should do. If every little happy nerve in his big body tingled while
he unlaced her boots, that was his own business and none of his
neighbors'. He did not mean to have Doris Hunter experience one
moment's embarrassment if he could help it.
With a fine tact for which Bill was silently grateful, the two
government men resumed their casual talk of the storm and of the
desert,--the small talk of the region which is useful for filling in
the awkward spots in strange situations. Tommy busied himself with a
ham, a few cans and the coffee pot, and said not a word. Al Freeman,
over by the door, made himself as inconspicuous as possible,--perhaps
for reasons which Tommy could guess.
Bill casually turned his back upon Miss Hunter and the stove and stood
there with his hands in his pockets and his legs slightly apart,
throwing a sentence now and then into the talk of the others.
Thus hidden away in the corner, ignored for the time being, Doris
Hunter pulled the blanket tighter around her slim person, and fumbled
within its shelter. She was a sensible girl, and she had lived all of
her twenty years on the edge of the desert, and knew nothing much
about cads and crooks. So presently her khaki skirt was spread over
her knees to dry, and she was holding the blanket open to dry the rest
of her. And not a man of the five noticed the skirt, or paid any
attention to her whatever.
But when Tommy said supper was ready, Bill moved from his position as
screen, and pulled up a box to hold the girl's plate and cup so that
she could eat without moving away from the stove. It was casually
done; so casually that it would not have cost a nun the quiver of an
eyelash. Certainly Miss Hunter felt no confusion, for presently she
was chatting quite as composedly as if she were at home with her
family around her.
It rapidly grew dark, the lightning coming at more infrequent
intervals as the downpour continued. Bill found a lantern, lighted it
and hung it on a wire hook from the ridgepole, where it swayed to the
spasmodic shuddering of the tent. Miss Hunter turned and turned her
skirt, and Bill watched her boots that they did not dry too quickly.
There seemed nothing unusual in this foregathering, which was but one
more incident of the wilderness.
CHAPTER SIX
BILL GROWS SENTIMENTAL
"Bill, you haven't asked me if I were lost or just going somewhere,"
Miss Hunter accused suddenly, setting down her cup which she had twice
emptied of coffee. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Any one else
would have asked me that before I got the water out of my eyes."
"Well--are you lost, or just going somewhere?" Bill inquired
obediently. "I've known this young lady a good long while," he added
to the others, glad of the opportunity. "She rides the range right
alongside her dad, and can sling a pack or rope a critter better than
lots of men that draw wages for doing it. She couldn't get lost to
save her neck. Looking for cow brutes or horses, Miss Hunter?"
"Neither one. And don't call me Miss when I've been Doris all my life.
These gentlemen don't demand the starch in your speech, and I know it.
Dad sent me over to see if you'd come and help him out for awhile.
He's going to run the water by a tunnel through that little ridge
back of the corrals, and water the lower meadow directly from the
spring. It will save at least an inch" (she referred to a miner's inch
of water, which is a cubic measurement) "that's lost now in seepage as
it's carried around the hill.
"He's been sort of looking for you over to the ranch. But you didn't
show up, so he sent me over to see if you'd drive the tunnel for him.
He thinks your cautious disposition will make the blasting safe for
the cattle, I reckon. Anyway, that's what I came for, and the storm
did the rest. I guess the horses will be all right, but if they ever
get loose they'll beat it for home--and that will worry the folks. I
brought old Rambler with my camp outfit, and of course I rode Little
Dorrit."
"My, my, if some of the young ladies back in Washington could hear you
talk so calmly of traveling the desert alone with your own camp
outfit!" Mr. Rayfield pursed his lips and then smiled at her. Mr.
Rayfield was disfigured somewhat by a milky film over one eye, but for
all that his face was a pleasant one that made friends for him easily.
"If you folks can make out with a candle," said Bill, "I'll take the
lantern and go see about the horses. I can bring them up closer to
camp, maybe----"
"You'll do nothing of the kind, Bill Dale. Don't you suppose I made
sure they would stay tied? Or do you think I _like_ to take a chance
on being set afoot? I was, once. That was a plenty, thank you. You
stay right where you are."
Bill chuckled but declined to commit himself by any promise. Torrents
of rain still pounded upon the roof with the hollow sound of a
kettle-drum beaten at a distance. Like all the passionate outbursts in
which Nature indulges throughout her desert lands, this was likely to
be almost as brief as it was violent. Bill knew well the way of these
sudden storms and did not worry over the immediate future. The present
was sufficiently engrossing, and he was not loath to obey the command
of his queen.
