" he asked of the eyes and the
darkness; and a deep murmur said that it was so.
Dan Anderson stepped down from the little platform out into the room.
Hands were thrust out to him, but he seemed not to see them. He pushed
on out, haggard; and presently the assemblage followed, breaking apart
awkwardly, and leaving Ellsworth standing alone at the rear of the room.
Ellsworth was now wondering what had become of Barkley, and in his
discomfiture was turning around in search, when he heard a voice behind
him, and passing back encountered Barkley, staggering and bloody, as he
entered through a side door of the building.
"Great God! man, what's the matter?" exclaimed Ellsworth. "What's
happened to you?"
"That fellow struck me with a gun. Let me in! Let me get fixed for
him! By God! I'll kill him."
"Kill whom? Who did it? Wait! Wait, now!" expostulated Ellsworth,
following him toward his room; but Barkley still fumed and threatened.
"That fellow Anderson--" Ellsworth caught.
The sound of their voices reached other ears. Constance came running
from her own room, questioning.
"Barkley's been hurt," explained her father, motioning her away. "Some
mistake. He and Anderson have had trouble over this railroad business,
some way."
"By God! I'll kill him!" shrieked Barkley again, in spite of her
presence, perhaps because of it. "Where can I get a gun?"
"You forget--my daughter--" began Ellsworth. But Constance avenged the
discourtesy for herself.
"Never mind, papa," she said coldly. "Mr. Barkley, you look
ridiculous. Go wash your face; and then, if you want a gun, go get one
in the front room. The wall's full of them." A glint of scorn was in
her eyes, which carried no mercy for the vanquished, nor any concern
for the victor. She drew her father with her into her own room.
"By the Lord! girl," exclaimed he, "things have come out different from
what we expected. I never thought--"
"No," said Constance, "you never thought. You didn't know." She spoke
bitterly.
Ellsworth sank down in a chair, his hands in his pockets. "Well, we're
whipped," said he. "The game's up. That fellow Anderson did us up,
after all,--and look here, here's the money he threw back, almost in my
face. They went with him like so many lambs. Confound it all, I don't
more'n half believe I ever understood that fellow."
"No, you never did," said Constance, slowly. She was sitting upon the
edge of the bed, gazing at her father quietly. "And so he threw away
his chance?"
"Just what he did. Said it meant a lot for him to throw away his
future, but he was going to do it."
"Did he say that?" asked the girl.
"Sure he said it! There's not going to be any railroad at Heart's
Desire; and incidentally Mr. Daniel Anderson isn't going to be mayor,
or division counsel with a salary of ten thousand dollars a year. Oh,
well, to-morrow we'll pull out of here."
Constance was deliberate with her reply. "One thing, dad, is sure,"
said she; "when we go, you and I go together. Let Porter Barkley take
the stage to-morrow if he likes. You and I'll go back by way of Sky
Top; and we'll go alone."
Ellsworth pursed his lips into a whistle, many things perplexing him.
"He's lucky to get away at all," he remarked at length. "From what he
said, it looks like there'd be more trouble."
"Trouble!" She flung out her hand in contempt. "There'll be no
trouble if it waits for him to make it. If I know Porter Barkley,
he'll know enough to stay right there in his room. If he does not--"
"By Jinks! Dolly," exclaimed her father, "you remind me all the time
of your mother. I never could fool that woman; and no one ever could
scare her!"
She looked at him without reply, and though he stroked her hair softly,
he departed in discontent, his own head bowed in reflection.
Meanwhile, out in the long street of Heart's Desire, little groups of
men gathered; but they held to the sides of the street, within the
shelter of angles and doorways. In the centre of the street there
paced slowly up and down, his hands behind his back and not fumbling
his weapon, a tall figure, with head bent slightly forward as in
thought, although with eyes keenly watching the door of the hotel.
Uncle Jim Brothers himself had brought out word of Barkley's
threatenings, and according to the only known creed there was but one
issue possible. That issue was now awaited decently and in order. The
street was free and fair. Let those concerned settle it for
themselves. Incidentally, Heart's Desire was willing that its question
should be settled at the same time. Here was its champion, waiting.
The watchers in the street grew restless, but nothing happened to
interrupt their waiting. Upon the side of the house nearest them,
lights shone from three windows. Presently one of these, that in the
room of Constance Ellsworth, was extinguished. A second window
blackened; Mr. Ellsworth had retired. The third light disappeared.
Porter Barkley, not yet exactly of the proper drunkenness to find
courage for his recently declared purpose, had concluded to go to sleep
instead.
In the street Heart's Desire waited patiently, gazing at the darkened
house, at the shaded door. Half an hour passed, an hour. Dan
Anderson, without speech to any one, walked slowly up the street and
across the _arroyo_. The light in his own casita flickered briefly
and then vanished.
"I told you all along he was game!" said Curly, emerging from the
corner of Whiteman's store and offering everybody a chew from his plug
of tobacco. "They ain't runnin' him any, I reckon. Huh?"
"Shucks!" remarked Uncle Jim, disgustedly. "From the way that feller
Barkley roared around, I shore thought he was a-goin' to tear up the
earth. He's so yellow that in the mornin' I'm goin' to tell him to
move on out of town. I've always kep' a respectable house before now,
and I never did harbor a man who wouldn't shoot _some_!"
"In the mornin'," added Doc Tomlinson, as the group broke up, "I'm
goin' to take Dan Anderson that saddle of mine that's layin' around in
my store. Why, what does a man want of a _saddle_ in a drug store? I
just want to _give_ the boy something."