lowered. “She ain’t got no paw nor maw, nor no brother. That’s why
_I’m_ a-speakin’ to you.”
“I’ll look after her,” said Patton coldly.
“I’d like to feel right shore of that. You see, she and me has been
good friends for a long while. And I want to ask you, Patton, to play
fair with her, and----”
“Say! look here!” broke in the other man. “You’re putting your lip into
something that’s none of your business.”
“Do y’ _think_ so?” retorted Blandy with sudden spirit. “Wal, out here
in the West, a man’s likely to find hull crowds that’ll make it their
business if he can’t see his way to treatin’ a woman white.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Patton.
“Just this: I happen to know about that Galindo business at Paicines.
There’s _one_ place you didn’t act on the square. Wal, the Galindo
girl’s a greaser, and her men folks oughta took better care of her.
We won’t say nothin’ more about it, Patton. But don’t forgit this: A
feller owes his wife somethin’ more’n just the weddin’ ceremony.”
“Oh, I see,” sneered Patton. “You’re trying to kick up a rumpus. You
wanted Polly yourself.”
Blandy gave a short laugh. “Me?” he said. “_Me?_ Why, you’re crazy! All
I’ve got to keep a wife on is my prospectin’ outfit and a’ old mangy
mule. Me! Huh! No girl’d look at me--no fine, pretty girl that’s had
lots of chances. I ain’t nothin’ but a slob.”
To that, Patton made no comment.
“No, you’re the kind of a man that a girl likes,” Blandy went on. “And
you git a couple of hunderd from the East every month. You can take her
away from this hole and make her nice and comfortable in Los Angeles,
and give her a hired girl to wait on her, and decent clothes. Wal,
that’s fine. But a’ easy time and good clothes don’t amount to a hill
of beans with a woman if she ain’t happy. So--_play fair with her_,
Patton. In the long run, it pays to do what’s right. You know that.
Nine times outen ten, when a man picks up a club to take a’ underhanded
shy at another person, Mister Stick comes whizzin’ right back and
gives him a crack in the head like one of them----”
“That’ll do, Blandy,” interrupted Patton. His voice was hoarse with
anger. “I haven’t any more time for your damned gossip.” He turned
abruptly and strode away.
Blandy stayed where he was, his heavy shoulders stooped, his arms
hanging loosely at his sides, his weight shifted to one foot. He saw a
door of the near-by house open wide to admit Patton; heard a chorus of
gay voices greet the other man, and following a short wait, heard the
tones of an organ, playing a march. He waited until the organ ceased;
then, head lowered, and hat pulled down to his brows, he walked away
slowly, going to the depot.
He halted in the shadow of the station and stayed there until the
head-light of the west-bound train shone in the distance like a fallen
star. The star grew. And through the night air came the thin shriek of
the nearing engine. It was then that a laughing, chattering group left
the brightly-lighted house and came hurrying toward the depot. Blandy
turned from the approaching light.
The centre of the group was the bride, a slender girl in a white dress.
As she stepped upon the platform, under the station lamps, Blandy
leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her face. Her childish
eyes, long-lashed and the blue of lapis lazuli, were bright with
happiness, her cheeks an excited pink.
She saw the tall figure standing half in and half out of the shadow,
and ran to him. “Jeff,” she began reprovingly, “you didn’t come to the
wedding!”
He took her outstretched hand. “No,” he agreed; “no, I--I didn’t,
but----” He paused awkwardly.
“I missed you, Jeff,” she declared. “Why, I wanted you there more than
anybody else. And I wanted to wait till someone could go for you. But
nobody’d seen you, and they didn’t know where you were--What was the
matter, Jeff?”
“I--I had business to attend to,” he explained.
“Business! And you my best, best friend----”
The train was close. Voices began to summon her back to the
wedding-party.
Blandy leaned down to her. “Dear little Polly,” he said huskily, “your
old side-pardner wishes you all the luck that’s in the world.”
Then she was gone again. She smiled back at him from the steps of the
car, and answered the chorus of farewells that was shouted up to her.
The engine-bell clanged, the train moved. Patton sprang to the girl’s
side amid a shower of rice. There was more shouting, which was answered
from the car platform, and the west-bound pulled out, the green lights
on the rear of the last coach glowing like the eyes of a serpent.
Blandy lifted a hand to his breast, then to his throat, then to his
eyes. The group of wedding guests gone, and the depot platform dark, he
crossed the railroad track, walking a little uncertainly. Out in the
blackness, among the sage-brush, something was moving about--an animal.