Having Doris Hunter there beside his stove, her boots drying beside
his fire, her eyes meeting his with a smile in them now and then, her
voice a melody he loved against the drumming accompaniment of the
storm, was like a dream come true. Never before had Doris Hunter come
to his camp fire save in his most secret dreams. Never before had she
needed him, felt the comfort of his presence, his protection. It was
well that these men were all strangers to Bill,--else they might have
read his secret in the shine of his eyes, the steady flush on his
cheek bones, the smile that came twitching the corners of his lips at
the slightest provocation.
If Doris saw, she gave no sign. Outwardly Bill held himself rigidly to
the usual friendliness of a man who has known a girl since she was a
little thing just past babyhood, eager to ride on his shoulder with
her heels drumming his chest. His manner was indulgent, almost
paternal. He did not look at her often, he did not need to look at
her; indeed, he did not dare. To know that she was there, close beside
him, was like drinking wine.
"Storm's letting up fast," he announced at length, his face raised,
his eyes dwelling speculatively upon the roof. "I guess we're all
tired enough to get under the covers--and I hope you won't take that
as a hint to you fellows to go home to your own camp," he drawled
meaningly. "I'll bunk with you to-night, Tommy, and let Miss Hunter
have this tent. She's tired. I've caught her nodding twice in the last
five minutes."
"Oh, it's just the heat," Doris protested briskly. "I--really, Bill, I
can't turn you out of your tent! I've my own outfit, you know, just
down the gulch."
"Yours isn't set up," Bill pointed out to her calmly. "These fellows
got here some time before the storm broke. And Tommy has his tent, so
it's not putting me out. I'll leave you Luella and Sister Mitchell and
Hez for company. Oh, they're all at home," he answered her look of
inquiry. "They hate rain, and they've hunted cover. Well, fellows?"
Obediently the two experts turned toward the doorway. Al Freeman had
already untied the flaps and ducked out into the dark and the drizzle.
Mr. Rayfield apologized weakly for keeping late hours, and herded the
sour-faced Emmett out before him. Bill waited until they were gone.
"I want you to keep Hez inside," he told Doris then, his voice
lowered. "These fellows are all right, probably, but I don't know
them. And here's my gun. If you just call me, though, I'll hear and
come a-running."
He started out, then turned and smiled at her whimsically. "There's a
bundle of new blankets in that corner," he informed her. "Never been
opened up. Help yourself. Good night."
Over by the junipers Bill could hear the mutter of voices. He turned
that way and presently came upon the three, fumbling with wet pack
ropes and swearing softly at the rain pattering down upon them. Talk
ceased entirely when Bill approached.
"Hard luck, folks," he sympathized cheerfully. "But not a darn bit
harder than if you hadn't run across my camp at all. I'm sorry you got
here so late. Want any help?"
They did not, but Bill remained and did what he could to help them
raise the wet tent and get their stuff inside. They would not be
comfortable, but they would be quite as comfortable as he would be.
"We've got some tent-raising to do ourselves," he told them
cheerfully, when he could do no more. "It'll let up raining after a
bit, I think. Come over to my camp for breakfast. I'll sling together
some pancakes that'll melt in your mouths. And I've got a gallon of
alleged maple syrup to swim 'em in. Life will look a thousand per
cent. better, to-morrow morning."
"Oh, life looks all right to us now," Mr. Rayfield protested. "This is
nothing--nothing at all. Don't apologize, Mr. Dale. Of course the
young lady needed the tent; wouldn't think of such a thing as--but
we'll just call you on that breakfast bluff--pancakes, maple syrup and
all!"
"You're on," said Bill, and went back to help Tommy find his bedding
and tent.
Tommy was ignoring his own troubles in a chortling glee at Al
Freeman's discomfort.
"An' that's where he got 'is come-uppance," he gloated. "Al planned
it t' bunk in a warrm tent wit'out settin' up his own t'night!" He
tittered while he groped for ten pegs. "That tent-settin' b'foor the
starrm was a farce, as you know yerself, Mr. Dale. He's up to
something sure as yuh live--and phwat it is I dunno, but I sleeps wit'
wan eye open this night--I do."
