DRENNEN MAKES A DISCOVERY
For David Drennen, in whose mouth the husks of life were dry and harsh
and bitter, a miracle had happened. Nor was that miracle any the less
a golden wonder because to other men in other times it had been the
same. Marshall Sothern had been right; the time had come when a
woman's responsibilities were to be greater than those of the head of a
monster corporation. Banked and covered as it was in the ashes of the
after years, there was the old living spark of humanity in David
Drennen. Ygerne Bellaire came in time to fan it into a warming glow.
The fire which should come from it should be her affair. It would
cheer with its warmth; or it should devastate with its flames. The
spark, fanned into love's fire, had in an instant sent its flickering
light throughout the darker places of a man's being.
A woman, accomplishing that which Ygerne Bellaire had done, is
sometimes not unlike a child scattering coals in a dry forestland. The
forest, the child itself, may be consumed.
Men who had not called him Drennen the Unlucky had named him Headlong
Drennen. His is that type which, in another environment and taking the
gamble of life from another angle, is termed a plunger. There was no
room for half-heartedness in so positive a nature. Where he loved he
worshipped. He had had an idol once before, his father. Now, after
half a score of years, he made himself another idol. And it, in turn,
made of him another man.
Worship must be unquestioning. It is builded upon utter faith. So
Drennen, his slow words spoken to Ygerne, his love for her freed, as it
were, from any restraint he had hitherto tried to put upon it, his
whole being given over to it, came without question to believe in her.
She was the woman meant to be his mate and he had called to her and she
had come to him. His moment of doubt had fled with his declaration.
Otherwise he would have been the paler personality which it was not in
him to be, half-hearted. Of her passion and pride he made character.
From the look which he had seen in her eyes he made tenderness and
truth. Every attribute of that ideal which is somewhere in the heart
of every man, until at last the one woman comes to occupy its place
more sweetly and warmly and intimately, he brought forth from its dark
recess to bestow upon Ygerne.
All night he did not sleep. The sun, rising, found him quite another
man than that upon which it had set last night. In men like Drennen a
few hours and a strong emotion can accomplish results which in other
men would require the passing of years. And the same rising sun showed
a new world to the eyes opened eagerly to see it, displayed a fresh
universe to a heart starved for it. He had sought to see only the
shadows yesterday; now he looked for the light and it was everywhere.
It lay quivering upon the mountain tops, it flooded the valleys, it
brightened his own heart, it touched the bosoms of other men, it shone
in their eyes.
He had shaved and dressed himself neatly. On his way to his early
breakfast he met Marshall Sothern on the street. Drennen came to him
swiftly, putting out his hand.
"I have been rather a brute and an unqualified boor," he said quietly.
"I owe you a very great deal, Mr. Sothern, my life I suppose. I'd like
to shake hands."
Sothern looked at him strangely, both sensing and seeing the change in
the man. He put out his hand and it settled hard about Drennen's.
"My boy," he said simply, "you have my word for it that you owe me not
so much as a word of thanks. You are getting along all right?"
"Yes. So well that I'm off to-day for Lebarge to file on my claims.
I'll not waste any time in getting back. If then you care to look over
the property . . ."
The buoyancy within him had been speaking through the vibrant tones of
his voice. Suddenly he broke off, his eyes widening to a look of
groping wonderment. His jaw had dropped a little, he stood as if
frozen in his place, even the hand which Sothern had just released held
motionless half way on its brief return journey to his side. In an
incredibly short instant he had grown pale; his voice, when he spoke
the two words, was harsh and unsteady:
"My God!"
Sothern threw up his hand as though to beat back physically a flow of
words.
"Not now!" he commanded sharply. "Wait. Later. . . ."
He had turned abruptly and moved away in a haste which carried him with
long strides down the street. Drennen, the rigidity of his body giving
way to a little shiver which ran up and down him from shoulders to
calves, stared speechlessly after Sothern. His mouth, closed slowly,
now opened suddenly as though he were going to call, but no words came.
He took one swift step after Sothern, then stopped in an uneasy
indecision.