He went up to it, untied a rope, spoke a word of command, and started
off northward--away from the town into the desert.
* * * * *
Jeff Blandy, staggering across the last mile of his journey, directed
his way over the railroad track to Conley’s restaurant. The dust of
many days and nights was upon him, powdering hair and clothes to the
colour of his grey hat. The weariness of trudging over yielding and
uneven ground was in his long legs and in the stoop of his shoulders.
And the leathern sallow of his face wore a fresh gloss of vivid red
that was like the reflection of a torch-flame. Yet in his eyes--as
brown and big and appealingly honest as the eyes of a great, friendly
dog--was a gleam that neither the sand-laden winds nor the scorching
sun had dulled. And there was a smile lurking among the long bristles
at the corners of his wide mouth.
Entering the restaurant, he found it unchanged, though a year had
passed since he had left Searles. There were the two oilcloth-covered
tables that reached from end to end of the room, and the counter, with
its cash-register. But no one was on hand to take his order. Stiffly,
he let himself down upon a chair at one end of the first table. Then,
leaning back and dropping his hat to the floor at his side, he picked
up a knife and rang a sharp summons on the rim of an empty glass.
The door into the kitchen swung open to admit a young man in
shirt-sleeves and soiled apron,--a short, thick-set young man with the
curly flaxen hair, full blue eyes and apple-red cheeks of a boy doll.
He was carrying a pitcher of water.
Blandy drained his glass before he gave the other a nod. Then, “Gimme
some ham and eggs and fried potatoes,” he began. “A steak, if you got
it, too. And coffee. And some pie. And fruit----”
“Oranges is the only fruit,” interrupted the waiter.
“Orange’ll do. And could the cook mix me some flap-jacks?”
“I guess.”
“Then that’ll be all.”
The young man in shirt-sleeves went out, kicking the swinging door open
before him and shouting his order. Left alone, Blandy helped himself to
a second glass of water, after which he stretched his legs far under
the table, folded his arms upon his breast, and took a deep breath.
Then, as he waited, the smile at the corners of his mouth began slowly
to spread, until his burned cheeks were wrinkled with it, and his
moistened lips were parted to show a double line of strong white teeth.
Thus he sat, all a-grin, dreaming.
Beyond the swinging doors, dishes were clattering, and there was a
sound of sputtering and frying. The voice of the waiter rose and fell,
too, amid the din of crockery and cooking; and mingled with his voice,
now and then, was the voice of a woman. Presently, the tempting smell
of ham was wafted out into the dining-room. It was then that Blandy
drew in his feet and sat erect, turning his eyes kitchen-ward.
Soon the waiter appeared. Pyramided upon his towel-draped left arm
were numerous plates and platters, topped by a huge cup of inky coffee
that steamed as it washed gently from side to side with every sway of
the arm. As the order was placed upon the table, together with some
cutlery, which the waiter scattered with his right hand, Blandy picked
up a knife and fork, pulled a platter into place before him, and began
to eat, ravenously. Someone--a man--entered the front door and took a
seat behind the cash-register. Blandy did not look up. One by one the
platters and plates were emptied. At last, refreshed and satisfied,
Blandy picked up an orange and began to peel it leisurely.
It was now that for the first time he chanced to look across at the
man behind the counter. That glance brought him to his feet, the
half-peeled orange in his hand. “Harvey Patton!” he exclaimed in
amazement.
“How are you?” answered Patton, indifferently. The tip of his nose
moved up and down a little as he spoke.
Blandy strode toward the counter. “What under the shinin’ sun are you
doin’ back in _Searles_?” he demanded.
“Keeping restaurant.”
The other was silent for a moment, his astonished eyes still fixed upon
Patton. Then, “Where’s--Polly?” he asked.
Patton jerked his head sidewise toward the kitchen. “She’s doing the
cooking,” he explained, smiling.
Blandy’s staring eyes narrowed. He turned abruptly, crossed the room to
the swinging door and struck it out of the way before him.
Just within the kitchen, he halted. It was a small room, reeking with
smells, and suffocatingly hot. On the side farthest from Blandy was a
sink. And bending over the sink, with her back to him, was a girl. As
he looked at her, the red on his face slowly deepened, as if he were
holding his breath. After a while, his glance travelled to the stove,
upon which some pots were steaming; to the long kitchen table piled
high with unwashed dishes; to the heaping oil can of scraps at the foot
of the table; to the floor, spattered and unswept. When at last his
look went back to the girl, the hairy skin at either side of his mouth
was twitching with the effort of self-control.
“Polly!”