It is likely that he did just that, as did Bill, lying so that he
could peer out through the opening of Tommy's little tent and see his
own bulking vaguely in the dark and drizzle. Hezekiah, shut inside,
would have lunged at the throat of any stranger who sought entrance in
the dark, and Doris Hunter did not need even that protection, since
she probably carried her own gun and would know what use to make of it
in an emergency.
But Bill discounted those things and himself kept watch; and smiled
for sheer happiness while he pulled Tommy's soggy blankets over his
shoulders. In the dark, so close in the dark--serene in the knowledge
of her safety, the girl he loved lay asleep, her head touching the
pillow where his head had lain while he dreamed of her. To-morrow she
would go again. All the to-morrows thereafter Bill would have only the
memory of her presence here to-night. But to-night he could lie and
know that she was there,--and what fool would waste the hours in
sleep, when he might lie awake and think, and thrill at the sense of
her nearness?
He wondered what she would say when he showed her his gold discovery;
told her, too that she owned a claim quite as good as his. He hoped
that the deluge of rain had not filled his cut and covered his vein of
rich ore. But even if it had, there were his samples in the corner of
the tent behind the door; and it would not take him and Tommy long to
uncover the vein again.
He thought uneasily of the government men camped so close. Not that he
was afraid of anything they might do; indeed, he could not imagine
anything that could rob him now of his claims. He had located
according to law, and his location work was done and on record in
Goldfield. It was Al Freeman who troubled him; not alone because of
what Tommy had said (he suspected Tommy of being an arrant gossip and
not too gentle with men's reputations behind their backs) but because
Al looked the sneak, acted the sneak, and undoubtedly was the sneak
Tommy had declared him to be.
Still, there was nothing a sneak could do to harm him. Even if he were
killed,--he thought swiftly of something he must do, and he smiled
tenderly at the grayish blotch in the drizzling dark. He must make
his will, so that if anything happened to him, Doris would have the
claims. There was no one else. His father had been the last relative
he knew anything about. Distant ones--cousins--they didn't count.
No, Doris Hunter stood closer to him than any one else. He wasn't
going to die yet awhile, but still accidents _could_ happen, he
admitted to himself. There must be no slip-up, no last-minute regrets.
Mining is always more or less risky. If he went out, then Doris must
have the Parowan group. And as for the rest, Bill did not worry.
He fell asleep finally, thinking that these experts might be able to
give him some good advice. There was no sense in trying to keep his
discovery a secret from them. They meant to examine Parowan's mineral
possibilities, and they would inevitably run across his claims. But he
would not be in too great a hurry. First, he would tell Doris. It
seemed to him a miracle of good fortune that had brought her to
Parowan at that particular time, when he was aching to tell her and
yet could not leave his claims and let Al Freeman--yes, and perhaps
Tommy as well--"high-grade" his gold the minute his back was turned.
Now he could show Doris, which was better than telling. And--the world
could go hang, for all Bill cared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHAT DRIVES PROSPECTORS CRAZY
After all it was Doris Hunter who called breakfast while Bill was yet
busy with her horses and Tommy was profanely spreading damp blankets
upon dry rocks that would presently be hot to the palm, when the sun
had stared down at them for a few hours.
There were hot cakes as good as Bill could have made, and bacon and
coffee and potatoes sliced raw and fried just right. The eyes of Mr.
Rayfield glistened when he saw them, and Bill drew his underlip
between his teeth when he looked at the girl's flushed face bent
solicitously over the coffee she was pouring; it was so like a
daydream come true that he could scarcely trust himself to speak, for
fear his tone would not be so normal as he meant it to be. But he had
his part to play nevertheless.
"Morning! I meant to get breakfast myself, but I didn't want to get
you out too early. You had a hard trip----"
"Oh, fudge! That wasn't a commencement to being caught out in a
blizzard. Luella woke me about daylight. She came crawling up on the
pillow, and the first I heard was 'What the'--something--in the most
surprised tone you ever heard." Doris laughed at the memory of it.
"Imagine hearing a man's voice saying _that_ in your very ear when
you're dreaming about putting up peaches! And that reminds me, Bill.
Mother sent over a jar of preserves. If you'll watch these cakes, I'll
get them out of the pack. I saw you had brought up the horses. Sit
right down and eat, folks, I won't be a minute."