Far down the open roadway he could see Marc Lemarc with Captain Sefton
coming into the Settlement from the direction of the dugout. In front
of Marquette's, as he glanced swiftly the other way, he could see
Charlie Madden at the doorstep. Joe was at his own door. It seemed to
Drennen that they were all looking at him. He turned then, his back
toward Sothern, and went to the lunch counter.
Joe asked twice what he would eat before Drennen heard and gave his
order. Madden came in while he was stirring the coffee which was
growing cold under his vacant eyes, and took a stool near him, studying
him none the less keenly because the look was so swift.
"Well, Drennen," he said lightly, "you'll be ready to talk business
pretty soon now."
Drennen started.
"Why, good morning, Madden. Yes; yes, I'll be ready to talk business
pretty soon."
"You're not still holding out for that ridiculous proposition you made
me the other day, are you?"
"Yes. And it isn't ridiculous, Madden. It's worth it."
Madden smiled.
"Look here, Drennen," he said easily, "you can bluff all you like now,
but you can't go on bluffing much longer. You'll have to get down to
business. Whatever your mine is worth is just what you can ask for it.
Hasbrook and Sothern are both on the job, and they're both good enough
old ducks. But they haven't got the companies behind them I've got
behind me. They can't get their fingers on the money as I can. And,"
shrugging his shoulders, "they're old guys and too damned cautious to
live. I'll take a gamble. Damn it, I'm always ready for a gamble."
He nipped a check book from his pocket and unscrewed the cap of a pen.
"I'll take a chance," he said sharply. "Right now I'll write you a
check for a thousand dollars. That's just for a ninety days' option.
We'll clean out of this, go down to Lebarge and file your title. Then
we'll see what you've got. Are you on?"
The temptation of the pen against the blue slip of paper was lost to
Drennen. While Madden was talking there had again crept into his eyes
that look which tells that a man's mind is wandering to other thoughts.
Again, with a start, he brought his gaze back to Madden.
"A thousand dollars? An option?" He shook his head. "No."
"Why, man, are you crazy?" Madden's look hinted that Madden half
believed he was. "I'm just chucking a thousand dollars at you,
throwing it away for the fun of it . . ."
"I don't want it. And I don't want to be tied up ninety days or nine."
"Have you made a dicker with any one?" queried Madden suspiciously.
"Old Sothern has had you all to himself. . . . Did you tie up with
him?"
"No."
"Then, can't you see, I'm the man you want to deal with?"
"I don't think so," Drennen replied thoughtfully.
"Why not?" Madden's check book was snapping against the counter as
though its voice cried out with his.
"Because I think I'm going to sell to the Northwestern!"
"But," cried Madden angrily, "you just told me that Sothern
hadn't . . ."
"He hasn't!" Drennen grinned. "He doesn't know it yet!"
And that was all that Charlie Madden, though he pleaded and waxed
wroth, could get out of him.
Drennen, passing out, nodded pleasantly to Marc Lemarc, coming in.
Lemarc stared after him wonderingly. Drennen looked up and down the
street as though searching for some one. His eyes moved restlessly;
his agitation was so obvious that any man, seeing him, might see it,
too.
It was far too early to hope to see Ygerne. After a brief hesitation
Drennen returned thoughtfully to his dugout. His door open, his pipe
lighted only to die and grow cold, forgotten, he waited. Now and then
when a man passed as infrequently happened, Drennen looked up quickly.
He frowned each time as the man went on.
A little after nine o'clock a man did stop at his door, carrying a note
in his hand. Drennen's thoughts went swiftly to Ygerne, and a
quickened beating of his heart sent the blood throbbing through him.
But the note was from Sothern and said briefly:
"I have gone on to Lebarge. You were not mistaken. But it is nobody's
business but yours and mine. I shall expect you to come on as soon as
you are able to make the trip."
The man who had brought the message had gone on up the street. Drennen
sat and stared out through his door, across the river, his face set and
inscrutable. The eager light in his eyes was not without its anguish.
Suddenly he stood up, his gaunt form straight and rigid, his shoulders
squared, his jaw thrust out, his fist clenched.
"By Heaven!" he cried aloud, as though he were going to voice the
purpose gripping him. Then he broke off, an odd smile upon his lips.
And the smile told nothing.