She turned. The perspiration was streaming from forehead and temples,
so that her face and throat glistened, as her arms were glistening with
the water that was streaming from elbows to finger-ends. Her face was
more scarlet than his own. Out of that scarlet looked her eyes, which
were shadowed by wide, dark circles.
“Why--why, Jeff!”
He shook his head, slowly and sadly. “And so you married to come to
_this_,” he said in a low voice.
There was a bench beside the sink. She sank to it, as if too weary to
keep her feet. As she sat there, leaning on a hand, he saw her, not as
she was before him, tired and blowzy and wet with sweat, but as he had
seen her last. He took a step toward her. “How does it come that you
and Patton’re keepin’ a’ eatin’-house?” he asked.
“We--we got short of money,” she answered falteringly. “Harvey wouldn’t
work in Los Angeles where he’s acquainted. He’s so proud. So we came
back here. And--and this was all we could see to do.”
“_We_,” repeated Blandy.
“Well,” she answered. “Well----”
“How about that two hunderd he used to git every month from the East?”
He watched her keenly.
“Never comes any more,” she declared.
“That’s too bad. Makin’ any money with the rest’rant?”
“I--I don’t know. Mr. Conley didn’t when _he_ had it. But then he had
to pay his cook.”
“Huh!” commented Blandy, between his teeth, and fell silent again.
“This work’s too hard for you,” he said finally, when he could trust
himself to speak. “You’ll drop in your tracks. Why, I could pick you up
in my two hands like a rag and wring you.”
Her lips trembled. But she kept her face raised to his. “Oh, I don’t
mind a little work,” she declared.
The flaxen-haired waiter entered the kitchen by the rear door. Blandy
turned and went out through the other one. There was a gleam in the
dog-like eyes once more, but it was not a gleam that was good to see.
Patton was still seated behind the cash-register. He smiled at Blandy
again, and gave another sidewise jerk of his smooth head toward the
kitchen. “It’s a pretty complete plant, isn’t it?” he questioned
boastfully.
Blandy made no reply, only reached a big, freckled hand into a pocket,
brought forth two silver dollars, and tossed them ringing upon the
counter. Then he picked up his hat and went out.
But just in front of the entrance, he halted. Before him, across the
wide, dusty street and the shining rails of the track, lay the level
desert. It was mid-afternoon. And the grey wastes were swept by waves
of heat that sank and rose unceasingly, now almost as plain to the
eye as flames would have been, now shadowy. Blandy measured every
blistering mile, from the rough, unroofed porch on which he stood to
the distant horizon, where a mountain range traced an uneven line upon
the misty blue of the sky. And as he stood, his arms hanging loose at
his sides, his shoulders lowered, his head sunk between them, he was
the very figure of indecision.
Finally, he straightened, turned about, opened the restaurant door
and re-entered. Patton was smoking, a long cigar in one corner of his
mouth, and tilted upward; one knee crossed upon the other.
Blandy walked to the counter. “Patton,” he began, “_this_ ain’t no kind
of a business for _you_. You won’t make your _salt_ here in Searles.
Now, I’ve got a proposition to make you--you _and_ Polly. But it
mustn’t go no further.” He gave a quick glance about him.
“I’m not dying to stay in Searles,” observed Patton, blowing smoke.
“Wal,”--Blandy dropped his voice--“you go into pardnership with me,
Patton, and you don’t _have_ to stay.”
The other took out his cigar and eyed Blandy half-suspiciously.
“You’ve changed some,” he commented. “You didn’t used to care much
about me. But--what’s your proposition?”
The gleam of triumph came back into Blandy’s eyes. “I’ve made a
strike,” he said.
“A _mine_?”
Now, Blandy straightened, shoulders back, head up, face all a-grin once
more. “That’s what,” he declared proudly.
Patton slipped down from his stool. “Where?” he asked excitedly.
Blandy lifted a long arm to point out through the front window toward
the north. “Four days from here,” he answered.
“When’ll we go?” questioned the other. He reached across to lay a hand
on Blandy’s sleeve. “We’ve got to locate, you know. That’s the law. We
mustn’t miss a trick, old man.”
“Oh, I located, all right,” declared Blandy. He drew back a step.
“But you didn’t locate for _me_,” went on Patton. “So _I_’ve got to go
out, haven’t I? And there’s another reason, too. You’re the only person
that knows just where the lead is. Well, suppose anything were to
happen to you--a railroad accident, or a bad sickness. Where would _I_
be? That’s the way all the lost mines’ve come about, Blandy.”
“We’ll talk it over to-night. Then Polly can hear about it, too.