Bill's table was small, but Doris had somehow crowded a sufficient
number of plates and cups upon it. Mr. Rayfield voiced his opinion of
her efficiency as he seated himself on Bill's neatly spread bunk and
drew the potatoes toward himself.
"My, my, what a difference there is in women nowadays!" he said
cheerfully. "Take these Western-raised girls--you can't match them
anywhere in the world for downright common sense and capableness.
Seems to be a great climate for the growth of brain. Now a city girl
out in a storm like that--well," he chuckled, "think of the hundreds
of plays and stories that have been built around the fainting forms of
beautiful maidens carried in from right center, just rescued by the
hero from the falling dew! And here's a girl can come out of it
smiling, with a breakfast fit for a steel king! Mr. Dale, if you can
beat these cakes, I'll resign from government employ and be your burro
puncher for life!"
Into the responsive laugh walked Doris with a quart jar of peach
preserves carried proudly in her two hands.
"I heard that about the cakes, Mr. Rayfield," she announced gravely.
"And all I can say is, you come down to the ranch where we have real
milk, and thick yellow cream, and fresh eggs. I'll show what hot cakes
can be like!"
Mr. Emmett, pulling a box out of a corner for a seat, had stooped and
picked up something from the ground,--something which the edge of the
box had dragged forward. He turned it to the side where the sun was
shining brightly on the canvas wall and examined the piece of ore
interestedly.
"Good-looking rock, that," he observed, glancing up at Bill. "Didn't
pick it up in this neighborhood, did you?"
Bill slanted a glance at the rock, and another at the sly, watchful
eyes of Al Freeman. Mr. Emmett was holding in his fingers a bit of the
richest ore Bill had taken from his vein on Parowan Number One. He
had concealed it under some sacks in the corner, and its appearance at
the breakfast table was, to say the least, inopportune.
"That? That's a specimen I've been packing around for luck," he said
carelessly. "Wish I had a mountain of it; then I could have fresh eggs
and cream for breakfast too."
Mr. Emmett laid the rich specimen in Rayfield's outstretched hand and
seated himself on the box, his hard, brown eyes glancing sharply now
and then at Bill. Mr. Rayfield set down his cup of coffee and pursed
his lips over the sample. His pleasant face glowed with professional
admiration for a pretty bit of ore.
"Yes-s--a mountain of that would insure a man against canned milk for
life!" he chuckled. "If you had even a good vein of ore like that, Mr.
Dale, your friends would need to pray that millions wouldn't make you
money-mad."
Doris held out her hand for it, and Mr. Rayfield smiled as he placed
it in her palm. He did not say anything at all.
Doris bent her brown head over the sample, then looked up quickly at
Bill, her eyes wide and questioning.
"O-oh--that's gold--_is_ that gold, Bill? All those yellow patches?
It--it doesn't look just like pyrites----"
"That's gold, Doris." To save his life Bill could not have kept the
tenderness, the deep exultation out of his voice.
"Gold! Why, it--it's almost _solid_ gold! Why, where----"
Bill pulled himself together, laughed lazily and helped himself to the
fried potatoes.
"That's what drives prospectors crazy," he drawled. "Looking for more
of the same. You keep that, Doris, if you like it. If I ever get hold
of enough of that, I'll call it a mine." He laughed again disarmingly.
"You know folks call me Hopeful Bill," he added quaintly.
"You'd be Sure-thing Bill, if you ever found a mine of _that_." Mr.
Rayfield's good eye dwelt hungrily upon the sample. "I suppose you're
on the trail of it. You wouldn't be human if you weren't looking for
more of the same. Well, I hope you locate it. I do, for a fact. I know
I wouldn't rest until I located that."
Bill's laugh betrayed nothing more than amusement, but his eyes forgot
to twinkle. They were fixed rather intently on Mr. Rayfield's smooth,
smiling face.
"And when you had it located--then what would you do?"
"Do?" Mr. Rayfield looked up, astonished. "What _would_ a man do, with
a gold mine like that?" He returned to the spreading of peach
preserves carefully between two hot cakes. "Organize a company and
avail myself of the most modern methods of mining it. A good, clean
corporation, Mr. Dale, is the most efficient, the most satisfactory
methods I know of to-day. I certainly would organize at once and start
out right to get the gold cheaply as possible and market the product
as profitably as possible. There is no other intelligent method, these
days."