There’s enough for the three of us out there,--and some over. So she
can have a claim separate.”
“Oh, I’ll look after her,” said Patton carelessly.
“No.” There was determination in Blandy’s tone. “I’m lettin’ you in on
this with the understandin’ that she has _her_ holdin’. She can lease
it, or she can work it, just whichever she likes. You know, it’s kinda
stylish for a lady to have her own bank-book.”
“All right,” agreed Patton impatiently.
It was close upon four then. Patton was for calling his wife in and
breaking the news at once. “And we’ll close up and cut out supper,” he
declared, “and have a little celebration.”
But Blandy flatly objected. “Don’t shut down just a’ hour or two before
a meal,” he advised. “Put a sign on the front door to-night. Say on it
that the rest’rant is closed ’cause your wife is plumb wored out. We
can’t afford to give ourselves away, Patton. There’s plenty of men in
Searles that can smell a strike forty mile. Look out or some of ’em ’ll
be follerin’ us.”
“You’re right,” declared Patton.
Thus it came about that Polly cooked supper in ignorance of the sudden
good fortune that was to make such further toiling unnecessary. Blandy
went out into the hot kitchen a second time. But he had little to say,
and devoted his efforts to the washing and drying of the dishes, which
he received in pyramids from the swinging left arm of the flaxen-haired
waiter; and when, shortly after seven o’clock, the last guest was gone,
and the last dish clean, Blandy swept and mopped the kitchen floor.
At eight, by the light of a single candle, there was a conference of
three at one of the oilcloth-covered tables in the front room. The
waiter had taken himself off in the direction of the main saloon down
the street, out of which were floating the strains of a violin and
the voices of singing women. Nevertheless, Blandy told his story in a
half-whisper, and without pointing.
“The ledge is in a spur of the range back of Salt Basin,” he confided.
“And clost to--what do you think?”
“What?” questioned Patton.
“The bowl in the rock!”
Patton turned to his wife. “That’s the spring I told you about,” he
explained. “I went out there four years ago with a prospector. You
wouldn’t believe, Polly, that water could be found in a place like
that--a regular ash-pile, you might say. But there it is. The bowl
is hollowed out as pretty as can be. And the water comes in drop by
drop--just at night, though. It leaks in through a split that’s so fine
you couldn’t get a knife-blade into it. But what comes in doesn’t run
out, because the bowl’s good-sized, and if the buzzards don’t drink the
water up, the sun does.”
Polly made no comment. She sat very still, watching Blandy steadily.
Her face was as pale as it had been scarlet at mid-afternoon.
“The lead ain’t more’n a stone’s throw from the bowl,” went on Blandy;
“--to the right up the slope. Say! think of the feller’s that’ve missed
it!--’cause they was so all-fired glad to find water that they forgot
all about gold. But _I_ found it. I was comin’ down the slope, headin’
for a drink, when my darned feet got all tangled up and I took a
double-ender. Wal, sir, when I sit up to feel if any bones was broke,
here was the blossom rock, lookin’ me straight in the eye!--yeller
chunks, Patton, as big as pine-nuts!”
Patton’s black eyes were glistening. “How high’ll that rock run?” he
asked.
“_Turrible_ high--even where it don’t show colour. There was a fortune
right in sight--without thinkin’ of what’s laying _behind_. There’s
all we’ll ever want out there--a chance to do a few things for our
friends, and our relations--them that we like; and grand houses, and
outomobiles, and fine clothes, and horses, and folks to wait on us, and
travellin’, and edication, and--and what’ll make Polly a queen!”
“Did you put up a written notice?”
“Shore.”
“Have you got some specimens?”
“About a mile from here--buried.”
“A few samples aren’t enough,” asserted Patton. “Anybody can get hold
of a dozen pieces of rich rock. Why, there are men who make a good
living by selling ore that’s used to draw suckers on.”
“A-course, that’s so,” agreed Blandy.
“What we ought to have is about four barley-sackfuls. There’s nothing
like making a great, big hit at the very start.”
“Yas, I know,” said Blandy. “But when one of them millionaire fellers
is considerin’ a lease, he sends out a’ expert.”
“If you have a hundred pounds of quartz and an assay, there won’t be
any need of an expert,” argued Patton. “We’ll lease without a bit of
trouble. Of course, we might make more by taking some rich man in as a
partner, and working the mine on shares----”
“Why, there’s half a million apiece in it for us without doin’ _that_.”
“Half a million,” repeated Patton. “Huh! I mean to ask one million flat
for _my_ share.”
Blandy laughed. “Oh, leave a little for the gent that’s a-going to put
up the cash,” he advised.
Patton went on arguing. “As a matter of fact,” he declared, “it
wouldn’t take us any time at all to land three hundred pounds of ore at
the track if we used an auto.”
“No.” Blandy was decisive. “No, I don’t trust none of them flyshuffers.”
“But _I_’ll drive.”
“Take a machine and leave tracks, eh?” demanded Blandy. “Not on your
life! Burros is what we need. A burro can travel on a washout and never
turn a stone.”
“All right, burros then,” assented Patton eagerly. “Let’s start
to-morrow night.”
“Oh, what’s your sweat?” asked Blandy.
“Just this: The quicker we leave, the quicker we get out of Searles.”
“But--but maybe Jeff’s tired,” suggested Polly timidly.
Patton gave her a warning glance. “_I_ know he’s tired,” he answered.
“But we won’t have to rush. We can take it easy, and only travel at
night. If we wait around here, people’re sure to begin trying to find
out where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. The whole town knows
you’ve been on a long prospecting trip--I heard it when I came. So
(just as you said yourself a while ago) first thing you know, we’ll
have a regular gang on our trail.”
Blandy nodded, more than half-convinced.
“And when we’ve got our ore,” went on Patton, “I’ll go to Los Angeles
with you. I’m the man that can advise you when it comes to a lease.”
In the end Blandy agreed to an immediate trip to the mine.
But next morning it was he who set to work preparing for the journey.
Patton made off down the street almost immediately after breakfast, and
disappeared into one of the half-dozen drinking-places of the town.
When he did not return at noontime, Blandy consulted Polly.
“Don’t you think I’d better go find him?” he asked. “You see he might
take a glass or two and git to blabbin’.”
Patton was found at Rourke’s. Outside the resort, Blandy turned upon
him. “Say! You’re up to your old game, ain’t you, Patton?” he demanded
curtly.
Patton tried to laugh the matter off. “Oh, you don’t understand,” he
declared confidentially. He started homeward beside the other man.
The leather of Blandy’s face was pale. Out of the paleness burned his
wrathful eyes. “Don’t try to soft-soap me,” he went on. “I know now
where that remittance of your’n goes. But you got to cut it _out_! I
ain’t a-helpin’ you to a fortune so’s you can hurt Polly by slatherin’
money on some other woman.”
Patton gave a loud laugh. “Don’t think I’m a fool,” he answered. As
they entered the front room of the restaurant, he gave Blandy a look
of hate. “You aren’t giving me a claim because you like _me_. You’re
doing it on Polly’s account.”
“That’s right,” declared Blandy. “What in thunderation is there about
_you_ that’d make any man hand you over half a million?”
“So! You admit it! Oh, I’m on to your game! This is some more of your
tattle. You want to make trouble between me and my wife!”
Blandy took a long step forward. “That’s a lie,” he said. “It’s just
what I _don’t_ aim to do. You and me had a talk on this question the
night you got married. Have you forgot that? Wal, when you cash in on
the claim, I’m a-goin’ to see that you cut that friend----”
The swinging door opened, and Polly came in from the kitchen. “Harv!”
she faltered. “Jeff!” Then, she fell silent, watching them with
troubled eyes.
Blandy’s face broke into a reassuring grin. “Say! we’re excited over
nothin’,” he declared. “Don’t you worry, Polly. Patton, I hired the
only two burros in town this mornin’, and bought some grub and feed.”
There were no further words between the two men, only a coldness that
was barely noticeable. After the midday meal, Patton even helped with
the packing. Polly, entering their bedroom hastily, found him standing
on a bench looking at the labels of some bottles on the medicine-shelf.
“Be careful what you take,” she cautioned. “That bottle of mercury
tablets is up there, and it’s the same size as the one that’s got stuff
in it for rattlesnake bites.”
“It’s the rattlesnake medicine that I’m hunting,” answered Patton
tartly.
Polly went back into the kitchen, where Blandy was busy packing the
raisins, crackers and canned beef. She looked frightened. “Oh, I’m so
sorry you and Harvey quarrelled,” she half-whispered. “Please, _please_
don’t have any more trouble with him.”
From the standpoint of beauty there was little to recommend Jeff Blandy
save his eyes. Now, as he smiled down at her, his eyes made up for all
the deficiencies of his rugged face. “We was hungry,” he declared.
“That was all.”
“Jeff,” she said, “I never knew how good you were. Oh, if girls only
realised that the men that keep dressed up aren’t always the best men.”
“And on the other hand,” he observed, “I’ve saw some pretty bad men in
bum clothes.”