Mr. Emmett looked up dissentingly. "There you go on your hobby," he
remarked. "The country's been done to death with wild-cat
organizations that found a showing of mineral and hustled a
corporation together. Look at the companies we've been sent to
investigate, Walter! I should think that would sicken you of
corporations."
"We investigated a lot of crooked corporations, yes." Mr. Rayfield
admitted it calmly. "We helped the government send more than one bunch
of crooked officers to the penitentiary--where they belong. But crooks
always will take advantage of the best machinery invented, John. And
those very investigations taught me the details of organizing and
operating corporations. They proved to me that a man is a fool to
potter along by himself with any mine--I don't care how rich it is!
You can't work a mine as you would a farm. Why? Because your potential
harvest is all there, in the ground, waiting for you to gather it. A
farm yields its wealth season by season--on the installment plan,
we'll say. Whereas the mineral in a mine _is there_; all of it. It was
put there long before it was ever discovered. The faster and the
cheaper you take it out, the greater your profit. That stands to
reason. What man of intelligence would spend ten, twenty years, we'll
say, taking out a million dollars, when an efficient corporation will
get it for him in less than half that time?"
He held up his cup for more coffee and smiled blandly at Doris, who
was listening to him with flattering attention.
"Miss Hunter, you see the point, don't you? I'll venture to say that
you'd want your millions dug out by machinery, in the shortest time
possible."
Doris laughed and looked again at the gold ore beside her plate.
"If I knew where there was a lot of that in the ground, and you could
get a million dollars worth of it out in fifteen minutes," she said,
"I'd--why, I'd probably stand around and abuse you because you weren't
getting my million in ten minutes instead of fifteen!" She blushed a
little as she met Mr. Rayfield's understanding smile. "That's just
human nature, isn't it?"
"That's human nature." Mr. Rayfield sugared his coffee with the
satisfied air of a man who has gained his point with less difficulty
than he had anticipated.
Then appeared Luella, walking offendedly out from under Bill's bunk,
where she had retreated from the presence of strangers.
"Aw, cut it out!" Luella complained gruffly. "Let's eat! Git a move
on, there!"
"And here we are, trying to starve poor Luella!" Doris stooped to her,
and the bird eyed her hand sidewise and decided to trust it for once.
She stepped solemnly upon the slim, brown wrist and so was lifted to a
perch on the foot of the bunk where she gravely accepted a slice of
fried potato. The advantages of a corporation over an individual miner
got no further attention from any one, for a parrot is very much like
a baby in its unfailing ability to monopolize attention. Luella would
not talk, save now and then a curt ejaculation that was hailed with
laughter. She was a temperamental bird and her manners were
inhospitable; for which Bill was vaguely thankful.
Furthermore, he was grateful when Doris proceeded as a matter of
course to clear away the breakfast. That little hint of hers, of
rising and picking up Bill's plate and cup, scattered the group. They
went, ducking their heads under the flaps, and Bill followed them with
the thought in his mind that he would see the three strangers safely
off about their business before he made any move toward his own claims
with Doris.
But the jovial Mr. Rayfield stuck to him like a burr, talking idly of
many things save mineral. Bill wondered what he had on his mind; and
as soon as they were out of hearing of the others, Mr. Rayfield
proceeded to the subject uppermost.
"You'll pardon my apparent presumption, Mr. Dale, I know. We
government fellows are instructed to help miners in any way we can,
and--well, this man of yours; have you had him with you long enough to
be sure of him?"
"I never," said Bill in his easy drawl, "consider that I'm sure of any
man. Why?" And then he gave no time for an answer, but put a question
of his own.
"How long have you had your pot-walloper?--if I may ask a question
that's none of my business."
"Al Freeman? We picked him up just the other day. Our cook that we
hired in Las Vegas was taken sick just as we struck the highway down
there. We laid over, and did what we could; but he wasn't recovering,
so when this Al Freeman came along with three other men in a car,
headed for Las Vegas, we just made an exchange. Sent our man in to a
doctor, and hired Al in his place." He laid his fingers lightly on
Bill's arm, and lowered his voice confidentially. "He told us last
night that your man, Tommy, is one of the toughest men out of
Goldfield. They call him Slippery Tom up there, I believe. Al says he
came near getting lynched, at one time--some murder and robbery, I
believe."
"Then there's a pair of them," Bill observed imperturbably. "Al's a
liar and a thief, according to Tommy."
Mr. Rayfield considered for a moment, then threw out his hands in a
gesture of helplessness.